Belated first impressions of Melbourne.

(Note: The following is based on limited experience, so don’t start in with the ‘bloody ex-pats’.)

Signs. Notices. Wherever you look. I have never seen so many signs in my life. There are signs to tell you about the most mundane things. For instance, this morning, I came across a sign, in a suburb, to let all and sundry know that there was a road ahead. Seriously, it read ‘Road Ahead’. In the middle of a suburb. Such a surprise it was to me to find a road in the middle of a suburb. So that deals with the signs to tell you about things.

But there are also signs that tell you about signs. The other day I passed a sign that warned of road signs ahead. No word of lie. But it’s not all bad; at least you know what’s going on all the time. Speaking of which, this is one seriously organised city. Society? Well, city at least. The wife calls it effective. (I have a word for it too, we’ll get to that in a bit.)

Stuff works. The rubbish gets picked up. If you have a problem with a utility, you get a reference number, and it gets sorted out. It seldom takes forever to sort out a traffic issue. Come to think of it, there are very seldom hectic traffic issues. But if there’s a traffic light out, you can be sure there’s a guy up on a ladder fixing the light, and a sign telling you there are road works ahead, and then when you get to the place where the guy is up on the ladder, there’ll be another sign to let you know there are workmen ahead.

Effective. But not always, as the wife is accurate to point out, terribly efficient. This is not a bad thing, this is, in my opinion, probably the result of being a large city. I spent 97 minutes on the phone with Telstra this morning, to get our TV, internet and my cellphone services sorted out. 97 minutes, each of them very pleasant, and I have no doubt whatsoever that by the time they have been promised, they will be delivered. And the lady I spoke to was one hell of a salesperson. But did it really have to take us 97 minutes? I suppose a lot of it was my fault, I asked a lot of questions, you know, not knowing anything about any of the packages, etc. But 97 minutes?

Point is, If I’d spent 97 minutes on the phone getting that kind of thing set up or sorted out when I was back in sunny SA, I would have been in a mood to throttle something. Not this morning. This morning, a quiet confidence settled in me. Stuff would happen. I may have to wait, but everyone has to wait, so no worries.

And now we arrive at my word for this town; tolerant. Come to a red traffic light, and no-one’s got their foot on the accelerator, waiting for the green and a chance to put their foot in the corner, speeding off in front of everyone else. Well, no-one other than the odd bloke in his ute. Most folks are extremely tolerant of one another. And of things that would drive the average Jo’burger in-freakin’-sane, like having to wait 3.78 milliseconds longer than necessary behind some idiot who just can’t get it together at a green traffic light. Sorry. Robot. Or a cashier at the supermarket who wants to chat when all you want to do is pay for your shopping and get out. Or, my personal favourite, not being able to overtake anyone because the cars in the fast lane are going as fast as the cars in the slow lane. Weird.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve noticed about Melbourne. In a nutshell. So now, here are a few thoughts about moving to Melbourne.

• It’s expensive here, even in dollars. We had no idea how expensive it would be. We thought we’d bring the stuff we needed, leave the stuff we didn’t. Poppycock. Bring it all, put what you don’t need in storage or, better yet, sell it on eBay. The amount of money we spent replacing arbitrary things – from tools to patio sets and beyond – is obscene and unnecessary.
• Australia is very, very specific about what they will and will not let you bring in to the country and in what condition the stuff needs to be when it comes in. Please, please take the advice of your mover, or visit the Aussie government website to find out what they are and stick to them. Our container was opened, boxes were inspected and, had we not gone by the book I am fairly sure we would’ve been deep in the dwang.
• Bring as much money as possible; spend as little money as possible; save as much money as possible.
  
• Have a very clear idea in your head about why you are coming here, note – not why you are leaving, but why you are coming. Whether it’s for the kids, a work opportunity, for Ayers Rock, you need to pretty much be focused on why you are coming to Australia, and not why you are leaving SA, or you will continually be looking back. I’m sure I read that somewhere.
  
• As far as possible, try to come here with a job already secured. It’s been a little trying doing this without regular income.
• Speaking of which, and of general expensiveness, multiplying everything by seven (or whatever your nominated exchange rate happens to be), just to confirm that you are indeed going through your money like a hungry shark off a nudist beach, is a waste of time. Just accept that it’s expensive. Which is what I said up front.

Well, that’s it for now. We’ve been without reliable internet but, thanks to my 97-minute phone call of earlier today, that should be sorted out by the end of this week, so the blog should be a little bit more regular from then on.

See ya later!

I can’t let you do that, Dave.

You know, it’s incredible how we’ve come to rely on machines. For the next week, we’ll be without our laptops; they both belong to our respective employers. Which means I will most likely not be able to post to my blog, check my mail (although I can access gmail via my cellphone* – neat, huh?), make payments or check bank balances, in short, we’re iScrewed.

Hopefully, very shortly after we land I’ll be setting myself up with a new machine and, very shortly thereafter our container will get through customs, the PC will be unloaded and all will be back to normal. Always assuming we’ve found a place to stay. But before then, here’s the rest of the list of most of the things we’re currently panicking about…

• Cancelling the cellphone contracts
• Cancelling the PO Box
• Ordering foreign currency, traveller’s cheques
• Getting medical records
• Selling cars
• Cancelling life insurance policies
• Making sure all debit orders are cancelled
• Farewell gifts

See, it’s not ‘just like moving to another city’. If anyone ever tells you that, hit them. Repeatedly. With as blunt an instrument as you can find.

*PS I only have the cellphone until the 7th or so. Then I have to pay in my murderous pound of flesh for Vodacom to free me of my obligation, only to have to find a replacement pact with the telecommunications devil on the other side.

Well, folks, that’s all as they say in the classics. There’s an outside chance I’ll be able to regale you with one last round of bull before we bound off outback-wards. But it’s an outside chance at best. I’m trying very hard to put my portfolio and references together before Friday, and it’s not working out as I’d planned.

Wish me, wish us, luck.

*The more perceptive of you may have noticed the asterisk. Obviously, no cellphone, no gmail. K. Bye.

12 sleeps and counting.

This past weekend, we homed the last of our pets. And on Monday, I even homed the bloody fish. (Thanks, Carla!) A word to the wise; if you’re thinking of leaving the country, and you have pets, start looking for homes for them the minute you put your papers in, even if you think there may be the slightest chance you may not get in. (With two weeks to go, we still had three cats and three fish. That’s cutting it a little fine.) Think of it this way – you can always either get new pets or get your old ones back if you don’t get in. Or, even better, start a whole new, liberated life in South Africa, without pets.

Shame, that’s not fair. I do miss them. But at least I know they’re not at the end of a long needle in the big kennel in the sky, eh campers?

Now, for a few more details of the things you need to think of at the last minute. Or: the things we’re panicking about.

International Driver’s Permits. We still don’t have ours. You can get them from AA Shops, and it doesn’t take long, but do you think we can find the time to get to an AA Shop and fill in the form? Plus, when we get to Oz, we’ll have to redo our licences. What fun.

Bank accounts. To close or not to close, that is the bitch of it. Whether ’tis easier to leave ’em open and incur the wrath of bank charges for the convenience of having a bank account here for the tax man, etc. I dunno, and I can’t make a recommendation, either. Watch this space.

My portfolio. It’s still in bits ’n pieces. I thought I’d have time these past two weeks to put the thing together. You know, organise campaigns, get the past year’s work into it. But no such luck. Which brings me to…

Time. There’s always about 70% less of it than you bargained for. And if you plan on 70% less than you bargain for, there’ll be about 40% less again, so don’t try to be smart about it, either.

I think that’s about enough to be getting on with for now. I have no idea what we’ll be doing next week. I’ll be posting again tomorrow or Friday, probably with the last until we land and get things set up. That’s because it dawned on me this morning that I have to hand in my laptop on Friday. It belongs to the company. It’s all good. Have you seen the new MacBook Pros?

Anyway, I’ll be chatting to the wife tonight about the things I’ve forgotten to panic about. They’ll be in the next and, probably, last post.

Bright blessings!

This time, three weeks from now…

...I’ll be on a Qantas jet plane, somewhere between here and there, wife and kids in tow. Since the last post, not much has happened; we went away for a week, I’ve had another seizure, and we’ve more or less homed all our pets. So I’ll just use this post to do pretty much what I said I’d do, and maybe elaborate here and there.

Presenting Dom’s Most Frequently Asked Questions, and The Answers You Should Have Prepared:

Why Are You Leaving?
This is a goody. You, being unique and beautiful, will have your own unique and beautiful reasons. I found an especially moving account here. My own reasons are as follows…
1) I would rather go and be able to come back, than not go and not be able to at all. (This is a particularly handy one to haul out in any situation. Not only will it get most heads nodding, a good many folk will actually finish the sentence for you.)
2) I want to give my children every possible opportunity to thrive, and I’m not convinced this is the place for that to happen, given the slowly declining standards of education and training in this country, that I do so dearly love.
3) I want to fish with my brother again.
4) Crime. Now, before you jump down my throat with ‘there’s crime all over the world’, allow me to clarify. I’m not leaving because there is crime in South Africa. I am leaving because my family and I, although obviously not us exclusively, are targets for crime in South Africa. (I also believe the government is not, despite its protestations to the contrary, directly doing enough to combat one of the primary causes of the situation; the vast and unmanageable levels of poverty in South Africa.) And on that note, if you’re reading this and thinking of leaving yourself, and if crime is your number one reason for leaving South Africa, please be under no illusion that the country of your destination will be crime-free. Because your first break-in or mugging will probably result in you turning tail and heading for home. But if it comes to that, don’t feel bad; you won’t be the first, and hey. At least you’ll be alive.

What Are You Going To Miss The Most? (Note, ‘What’ not ‘Who’.)
Lots. Probably the bush, mostly. Yes, every country has beautiful scenery and unique wildlife but, here in Africa, we have something unique you won’t find anywhere else. We have the Big Five and the Little Five. In Oz, the premier predator is a wild dog with a tendency for being blamed for eating small children. Oh, and deadly sting rays. Look, don’t get me wrong. It’s a beautiful country, and big parts of it will kill you just as quick as big parts of Africa. But you just can’t replace the thrill of seeing lion, leopard, or cheetah in the wild. Or the ubiquitous lilac breasted Roller, for that matter. I guess I’m about to find out.

But this is also a colourful and vibrant country, and I’m going to miss that sense of something always being on the go.

What Are You Going To Miss The Least?
A friend of mine recently returned from a couple of weeks in one of South Africa’s more ‘backwater’-type towns. The kind of town where the biggest news is what festivals are on that weekend, who’s playing in the pub this Friday, you get the picture. Turning the radio on when she got back to Joburg, and suddenly having to re-acclimatise to Joburg news was an eye-opener for her. Her story was an eye-opener for me, too; in short, I’m not going to miss the daily onslaught of violence, intolerance, and moral decay to which I’ve become so accustomed. Nor am I going to miss driving down Joburg’s streets and feeling guilty at not handing over my earnings to the occupants of every other street corner.

Will You Still Support The Springboks?
At this point not even the Springboks are supporting the Springboks – just ask ‘Puke’ Watson. But me, I’m cut from green and gold cloth. Some of my so-called friends have already disowned me for moving to Australia, and that’s their prerogative. They don’t play much rugby union in Victoria, but when the Bokke do play The Wannabes at the Telstra Dome, I’ll be the one madly waving a banner reading “BOKKE! FREE ME!”

The house of many boxes.

For those of you following this monologue with the intention of following in the footsteps of its author; now would be the appropriate time to start paying some serious attention.

It took two days to pack what’s left of our life into 143 boxes and packages of varying sizes. Come tomorrow, these will be stacked and packed into approximately 800 cubic metres of container space, leaving 200 cubic metres unaccounted for. How they get around this special anomaly is with a sturdy wooden plank-thing that simply holds all our worldly possessions in place for the duration of a nigh-on two-month sea journey. And for this we pay about R45 000.

Speaking of worldly possessions and money, the insurance on that little lot comes in at a neat R23 000 and change, bringing the total we’re shelling out for this move, on a material level, to a little under the previously mentioned R60k. Add to that the plane tickets for the four of us, and you’re knock, knock, knocking on the door of a hundred grand. Of course, you could do without the insurance, but your container cold also end up being one of dozens which, legend has it, fall off the ships on a monthly basis.

Not a good prospect.

So in the week since I last posted to my (admittedly very amateurish) blog, my house is in seven score and three boxes, I’m out a good few bob and one dog, I’m no closer to figuring out what to do with my cats or my cellphone contract, and my boxes are due to be packed into a container tomorrow, with a little luck.

Next week, or whenever I have the time:

The questions I am Most Frequently Asked, and the answers you should have prepared. Some highlights:

- Why are you leaving?
- What are you going to miss the most?
- Will you still support the Springboks?

They say things happen in threes...

OK. At a cost of about R45 000, the bulk of our worldly possessions is due to be shipped to our new home. In a 20ft container. On a ship. Over and above that is the insurance cost; 3.75% of the value of the goods – give or take, R13 000. The crew will arrive on Monday (22 Sept), spend two days packing/wrapping/stacking the stuff we're hauling over there, and a third day packing the newly-packed stuff into the 1 000 cubic metre container itself.

So. Three days of complete unrest in a household which has, naturally, spent the last three months in complete idyll; that will, by then, have offloaded the last of its three dogs; and be wondering what to do with its three remaining cats. The fish are another story altogether; I have no qualms about flushing those little free-loaders.

But let none persuade you otherwise people: this is upheaval at its unadulterated best. I'm sure the experience is different for every family, but here's how it's unfolding for us. We're not taking everything. Some of it is staying behind to furnish the house we're renting. In some ways this is easier. It means that we will have far less junk on the other side, and gives us the opportunity for a real, cathartic purge.

Herein, however, squats the toad... Because we're not packing the boxes ourselves, and may not be around every second of the packing days, we need to separate what goes from what stays so that those who will be packing, wrapping and stacking know what to do with which. This means sorting the contents of the entire house. This goes, this stays, not sure about that. Will that even work in Oz? What the hell do you mean I can't take my guitar magazines? You haven't made a smoothie in three years! I am so taking the espresso machine! It's getting funner by the day, and it's not even the new iPod Touch.

Come next Thursday, we'll have a relatively empty house, be out about sixty thou, and have a month and a half to go 'til D-Day. But all is not doom and gloom. Once all is packed, it's just the countdown to go really.

Until next time, I have a Renault Megane II 1.6 Dynamique Hatch for sale, with just 28 000kms on the clock, good condition, finance and service plan available through AA Autobay, R105 000 negotiable. Also the balance of a Vodacom Talk 240 contract with a Sony Ericsson K850i 5mp HSDPA3.6 phone to transfer, which is otherwise going to cost me R11 000 to cancel. And three cats, free to good homes.

They say things happen in threes. But does everything have to happen in threes all at once?