All that is gold does not glitter...

It was really hard to write something tonight, because I feel a bit fed up, a bit Thursday, a bit under-resourced project-managery.

I kept starting blog posts with no idea what to write.

Topics thrown around were:

1.       Brixton, London (where I live right now)
2.       Home (the concept of)
3.       Feeling lost (not all those who wander, are lost)
4.       First world problems (take 3)
5.       Connection
6.       Work (not appropriate)
7.       Crowds in London

8.    The gloom of living in today’s world and the lack of truth everywhere

Pickings are slim tonight. Also depressing. I’m exhausted, London is wearing me out, but like everyone is saying to me:

‘You have only been there two minutes Albino! Calm down!’

I’m adjusting, you see.

I’ve actually been inspired recently by The Catcher and the Rye. If you want to read a meandering, read that.

I picked up a 2^nd edition for £3 from a second-hand bookstore in Brighton and I read it really fast.

I love to read and I love to write, but there are many things I don’t care to read. Haven’t you noticed, how hard it is to read something that is badly written?

The Catcher in the Rye is a terrible book. No point, repetition, a lack of identification with the main character - who is inherently dislikeable.

So why did I read it?

Honesty. A stream of consciousness. It was real, no holds barred.

It talks about snot, about alcoholism, about being sullied by cynicism. Enhanced cynicism because the main character is sixteen years old. It is not likeable, but it is readable. Communication is complex, what can I say.

What can I say?

I’ve been in London five weeks and I just feel jarred. Maybe because I have a gorgeous, gorgeous home where I can relax in - my subconscious has figured out that now is a time to feel tired, finally.

‘Albino! Relax bro. Take a step back and just chillll.’

I am thinking back to times when I have had a huge holiday, only to come back home and get a terrible flu. I don’t have the flu but I feel a very tangible sense of exhaustion and weariness right now.

It is Thursday after all. And I do work in a fast-paced industry.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m struggling a little, but I think it’s completely OK to struggle right now. Thinking about the upheaval that my life has just undertaken, can you really blame me?

To put it into perspective: I just moved to the other side of the world (five weeks ago), gave up my well-paid secure government job for adventure and London. Via women-hating India and many mishaps. Only to take up work in an identical industry six days after arrival.

But I am here, I have a home, I have a nice job, I can buy nice clothes, I can complain.

That should say it all. Just that.

Here is what I know now:

…

Let me get back to you on that.

I may be meandering, this may be a wandering, but not all who wander are lost.

J.R.R. Tolkien.

Also a terrible writer, but a great message.

Wish me luck - one day at a time eh.

P.S. I guess number three won.

P.S.S. J.R.R. Tolkien may not be a terrible writer, because the above is an incredible poem. 

Amster... dayumm.

Go to Amsterdam, they said. You will have fun, they said. 

Firstly, sorry for the lack of posts recently, it's been insane this week at work and I was too busy surviving and partying in Amsterdam to blog-on-the-go, so to speak. 

I've been brutally honest in this post. I thought about omitting some things, but then I realised that I hadn't actually done anything wrong. I didn't break the law.* I planned and booked accommodation, I sent messages in advance from London. Let's just say: next time, I'll plan better. 

Taken last Saturday afternoon, reflective of the way I was feeling. 

23.06.2018

This adventure begins at Luton Airport, one of the crappiest airports in the world. A concrete wasteland an hour-and-a-half from London, one of those depressing places that you wouldn't bother visiting unless you were were a cheapass traveler looking for any way to visit Europe (me, everyone).

Speaking of those depressing places you would never bother visiting, I am reminded suddenly of this port in Bali where you catch boats to Gili Island. Pay-as-you-go toilets (bucket operated) and locals who both despise and depend on you. Awful.

Unlike Bali, Luton has this amazing Ted Baker store, its only saving grace. I purchased a graceful pantsuit that makes me look very European - we hope. I could have skipped the pantsuit and the whole awful evening that was to follow by not buying a budget flight and investing in a better one though.

The flight was delayed by so many hours that I stopped counting. Luckily, time passed quickly as the airport was bursting with gorgeous young Europeans up for a chat. I learned that Northern Ireland has not had a government for a few years (how the fuck did I miss that?) and I met an alumnus of the institution I work for. I tried on all the perfumes too.

Then it all went horribly wrong. On arrival in Amsterdam, half-starved (smelling great) and two hours into the next morning both my phones stopped working. No one around me seemed to speak English, including the signs. 

I approached the Sheraton across the road - fully booked. I was approached by a taxi driver who claimed to know the address of my AirBnB, he offered to drive me for €20. 

After a disorienting ride in a car driving on the right, we arrived on the street of the alleged AirBnB. 

As I was staring at the impenetrable doors of a deserted unfamiliar street, it suddenly occurred to me that we are way too reliant on phone apps. With AirBnB, kind of like Uber, you don't usually share your personal details with each other - even though I had provided my phone number to the host, she never called and I never received any messages because the roaming data wouldn't connect. I couldn't top up my personal mobile because the provider doesn't accept Amex and my HSBC card was still not activated. Batteries on both phones were running low and my chargers have UK plugs, not EU ones. 

Basically, I was screwed. I'm very aware now of what I could have done differently, and I would really appreciate it if you didn't point out what you think I could have done unless you do it really nicely, LOL.

By the way, my driver friend, Fatih, didn't speak many words of English, and me only about three French words (whyyy did he not speak Dutch, I don't know). Instead we communicated via the alien language of a silly Albino Kiwi lost in the Netherlands. 

We then tried to find a hotel (3:00 am local time). Everywhere was fully booked. Can I stress here that I always try dressing as respectable as possible for airports, so I wasn't being turned away because I looked like a lunatic, even though I felt like one. 

I re-booked my accommodation for the weekend at a computer in one of the hotels I attempted to stay in. 

I'll never forget; the second-worst moment of this ordeal was when I asked a reception guy what he would do in my situation. 

'Hopefully I will never be in your situation' was his worrying reply. 

By then I just wanted to get out of the hotel, out of the damn car to find a friendly bush that didn't talk back to me to curl up in for the night. 

Believe me, I really, really wanted to do this, but I also needed electricity to charge my phones, unless I wanted to be really screwed the next day too. 

So when Fatih told me I could sleep in his house for about the fifth time that evening, I had to accept. Luckily Fatih had a trustworthy vibe about him and the fact that he refused to let me fend for myself on the street made me very appreciative; duty of care and all that. 

Fatih brought me snacks and Fanta and I managed to sleep for a few hours. 

But before I fell asleep I saw myself from a distance. Lying on the possibly illegally-occupied floor of an attic room in Amsterdam covered with a blanket in a house with no running water, it wasn't a great situation. But I felt humbled by someone who had so little, would give a roof and snacks to me. 

Then suddenly a bowl was placed on the dusty floor next to my floor patch. Somehow in our alien language Fatih conveyed to me that I could pee in the bowl, if I wished. 

Fatih (in the same room) was to get up twice throughout the night to pee into a bottle. I heard every drop, on that dark, dark night. Horrifying, but the price of (possibly) free rent, I suppose. 

So there we have it, the first-worst moment of that ordeal. You can't make this shit up.

I write this on my walk out of there, phone sorted and body, mind and spirit relatively unscathed.** 

I guess I did break the law. *I peed in a nature park on the way to my new-and-improved hotel. **And got scraped by stinging nettle. 

Last night taught me that even if you are a French speaking African driver, you can still both save a girl's life and completely freak her out. 

An even bigger lesson: make sure your fucking phones work when you travel.

Today's goals are simple: visit a museum, buy toothpaste, go to a trance gig and smoke weed legally for the first time in my life. 

Let's face it. I need it after last night. 

Because sometimes you must march the streets...

I promise I won't do this very often.

But this is an exceptional circumstance.

President Donald Trump is visiting the UK on 13 July and I would like to get a Kiwi contingent to the anti-Trump protest at the US Embassy on 33 Nine Elms Lane, London at 12:00 pm. 

I'm sick of re-sharing news articles along the lines of what-did-he-do-this-time. 

So how about, if you know a Kiwi in the UK right now, share this with them?

It's time to have some fun and march against this orange-haired lunatic. 

This is a peaceful protest.

The purpose of our contingent will be to convey that Kiwis living in London are opposed to the British government hosting President Trump and therefore being complicit in his disregard of human rights and the rule of law.

Event link is here. 

A teaser of what to come is below. 

See you there. xx

Road rage

Auckland, my beloved home city, has many transport woes.

When Sydney reached the same population size that Auckland is now (over 1.5 million), she invested in a world-class railway network.

In the 1950's, Auckland was 'well served' by public transport, but we also chose to dismantle our tram system then (why?). 

Auckland has one railway line. One. You can go to one platform, or you can go to the other platform.

When Auckland hosted the Rugby World Cup in 2012, the trains just couldn’t handle it. People pushed the emergency buttons and trains were stranded for hours - Auckland Transport (AT) couldn’t quite grasp the fact that they would be inundated with three times as many passengers than they had planned for. Or failed to plan for.

Word on the street tells me that even town planners avoid working in Auckland.

Petrol prices in Auckland are $2.24 NZD per litre, even before the government's (much needed 11.5 cents) fuel tax is implemented. 

So despite what we are paying (and we can add expensive rent and astronomical house prices to that), we don't get quite the same infrastructure that many other cities enjoy.

This puts us in quite a quandary. What do we do about the mess we are in?

If you drive into town from the West or the North Shore, then may the Lord (Mayor) have mercy on you.

For me, it's not rocket science - get out of the car and hop into the future. 

When I see considerably large amounts of taxpayer money spent on roads, or plans to create more toll roads, I feel a stabby sort of rage.

Obviously we need those roads.

For all the Prii and hydrogen cars and buses and bikes.

I feel anger towards the wide berth we gave to Communities and Residents and their business-friendly chums for so many years. People whom I have always struggled to understand. Would love to hear from them though. 

Why, why do the people who scorn the very institution of government, get themselves elected to purposefully do as little as possible and undermine the whole system that got their sorry selves elected in the first place? I will never know.

Auckland, a stunning isthmus where there are beaches and volcanoes everywhere. Auckland, where the restaurants are to die for. Auckland, a dazzling array of multiculturalism and amazing people. 

Look at it this way:

Imagine you are at a party. A very good party. A party with different rooms for different DJs. But the music is so loud in the other rooms, you can’t hear your own room. So you turn the volume up.

Then the room next to you has more trouble hearing their own DJ, so they pump up the volume too.

Eventually all the rooms follow suit and the music becomes deafening, so people leave the party because it’s shit.

I’m sure anyone who has ever queued in Auckland’s traffic jams or for a crowded bus can relate to this.

I’m sure young people such as myself who have left New Zealand for a better, quicker, more sustainable commute to work, can relate to this.

Try taking public transport to a random place in Auckland, for example. Leaving Mt Roskill at 6:30 am to get somewhere near the airport by 8:00 am, (is Auckland Airport a random place??) I used to live on a main road and take two buses to work when I was saving for my move to Melbourne. A 30 minute drive by car.

And that was on a good day. A day when the bus showed up.

There are silver linings to the new "Auckland Transport Alignment Project" (ATAP) announced today though.

Jacinda’s government, bless them, rejected an earlier version of the Regional Land Transport Plan, Auckland Transport's 10-year funding plan, in January because it didn’t align with Auckland Council or government policy.

And we also have Skypath and Seapath which will see cyclists and walkers commute across our beautiful Harbour Bridge.

When an integrated fares system (the HOP card) was introduced in 2012, patronage was double what was forecast. 

Patronage continues to grow in leaps and bounds on our humble train line. 

But personally, the way transport is going in Auckland, I think what we need is a path of revolt.

What we need are angry cyclists buzzing and weaving through our roads, scaring those pesky one passenger cars away.

A real photo from Auckland.

A car-free day where everyone takes to the streets and walks to work in protest, no matter where they come from or how late for work it will make them.

The ATAP plan may invest a lot of money. But as the transport writer who I have been following for years, Simon Wilson says, ‘The money is widely spread, with most of it going on roads and few projects getting all the money they need.’

Most of it going on roads.

We’ve been spending most of our money on roads for decades, while Auckland's growth carries on regardless.

It’s time we spent our money smartly.

It’s time we started thinking more long-term, if it’s not too late, that is. Investing in a world-class public transport system doesn't cost what it did 20 years ago.

It’s time to wake up, Auckland.

What does it mean to connect? Tell me when you figure it out.

Theme song today.

'I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does.'

So London is a funny place.

We spend our whole lives trying to connect.

Whether that connection is to our goals, to our definition of success, to our friends, families or romantic partnerships. We are all trying to connect, to attach to something. To belong. To have ties to something or someone we can be-long with.

Actually in psychiatry / psychology, if a tiny human doesn’t form an attachment with those who raise them, they are in for a little bit of trouble.

I must tell you, moving to the other side of the world is very refreshing. Starting again, seeing the world like a baby, but also effort is required to make new attachments.

I don’t know about you, I am always looking for connection. Whether it’s the guy in the dairy, my managers, new cool friends or my hairdresser.

A bit like this (you'd be surprised how many memes on the web cover this):

I look at the people I interact with in the eye and I am always up for a chat. With most.

I’m trying to crack this London egg. And I am, cracking these bastards one at a time. Sounds very psychopathic, lol. Let’s call it getting people to open up, haha.

There are people in my new job who are fond of me, my new housemate is fond of me, my AirBnB hosts have been fond of me.

Or is it I who is fond of them? I’m not always great at telling the difference.

There’s been a few hugs (platonic!) let’s just put it that way.

The point of this post is that mostly it’s been harder to crack that London egg.

So many grumpy people here. And who can blame them? This city is huge, it’s more than rough for more than a few people.

So very grateful it is not rough, on the scale of things, for me.

The fact that I have time to blog and moan about First World Problems is testament to this.

But on the street, in the dairy and crowded spaces…. You think going ten floors underground in a packed tube for over thirty minutes is natural for human beings?! Probably not. Have you heard about black snot? Let’s not go there.

There is this slightly mean culture in the politest city on earth. Like when no one cares how they act when no one’s looking. No social graces to honour. I know this happens everywhere, but those people who take two seats (one for each butt cheek and maybe a third for their bag) on public transport, for example.

A work culture where people would rather please you at the time than honour what they promise you.

Disclaimer: I do not have experience of this in my current workplace (yet). This is the word of other expats.

For me, the proof is in the pudding. Judge people by what they do, not just by what they say.

Again, back to project management, a healthy project should be very action-oriented. With a plan.

If you have a dream, always follow with the word plan.

Don’t be fooled by my travels, I may be living a dream, but are dreams always sensible?

If I travel, it’s harder, yet more fulfilling, to be in a new city and have all this reconfiguration to do. 

Many people who I have managed to connect with have said ‘wow I could never do that, travel alone.’ As if I’m being brave or something.

I’m not brave I’m just curious.

You’ll have to excuse these monologues. Maybe this post is dreary, but the experience I am having is one of feeling like I am on to something very good.

Thank you for reading.

Homeless in London

The streets are unfamiliar, the AirBnB is grim.

How was I to know, I wouldn’t like Brixton.

I’m eating in the park, because bedroom eating is off-limits.

I wish they’d said this in the ad, because I would have packed a picnic.

The night is getting dark, my mood is still light.

I’m homeless in London with no eating rights.

One day at a time, soon a new house will be mine.

I won’t feel as guilty for having a late bed time.

Homeless in London, has it really come to this?

Where you can’t go anywhere unless you pay to piss.

Summer in the Northern Hemisphere, where the sun sleeps after ten.

Summertime in London, alone but zen.

I can taste chicken in my felafel, and in my Sunday chips.

I must start cooking my own food again, before my clothes go “rip”.

Homeless in London, I wouldn’t change a thing.

No one to tell me where to go or tell me what to think.

Homeless in London, at least I have a job.

Homeless in London but not looking for places to rob.

Summertime in London, nothing can really compare.

Even if I don't know, what I’m doing here.

Brighton, land of creative foodies with less fucks to give - they already spent them on being socially-responsible

Oh Brighton. A place that has already nuzzled in to a soft spot in my heart. 

So much like Melbourne, a city on the other side of the world who also has a Greens MP representing it. 

The clothing is as colourful as the range of openly celebrated sexualities. 

A haven for people escaping London, like my excellent friend who hosted us.

Brickwork streets that weave through a throng of strolling, socially-responsible humanity. 

Open air markets where people insist on not taking your money.

Rare second-hand bookshops with early editions of A Catcher in the Rye and all of Haruki Murakami's collection (I really shouldn't read him, the stories are incredibly depressing but there's not many authors I like).

Ah-MAZING food. Vegan everything.

Food from Snorl's and Tun Tun's.

Foodstores with cashew cheese, soy cheese, coconut cheese, facon, gluten-free heaven.

My goods.

An arcade room of addiction. There were these 2p machines that you loaded your 2ps into as they slowly pushed cheap prizes your way. 

The 2p machines, who turn the most unlikely suspects into problem gamblers. 

I don't gamble and was skeptical, but I got out £1 worth of 2ps and was the first to run out of the three of us. So I got out £3 and played with conviction, finally winning a tiny teddy bear blazoned with the word Brighton. 

More serious players had the option of using the 50p machines for more valuable prizes (more expensive-looking key rings).

I looked at my phone. I had lost 20 minutes to gambling, and there were missed calls from my friends. I walked outside into the bright sunlight, squinting.

I invested the rest of my 2ps towards my bottle of prosecco for our aperol spritz. 

And finally, a stony beach with a beautiful view. 

Brighton Beach 

So that was Brighton for me.

The best part of course was the lovely company I had. Other traveller friends are the best type of friend. If you travel together, you are forced to bond very quickly. And although years may have passed, your friendship will be like no time has passed when you do see each other.

I remembered what it was like to have three Kiwi girls in one room together. Constant talking and missing funny cultural tidbits, like the idea of bringing a plate to a BBQ.

We talked about what it was like being in our thirties (the first time we met we were in our teens). Of what it means to be a young woman today. Of becoming who we really are. Of having less fucks to give. 

And agreement that if the travel bug hadn't got us in Spain, 2006 then we would all be in very different places right now. Probably in NZ and up the duff. 

This is us, Brighton, UK, 10 June 2018.

I think that travelling the world can really change you, show you what's possible. And once your eyes are open, it's hard to close them again. 

I will forever be slightly restless. A desire to see more, do more, be more. 

And these friends understand me.  

Brighton, a city in the UK just behind London in terms of tourist numbers. 

I am enjoying my last hour in Brighton by going on a date by myself with a vegan breakfast (in the late afternoon). I feel completely content. 

I think Brighton understands me too. 

Lessons learned

I will start off with a Jiu-Jitsu quote: 'There is no such thing as losing. When we lose, we are learning.'

We all make mistakes. Sometimes we learn. Sometimes these mistakes become habits (the word habit derived from something that you "wear" a lot of the time.

Even with the best teacher, we are autonomous beings and prefer to figure things out for ourselves - or is that just me?

Strangely enough, when I have been humble and just taken instruction this has reaped huge rewards. After all, if there was no trust, learning and the application of learning, the world would be in an extremely shittier state. 

In fact, I find people who are very skeptical and self-sufficient tedious. 

I have learned the most from my first science teacher. My physics teacher. Marian Keyes (an author), J.K. Rowling. My taekwondo instructor. My striking instructor. My jiu-jitsu instructors. My Maori teacher. Maori in general. My scheduling and planning mentors. (Some) of my managers.  The politicians I have been lucky enough to work for. My Mum. My brother. My sister. 

These lessons are endless, Michaelangelo famously said 'I am always learning.'

I was an absolute teacher's pet and rarely had a teacher I didn't like. I am notorious for sucking up to people, but I don't mean to be.

Sometimes this person has been me. There is nothing more fulfilling than establishing a  lasting change in a person or organisation for the better. I suppose that's why I love project management. 

Sometimes we learn the most from the managers who have fired us. The ex-boyfriends. The frenemies. Political allies who betray. The swindlers. The bullies. The micro-managers. The scammers (lol). 

It fucking sucks at the time, but there almost always comes a point where I look back and say 'thanks for lesson, Universe.' Not always. But there are good odds for a good lesson. 

I knew moving to London meant expecting the unexpected, but there is nothing quite like real life. 

I'm writing this because it's a slow news week and I have a new job which takes up 40 hours in my week. I could write about my job, but that would be unprofessional, and honey I barely hold the "professionalism" together as it is. I have already recycled a post this week and I already wrote about the weather. I'm grasping at biodegradable straws here.

I'm writing this because I move AirBnBs tomorrow and I am procrastinating packing. 

I'm writing this because I have a very strong feeling about clouds in my near future, and this is my way of preparing for the worst. 

So I'm writing about lessons learned. 

This is actually a PRINCE2 term (PRojects In Controlled Environments, 2nd edition bought to you by the UK Government, lol).

What I have learned is the following:

Your Mother is always right. Just last night she predicted how my evening would go, and this AMAZING woman is on the other side of the planet!

Even if you progress things, strategic thinkers understand that sometimes, moving forward means moving back. And they will push you back.

Just because you have empathy, doesn't mean that everyone else does, and people will throw you under the bus. 

NEVER USE ACRONYMS unless they are part of the urban dictionary. 

If you are drinking, a sober person will always be able to tell.

Even if you think you're not prosperous, or are struggling with money, give something away. Anything. Skip traditional logic. If you give something away, boom. You have it. And there's more where that comes from.

Confidence is everything. 

Courage is everything (Gryffindor through-and-through).

Go! Make a splash. Be controversial. We might only have this one life. 

It is people, it is people, it is people. 

Always listen to your intuition. You will know when it is trying to tell / teach you something. 

Never under estimate yourself. But stay humble (humble simply meaning the absence of pride). Sounds like a contradiction, but life is full of dichotomies.

Be yourself. Sure, what else could you be? Authenticity is hot. And if you're not, then be open to change. Every 90 days the human body replaces every single cell. And our minds are the control centre. 

Change is good. You only stop changing when uou die. Do you want to change for the better or for the worse?

You are skinnier than you think you are. Pffffft. Shhhh. I won't hear it! Trust me. 

Don't procrastinate. But if not now, then when?

Purpose statements and to-do lists. Do 'em.

Speaking of, I really need to pack and join my lovely friend for dinner. 

Thank you for reading.

And if you have anything at all to teach me, I'm all ears.