Ingridgoes newzealand

2008-01-21T15:14:00.000-08:00

and just like that. Im gone again.
I break the silence after two months of silence, the moment where I prepare to move to a new location again.

I ve been in New Zealand for 3 months. Wait, let s call it what it is: Auckland. Because Auckland isn't necessarily New Zealand.

It has been a melancholic trip where I lost my focus for a while, and as usual, the moment that I decide to leave, I start to regain my confidence and get back in the zone.

I ve come to realize that my life can be dissected into 3 months-periods.
Three months of being in LA, three months of Mumbai, three months LA again, 3 months Auckland, another 3 months Auckland, and now my final 3 months Auckland. Meanwhile, my relationships seem to be doomed the 3 month-curse as well.
Material evidence to back this theory:
After every big 3 month-period in the last 3 years, my phone gets stolen (I have the receipts to prove it)

Is it karma? my 3 month-doom?

I dont know, I do know that this morning, after 3 months....my phone is gone.
(oh well, these last two weeks, I have been living in a backpackers, so it was bound to happen, I guess).

From the moment I arrived here at the beginning of October, I remembered why I didn't particularly like this town, it s grey, even when it s sunny. The town is very undefined -it could be the setting for any city without specific characteristics-, And even though it has some good bits, like all towns... I would call the town: very...plain... vanilla.

I wont go into details about these last 3 months, because even for me its a blurry blob of random events. They were challenges of perseverance, which I may have failed, as I am moving back to Europe.
And although sometimes dissappointment strikes, I have decided there will be no regrets. Not now, nor about any of the three months-periods before, because, really, what s the point?

Yet, you can never help but analyze what is, your life.

I m 27, a random age where in conventional standards, you should have a steady boyfriend or husband, - and maybe also already your first big break-up or divorce-. You should be pregnant, already have a kid -or at least have had The Talk - with longterm boyfriend or husband.
And finally, have a career, or a hint of one at least.

Although, I dont have the first two things sorted, and the hint of a career, is just a hint, not more... I find that my happiness -for now- lies in a different kind of knowledge.
More specifically, in the knowledge that I have friends and family, in a place that I call home, no matter where I go, or how long I go away for.
And really, even when politicians try to dictate disagreement and division, Belgium is not such a bad place to call home.

What I also figured out is that I have lost the romantic notion related to work.
Especially when the make-belief tries to sip thru in daily life, I start to appreciate it all for what it is: my life, my reality, my choices.

I know, it s a pretty basic knowledge, but this realization makes this 3 month-cycle completely worth it.

Meanwhile, these last days here.. I mentally prepare for the big sister-reunion in Sydney on friday- the oldest coming from Belgium, the youngest coming from Auckland, meeting the middle one, in the middle, Sydney, where she currently resides.

Sydney, where we will be spending 12 days together as sisters, and after not have passed more then 4hours together since puberty, I reckon, this to be quite the challenge, a good reality tv format.

So, while I prepare for the next three month-cycle of my life... I take it all in, I take it for what it is, vanilla Auckland.

PS While I write this story, somenbody from the frontdesk just came in to tell me that an honest man came and handed in the phone!!!!
The end of the karma-thing, Maybe??... maybe not...

2007-11-20T18:00:00.000-08:00

Yes I know,
I realize I m slacking on the blog entries.
Blame it on getting acquainted with Facebook, blame it on having to sign a confidentiality agreement, blame it on the fact that there is nothing new to tell since last time I was here, and that it all isn't that exciting.
The main cause is probably, because I m feeling a little blue right now, stranded not knowing where to go next in my life. I wished I was feeling more inspired along the road of doubt.

Maybe it will come back, maybe it wont.
Until it does... I suggest all of you to read a good book; the tabloids, a glossy magazine or the back of a cereal box, it all beats these blog entries at the moment.

2007-11-07T14:52:00.002-08:00

It s Movember-month in New Zealand...

What is Movember:

Movember (the month formally known as November) is a moustache growing charity event held during November each year.
At the start of Movember guys register with a clean shaven face. The Movember participants known as Mo Bros then have the remainder of the month to grow and groom their moustache and along the way raise as much money and awareness about male health issues, in particular prostate cancer as possible. Movember culminates at the end of the month at the gala partés. These glamorous and groomed events will see Tom Selleck and Borat look-a-likes battle it out for their chance to take home the prestigious Man of Movember title. (www.movember.com)

Women can sponsor a Mo-bro... or euh grow one themselves, or their armpit-hair...
hmmmm, classy alternative...

2007-11-05T13:02:00.000-08:00

In the plane you see all the movies you wouldn't actually if you were on earth.
Like the Hollywoodblockbuster Evan Almighty, or 'the Best of Asia' movie 'Love is not all around'... Summary of this fantastic movie:

Chia-Bao, Ching-Ching and Che-Rong are very close friends. When Che-Rong cheats on Ching-Ching, she confides in Chia-Bao. Chia-Bao bumps into her ex-boyfriend and discovers the complicated relationship between her friends.

... I'll Say!!!!

2007-11-05T12:32:00.000-08:00

Bangkok 01 november 2007 16h55

So I made a scene, so What.
The Woman at customs in Bangkok didn't speak english and wouldn't let me pass with my wodka-bottle (come to think of it...it sounds very trailor-trash when I write it down like this).
But I would not accept this stupid random rule again, as the very expensive bottle was purchased a gift in a Duty free shop in Heathrow.
The plane would just have to leave without me ... and the bottle.
Because, at that point, it really got on my nerves when all these international airports have their own ridiculous little rules just to keep up the safety-show.
Show, all show I realized. I figured this out during my september-trip thru Canada and the USA, when I was able to pass three airports with a big ass cutter knife in my carry-on bag (without knowing of course, - I know: it was a big oopsie).
Can you imagine, in London they even have an X-ray machine for shoes only. All part of the big scam, under the codename: keeping-up-appearances.

So Yes, I lost it with the wodka-bottle. And yes, my little Rain-man-episode helped. The wodka was coming with me! Jieha.

2007-10-31T04:28:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, Yeah... I leave in 1 hours. Back to the Airport-euwh.. I know- , back to other side of the world, back to this blog.

I ll start up the story here where I left off last time.

'Cause as you might know by now, blogging goes better when I am abroad, so that s what I ll do.

More news after the long Voyage

2006-11-09T07:21:00.000-08:00

the saga continues on:

http://the-world-according-to-ingrid.blogspot.com

2006-06-20T15:38:00.000-07:00

This might come as quite the surprise to you all, but this will be the last entry on my blog, at least as ingridgoesnewzealand in New Zealand itself.
My time here has come to an end, I am coming home.
Time for a new destination, maybe not at the other side of the world, but there are new horizons to be discovered, challenging frontiers to be crossed.
This last week has been a week of rounding up formalities, organising my shit, quitting my job, heavy drinking with friends, but above all some random fun moments. Since the end of this chapter in my life is in sight, everything has accelerated and switched into a new gear.
New Zealand has been one hell of a ride. Okay, sometimes afraid of overheating, and difficulties going uphill, but over all, I did take the windy roads with a certain level of ease.
I came; I saw, and sometimes I was in awe. I cried, I was down, got up again to fall in love with Life, and the fact that I did (and am doing) it my way.
On the cheers of Gabriel Rios’s‘Broad daylight’ blasting thru the speakers of my Honda Prelude, I smile.
And scratch the last thing of my to do-list before I go:
car sold for 600 dollars.

What awaits me behind the bend?

Anyway, to all of you, it has been a pleasure sharing my thoughts, or virtually throwing it into the great unknown cyberspace, ready to be red by anyone or no one. I hope you enjoyed my therapy for coping with life downunder at the other side, where the water runs clockwise.

2006-06-20T15:24:00.000-07:00

Natalie wanted me to put at least one normal picture of her on my blog, to be sure that there is no confusion, after that last picture on the ferry where she looked like she has walked off a B-horror-flick
To rectify this situation, I hereby put the only picture with the both of us, taken with the timer on a rock in Kaikoura.
And if you are wondering what that hell that thing is in between us… that is indeed a seal licking itself.Nice

2006-06-07T20:08:00.000-07:00

I moved house again. I feel like Juliette Binoche in Chocolat… on the move all the time…but then without the child, or the ability to cook, nor with Johnny Depp floating by on a raft.
If I think about it, the comparisation is maybe not ideal.
Besides, I moved back to the familiar, not the new. For these last four weeks in New Zealand, I have a room back in my old house.
But before the move, I went on a blow-it-all-on-expensive-gas-one day roadtrip. Why? Because I can.
Destination: Coromandel Peninsula. A two hours and a half drive from Auckland (for me and my car that means 3).
It was a random idea, a belgian woman who I share mutual friends with in Belgium, lives around there, and I thought we might be able to go for coffee. Indeed, that is one expensive Latte. It better be a good one.

The road there.

I was amazed by the little hobbit roads with goats grazing at the side and only a small amount of roadkill (12 to be exact). On one side, big willow trees, rocks and meadows, on the other side the big blue. It was spectacular, but also quite hazardous because most of the time passing cars would just barely pass. I was also expecting to see a hobbit jump from behind one of the big trees, so I drove extra carefully.
I didn’t have a map of the area, but that didn’t worry me, because in the end, it's like the saying says: all roads lead to Kuaotunu.
Stopping from time to time for a view or two, and driving by the mainstreet of the little town only twice, I finally did make it to the little town.
And yes, of course, the coffeeshop was, of course, closed. We had to improvise, so she bought me an icecream instead. I felt like a six year old, with this hudge one scoop icecream (very Very generous portion). What a great day.

We sat down and enjoyed our icecream by the sea in an area which the locals call ‘the office’, because everybody comes there after work. And indeed, they did, all these 9 to 5 working class surfers stepped into the office around 4 o clock. We overheard the random small town drug use talk.(‘man, I had some magic mushrooms! ‘Yeah mate, I had a potion this morning, I am completely shattered’…WWOow, look at that wave, Awesome!)
After an hour or two, I had to go home, because work in the fantastic belgian bar awaited the next day (besides Boston Legal was on TV tonight, the only show I watch since Lost, lost it’s appeal).
So on my way home, I drove into a glorious sunset with a vanilla and cinnamon latte on my lap from a deluxe coffeemachine at a local gasstation along the way. (it was as disguisting as I would imagine it to have been).

Back home after three hours. My new home. No power. Apparently a powerpole had caught fire on St George Street. My housemate and me looked it on a map, and we decided we would do some disastertourism. So we drove down to the pole, to see the show, but to our dissappointment: no fire, only a technical failure.
‘Hey, excuse me, Sir?’ I say to the nearest big dude in a fluorescent vest staring at the pole, ‘How long is it gonna take to fix?’.
‘Oh, I don’t know, mate, two, maybe three hours’.
‘Oh,… can’t you do it, in like,… ten minutes, Boston Legal starts at 9 30’.
He laughs. But I am serious.
Apparently he can’t.
My housemate comes up with the great idea to go and see it in my old house, so we do. We watch the show -which was good, of course- and by the time we go home, the house is completely lit again. It took them less then two hours.
Well done, mate.

2006-06-07T19:52:00.000-07:00

One Cold Day at Piha.

Just sat there, in the sand. Reading the book 'Girlfriend in a coma'.
The young boy and the sea.

It was a glorious day.

2006-06-04T17:31:00.000-07:00

When you dream the same as what you do in real life, now that is when life strikes you as quite boring and scary at the same time..
I remember quite vividly my dream of yesterdaynight:
Taking orders from very rude people in the belgian bar.
Yep, that was my dream. And on top of it all, I of course, woke up tired.
Now how sad is that?

On top of it all, I think the manager has it in for me now (in real life, but with my luck probably as well in my dreams).
Why? Well, because I was the first one to complain about their policy.
In a nutshell, this is the deal: we all get payed 12$ an hour (7,2 € - that is BEFORE taxes), and unlike America, tipping is not common around these parts.
On top of that, waitresses working 9 to 5 don’t get a lunchbreak, they get 2x 10 minutes of, but no meal. Only when you work 10 hours you get a half an hour break with a meal. When you work 9 hours (a split shift): you get 10 minutes off and a meal during your own free hours.
Now, I am no Erin Brokovich, but I did ask her if she thought that this was fair. (the exact words I used were: 'Is this legal?').
She said it was the minimum required by law and people have never complained about it. Indeed, people don’t complain, because they get free alcohol from time to time and they don’t want to ruin that chance of free beer.
Aahh, hospitalilty, such a fanatastic place to develop a good and healthy addiction and lose all sense of reason.

At this moment, I am losing that, plus my sense of humour and my wits.
(thank God I have lost my religion long before REM sang about it, so that doesn’t affect me that much anymore).
But really, where did my dreams go?
Like one of my sister's many quotes:
Dreams are just dreams, goals are dreams with a deadline.

Having experienced some setbacks yet again (projects getting postponed or cancelled)
I think it is time to get back on track. Start the soulsearching all over again.
Moving on, and for the time being, this meaning: coming home, is a first step in the right direction.
Moving back to the summerseason will make my days…at least a little brighter.

The end of the ride is in sight.

2006-05-29T03:37:00.000-07:00

RE: Insomnia-topic of previous post:

Nevermind people,
the problem solved itself in the end...

Besides the grey streak of hair ... I seem to be back to normal (such a relative concept)

2006-05-24T13:26:00.000-07:00

I can't get no sleep... or at least not enough. I wake up at 6AM to not be able to fall asleep until 6 AM the next day ... and then only for a few hours.

Does that qualify as insomnia?

Seriously, anybody some ideas?

PS I reject in advance any ideas that start with the words 'sheep' or 'tea'.

2006-05-22T05:46:00.000-07:00

Life at night...

Yep indeed,
I can tell I am working in a bar again.
The hospitality-world ..unbelievable….
They even categories the waitresses…the one that stick was: a tip-whore: a waitress that would do almost everything for a tip.
(don’t worry, the most one gets out of me is a fake smile, and that is already pushing it).
And on top of that … the choice of music depends on the mood of the manager. For example: I heared Tiffany’s ‘I think we are alone now’, already 5 times this week,…-this song should have been banned after the eighties-
I think she s trying to say something to our favourite waiter… subtilty is everything in this world.

And then of course there is the random rambling/gossip:
Did you know that X is screwing Y?
How do you want that cooked? Medium Rare?
Did you know she despises her because she is always looking at him?
Do you want that with or without ice?
Yep, it’s true: he is her fuck-buddy.
Oh,…you want that with sauce on the side, do you?

The glossy gossipmagazines would never be able to keep up.

It is indeed a quite intriguing, spicy world.
And I’d never thought, I would find myself being part of it again…
When I was still in college, I was going out late nights too.
We would go out and then say: Come on, a last tea in ‘the Weerelt’, which is code for: come on, let’s get completely shitfaced and explore the night.
Those were wild times, and I thought I was passed that now…
Apparently I am not.
Because today, I went to buy a bottle of wine, and they asked me for ID again..
Ah, it felt good.

Nightlife.

2006-05-15T01:52:00.000-07:00

And there I was, in a belgian beer course in Auckland, New Zealand, getting payed by my employer to do so.

‘Hi evelybody, I am going to be youl instructor about belgian beels’, said the short japanese man in front of the tapbar. For the next hour and a half he would share his passion for beer, his words of wisdom and his insights on costumer-relations.
He proudly tells us that he was the winner of last years’ belgian beermaster-competition and that he actually got the opportunity as a winner to go to Belgium (aka Utopia), and qualify for the world championship of serving a good Stella… He didn’t win that one. Naturally, he said, some guy from Belgium won. Hey, I should have asked his name, maybe I know the drunken bastard from my student days in Leuven.

But really, the tiny asian man was into his beers, it was adorable. I just wanted to squeeze his cute little cheeks.
‘Look, I pore the beel, and it is exactly like the picture on the coaster’ See? Exactly the same.’

I couldn’t stop but smile (not because he was asian, people), but because he was always looking in my direction for confirmation. Maybe it was because he thought I was from headoffice when I said I was from Belgium in the beginning of the course. I should have just gone with it.

So class, what did we learn?
Beer is 90percent water, some spices, grain and yiest. 90 percent water, so what’s the fuzz about?

Lambik Beer (or Lembeek, is the correct pronunciation apparently)
framboise or kriek: for a chocolatemousse-dessert

Abbey beer: Leffe for the Belgian Stew (aka frieten met mayo en stoofvlees)

White beer (not Wheat beer!!!): White Van Hoegaarden for Mossels with coconut cream and lemongrass

Lager: Stella (means star, which was a christmas-special in the 1920’s and was such a succes that it still here today):... with a salad maybe?

Golden Ale: Duvel (apparently means devil in dutch -nobody really cares we haven’t written it like that since medieval times, but hey). Oh yes: the beer continues to yiest in the bottle… : good with … anything.

Trappist beer: Chimay is made by monks, and it is so expensive because there are not a lot of them left in Belgium. With a cheeseplatter.

When he asked me if it was the same as in Belgium, I said ‘euh yeah, sure’.
My hesistation was apparently obvious, so he explained that what I probably meant, was that the Stella tastes slightly different here from back in Belgium, because it is produced made here with fresh New Zealand-springwater.
It wasn’t that, but I nodded anyway, because it made me seem like an expert.

The thing is, yes indeed, we have a beerculture in Belgium and, yes, maybe that is partly because beer costs less then sodawater over there, but also maybe, because it isn’t a posh thing like here. In most bars, cafés, it definitaly doesn’t have the whole complete ritual proceeding getting one (I kid you not; it took him forever to serve one, the only thing missing was a prayer).
I really didn’t want to burst his bubble by telling him that for some drunks, some mutants, it isn’t really about the beer, but more about the alcohol in the beer.
No, that would have been cruel, especially when he gave us a written test at the end and a excellspreadsheet to take home to study.
Now that level of devotion to one’s craft can only be admired (from afar), and in the end, I confess, the tiny man did teach me more about the beers, more then I have ever learned in Belgium.

He concluded with:
‘Maybe who knows? You will be the next winner and will be so lucky to go to Belgium…
Aah, If only...

2006-05-12T09:08:00.000-07:00

These last months that I ve been at the other side of the world, ghosts from the past have come back into my life.
These Caspers (or then again: maybe they turn out to be Poltergeists), use anekdotes and pictures, to help me remember particular memories of my past, unlocking what has been sealed.
The thing is, when you are away from home, in a weird state of familiar (a)loneliness: recollection is easier and in some cases, forgiveness comes a little faster.
Why they decided to track you down? I assume: melancholy with a hint of nostalgia;‘What if’- Broken Flowers -scenarios (with Bill Murray) playing thru their minds.
Maybe the older you get, the more you try to reconnect with people you know when you were young.
...
Then again, what do I know? I am only 26.

My God, I have worked in a belgian beerbar for 2 days now (Yep, have to pay the bills) , and I already become the beerphilosoher I never wanted myself to become:
late at night at the bar, talking about ghosts from the past to a virtual bartender !(aka you). And Mr/Mrs.Cocktail-Cruise, don't even bother commenting on all of this, because the only thing a good bartender does is: agree or throw a wisdom out there that doesn’t apply.

I would do exactly the same, and it's probably what they are going to teach me Monday.
Because: my boss has asked me to go to a belgian beer class…, to learn about belgians and their beer. Isn't ironic that I have to be in New Zealand to get this speedcourse on belgian culture? On top of it all: I'm getting payed to do so!

It's for sure: I really don’t know what I am doing anymore. Can some friendly spirits out there show me the yellow brick road?

PS What I still need advice on is a previous post... the one 'What would you do'-hypothetical situation-post... cruel ideas are still more then welcome...

2006-05-07T23:47:00.000-07:00

The mexican place wasn’t as festive as one would imagine.
I could blame the neonlights, but I think it was more because in the end, 26 is no biggie, not like drunken 21 or daunting 30. It s a year that will slip by like any other in-between year. Creeping up to 30, it is still scary enough to a lot of people.
That next night, by coincidence, they didn’t asked my ID at the entrance of the bar anymore.
I don't know how I felt about that, but it did make me think.

By now, I should have a definite plan of what I want to be when I grow up.
I can no longer consider becoming a princess (last time I really gave this profession serious thought was in kindergarden, but still).

In the grownup alternative version of me: this is what my life/love would look like:
Around this time I would be content, having already been thru the Ikea-stage; buying a new sofa and coffeetable with my soon-to-be fiancée.
We would have discussed marriage, because it is important to his family and argued about having a dog or a cat. We would also have considered blowing up the ugly gardengnome in the frontyard of our neighbours, because we have taste. Although, we will soon have a gnome of our own. Or two. Maybe the unconventional three of four.
Time would pass, and he will have had an affaire, which I forgave him (because I had one too). It’s the soap of my life and each year I would take a day, and update and reclassify my albums by year or event. It would be the selective memory of ‘best moments together’.

Instead I am 26, and living out of a backpack at the other side of the planet, I don't know if 'content' is the right emotion to describe myself so far, but I do experience moments of random happiness. They can sometimes last upto 30 seconds, and mostly occur when I am a passenger in a car, or when I was younger, on the back of a
bike. I can’t see what the future holds, nor am I fixated on kodakmoments in the past, because I didn’t keep pictures after my parents stopped the photoalbum half way thru when I was 4. I realize that most pictures will never be glued in the album.
They probably figured it was up to me to organise my own recollection of things. And they were right, I should have, but I didn’t, so that is why my memories fade into one another. No definite years or exact times. It ‘s like a drunken haze of passing events: ‘educational’ schooltrips, fantastic vacations, wild scoutsweekends, traditional familyreunions... they are not in an album with a date next to it, I could never say: ‘this was the summer of 1991’, because it could easily be another one.
My mind functions a little like the fridge at the familyhouse. Every precious moment and person is randomly magnetised on there, but gets burried behind another picture and finally taken off and replaced by a new one.

If I could do it all over again. I would have albums. So that, when I would be old, I could be like my grandmother and show random strangers fragments of my life.
Although if I would be able to do it all over again, I probably wouldn’t, because I would still be my scattered old me. Maybe I will become the alternative me, only if and when the gnomes arrive.

Random thoughts like these are a symptom of the winterblues. While I hear that back home, everybody is cheering because summer is kicking in, two lumberjacks delivered the firewood for winter today.
Did you know a whole tree costs 200 dollar? I don’t know why that made me feel sad. And even less why it makes me wonder if Ikea exists over here.

2006-05-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

"Most people don't know that back in 1912,
Hellmann's mayonnaise was manufactured in England.

In fact, the Titanic was carrying 12,000 jars of
the condiment scheduled for delivery in Vera Cruz,
Mexico, which was to be the next port of call for
the great ship after its stop in New York.

This would have been the largest single shipment of
mayonnaise ever delivered to Mexico.

But as we know, the great ship did not make it to
New York. The ship hit an iceberg and sank, and the
cargo was forever lost.

The people of Mexico, who were crazy about
mayonnaise, and were eagerly awaiting its delivery,
were disconsolate at the loss. Their anguish was so
great, that they declared a National Day of
Mourning, which they still observe to this day. The
National Day of Mourning occurs each year on May
5th and is known, of course, as Sinko de Mayo."
(a did-you-know rumour from an unreliable source)

... And then exactly 68 years later I was born. (a scientific fact)
So that is why, tonight, I'm going to the Mexican café for free drinks:
Mayonaise.

2006-05-03T21:14:00.000-07:00

What would you do?

Purely hypothetical situation:
Say that you would have been married with a guy for 7 years, in which you were unhappy, and finally sick of the financial leeching and verbal abuse.
So, one day. You just leave. You pack your bags and go (like in Sleeping with the Enemy, but less dramatic, although: without leaving a note).
A few months pass… after rage from his part, come the apologies. He sends you flowers, letters, calls you up. He knows he treated you badly, you think. So after a certain time, you decide you can meet. And the sucker you are, what do you know? you let him smoothtalk his way back into your life.
After a few days, he asks you out on a trip. As a sort of reconciliation.
You agree.
He has arranged for everything, so you take a citytrip together by car. At a little café, you stop for a latté.
He tells you to order, he will park the car.
You watch him leave.
One coffee. No husband. Two coffees. No husband.
Two hours later, you realize he is not coming back. So you want to pay. By card?
No, because he has cleaned out your account -which he had access to- and has left you with one symbolic dollar.
You have a mental meltdown. But you are strong, so you bounce back of course. After which, you come to your senses and file for a divorce. When you want most of your stuff back, he claims, he has sold it all. He ignores the divorce papers, until you are too tired to argue anymore and sign anything he wants, as long as it gets you out of this horrible situation.
You are left with nothing, but are glad you can move on, because in the end, life is too short.

Time passes.
One day, you are out househunting with a friend and enter a random house on open-house day.
What do you know? That is your coach, and wait, that is your persian carpet, and your bed, your picture frame, your grandmother’s portrait, your television… your entire life is stored in this house.
You do some research and find out this it's his. After all these years...
It is open house. He is not there.
More open house-days to come…

Tell, me, what would you do? Be inventive. Think cruel.

2006-05-03T21:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to get a warrant of fitness for my car.
This means if it passes, I can use it for another 6 months.
Well, I apparently need a new tire and the lights need adjustment.
So I do, costing me money of course. But it could be worse.
I get the warrant of fitness, I get the renewal of my license.

Today. I crash my car.

Life is beautiful.

2006-04-29T04:21:00.000-07:00

Time is ticktacking away.
I’ve been back for over a week now.
In that period I have tried to look for a job and a room to call my own. Both depending on one and other, it has been a tricky queest.
The difficulty of it being: I want to work where I live, and I would live where the work is. It has made it very difficult to make decisions.

It made me feel a little nostalgic and insecure, so today I looked at the beginning of my blog in January, the first days upon arrival here. Looking back at it, it seemed easier at the time, smoother then now. I had a job and a house in a record time of less then a week.

Having been back to Europe for only 14 days, it feels like my life here has shifted to an alternative reality where the gods are destined to give me a hard time.

Though, they will not break my spirit, it might take a little longer, I might not find a job in the same field again, but I’ll get there. I’ll survive.
In fact, I have already found a temporary place to stay. Ironically enough, I am now occupying the room of the guy that is currently in my old room.
The new households consists of two couples, and me. Painful reality-check.
They are all very nice but have one flaw: subscribed to fantastic cable-tv, they have chosen the sportchannels instead of the filmchannels.
You see, I would Never Ever have made that call.
I would also never wake up at 9 AM to watch American Wrestling on TV, nor at 630 in the morning for a soccer game. Yes, I have seen devotion in this house.

Although, no judgment, because I had my little crazy ‘set-the-alarm-programs’ too.
When I was young I used to sneak downstairs to see programs like ‘Club Dorothée’, a french show for kids I didn’t understand at all, as it was around the same time my parents used french at the dinnertable to make sure the kids wouldn’t know what was discussed.
Yep, watching TV in the morning was forbidden in our house, so I loved it. It was the perfect crime my parents never figured out, because I could watch it on mute.
More recently, I woke up for the Oscars, which is almost as bad as American Wrestling.

Confession: I have had a little bit of a television-addiction in the past. My uncle put it very subtile once when he said to me: ‘I never would have guessed you’d turn out alright; the amounts of television you watched’.
Maybe a little harsh to say to somebody, but there is of course some truth to it.
It feels like, after all the hours of watching television in the past, it has now become my life, how I experience it: as a film rolling in front of my eyes, from time to time as a proper psychological thriller, in black or white or colour, melodramatic and hopefully one day: as a romantic comedy.
Currently we have accomplished being trapped in a foreign tragi-comedy with subtitles.
Highlight of it being yesterday,when I went to a graduationparty of nutritionists. A pretty random event where the partysnacks aka celery and carrots were a smashhit, and I was sold on the bottle of cheap white wine I had brought myself.

I could write you stories about that party. But I think it's maybe best to keep it all a mystery, more like a haze.

2006-04-27T23:59:00.000-07:00

Cruising along Ponsonby Rd, I stop in front of a red light. I glance up to the billboard at the other side of the intersection.
It’s a picture of a vuluptous woman smiling. Next to it it has one question:
FAT or FABULOUS?
It has a counter next to each word.
FAT : 2364
FABULOUS : 2436
Apparently people are sitting in their cars in front of the red light. Picking their nose, they decide they will never know the answer on ‘To be or not to be?’, so they make themselves feel better by texting to one of both options.
No clue what the add is intented to be for, and wonder how effective it is besides boosting or bombarding that girl’s self-esteem.

I didn’t text and have no comment if you were wondering whether I was picking my nose or not.

2006-04-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

So, I am sitting in the transit area of LAX on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in front of the corner television (yep, after 12 hours of nonstop television watching on the plane, I can still be intrigued by a program called ‘swapping house’).
Minding my own business. Suddenly the phone rings in a payphone just in front of me. Everybody in the room watches me.
I look back at them and say to the nearest person: ‘What? I am not expecting a call’.
The phone continues ringing. I have a flashback to the movie ‘Phonebooth’ where it doesn’t turn out well for the random stranger picking up the phone.
It s human instinct: curiosity. It’s me.

- Hello?
- Hi, Is Andrew there?
- Euh, I don’t think so, I don’t know, there is probably one Andrew here, but I don’t know.
- Is this 818 564 784 (ok; the number might not be the number he said,.. so sue me, what am I, Rainman???)
- Euh, I don’t know. You called a payphone in the transit area of LAX. I am waiting for my plane to New Zealand.
- Oh, New Zealand? I lived in Queenstown for a while. Have you ever been to Queenstown?
- Yes, a few weeks ago on vacation.
- Isn’t it the most amazing place? I loved it.
- Yes, it is pretty wild. Quite expensive though, but lovely, I want to go back there.
- You definitalely should, I would love to go back there too.

ANNOUNCEMENT THAT WE CAN GO BACK TO THE PLANE.
Silence.

- Listen, they just made an announcement. I have to go.
- Yeah, I heared.
- I hope you find Andrew
- (laughs) Have fun in New Zealand
- I will, thanks.

And in a split second I think: Was that the man of my life that I just hanged up on?
How pathetic is that.

2006-04-22T15:55:00.000-07:00

We went to Queenstown, where we chased thru our whole budget in three days -I'm telling it s a charming, but very evil place- (The helicopterride was worth it though).
So after that little fiasco, we decided to cut our trip 3 days short. We left the next morning -a sunday. I think by the way, that God created hangovers for atheists. So they have something to deal with on sunday. It s a theory, people.

The drive from Queenstown to Christchurch was one of the most boooooring routes I have ever done. Partly because of being included in the hangover-package, but also, because this was one of the straightest roads I have ever driven on. Even the lonely planet had nothing good to say about the towns on the way. I 'll quote what they say later, the reviews are relentless.
On top of it all, it was raining the most of the way.

The following day was Natalie's Birthday, stranded in rainy Christchurch with the Monday morning-blues, we decided to fled town.
We stayed in Christchurch a record time of 12 hours. Not impressed at all by this town... But then again, maybe we were just in a bad mood due to the straight roaddriving.
We drove to some thermal hotspringpools somewhere in between Kaikoura and Christchurch. And yes: Thelma and Louise sneak in without paying. It was the highlight of our day, even if we didn't really do it on purpose.
The adrenalin was pumping... so after that wild, crazy act, we thought we were on a roll, and decided to continue to Kaikoura that same night. Not one of the brightest ideas we had while on the road -note to myself: never make decisions in a steaming pool of sulpher- It was very dark and rainy, and the roads extremely windy (yeah, that s what we thought: Now you are windy... of all times!)
Entering the Kaikoura-area, we drove back and forth 3 times, thinking we had missed the little village.. after the Second U-turn, we thought the hell with it, we will just continue all the way back to Picton (were we would take the ferry the next day).

10km down the road, we see the little town. Some stupid nitwit had named the previous village with more or less 4houses: kaikoura. Dorks!I m thinking about addressing the problem to Lonely Planet.
Because of that, we almost missed out on seeing two seals on a beach (agressive little suckers by the way).
Yes, again, it was rainy, so there was no dolphinswimming or whalespotting. The seals were all we could get.
The town seemed to have potential though, unfortanetely, we had a boat to catch.

To Wellington.
Rain was the partypooper once again. But here as well: a lot of potential in this small capital, you could feel it.

And that was about it... we drove back to Auckland. With the decision in the back of my head to come back and explore the country and the jobopportunities some more. Iw as ready to go back to Belgium.
But only to find myself back on set in Auckland 14 days later (with one of the biggest rockstars on the planet, madness).

The rest you know. I came home to Belgium 3 days earlier then planned and was in the country for a record time of 5 days before going to Aubagne for another 5 days.
Now. I am sitting here, looking for a new place. My room has been rented out. It feels like I am starting over again.
flathunting, jobhunting.
Chasing Life.

2006-03-25T19:33:00.000-08:00

Yep that's ice coming down a mountain very slowly (you can t actually see it move, trust me)

2006-03-25T19:09:00.000-08:00

Nelson.
As scheduled: the car has car trouble. It has to go to the shop. Costing me money, and stranding us in a shitty town on a horrible camping ground, but it wont bring us down. We adapt easily. How? We give ourselves an executive producer's american accent and we nag and bitch about everything we see. With a sense of humour and a big mouth (my condoleances again to the glowworms): you get a long way.
So, after a day of accumulating bad luck, we finally sort our shit out, and head of again: back on the open road.

Westport.
Drive thru as planned.

It gets dark. So we decide stay at a camping site in the middle of nowhere. It's the cuttest little place: the grass is green, the food is great, life is cheap.
Unfortunately, that night, the tail of a typhoon hits our tent. Natalie gets a cold that will haunt her until now. Due to technical difficulties, the american accent has to go, but the nasal sound stays.

2006-03-25T18:48:00.001-08:00

The Ferry from Wellington to Picton:

Well, the sea sickness was reasonable this time.

Nothing special to report besides Natalie having a small case of devil-possession.
Luckily I was there to capture the event. It was a snapshot moment.

Photo 1. It's windy on the boat. So you know, hair flies around,... not the best picture I have taken of her, but hey, at least it's human.

But then see what happens on Photo 2: she is clearly possessed by some evil force. See how her eyes roll away and her skin-complexion changes colour.

She was fine again when we stepped off the boat, but it was a scary thing to witness.

2006-03-25T18:39:00.000-08:00

The North Island, or Middle Earth, as we Europeans tend to call it, was not as deserted as I thought it would be. Hobbit Village was too expensive to crawl around inm so we decided to settle with the occasional elf and dwarf-spotting on the campinggrounds. Just as much fun.

Taupo
tandem-skydive... nope. not enough time, and maybe a little chicken.

Hawke's Bay, Napier
It was a nice little get together that Natalie had with a lot of her friends... a trip thru nostalgia-Lane. Here s a pic of me on a mountain,... Yes, I still look my freaky old self: no tattoos (yet).

2006-03-25T17:56:00.000-08:00

On the road... and while I ve been down here in general...

I've learned a few things. Three sentences that are just here frequently:
Sweet as: really cool
Fuck yeah: hell yeah, that s cool
Love your work: well done mate!
Shut your mouth: get out of here! or ... shut your mouth.
My apologies in advance for having it picked up and using it when I come back home.
When I say FUCK YEAH or SHUT YOUR MOUTH, in the months to come... don 't take it personal.

Where were we? Oh yeah:

Rotorua.
Indeed, it smelled like rottin' eggs in the town, there was even smoke coming out of the gutters. Kind of freaky. We jumped in a mineral hot spring and went to see the Buried Village. Natalie was so excited to go. It had been more then 10 years since her last visit to the place. But then... it's like going going to a themepark when you are a kid, and realize when you go back there, it wasn t as magic as you thought it was. It happened to me with a waterpark in Bruxelles recently. It happened to Natalie very recently.

The Maori working at Hell's Gate ( a place where you can see a lot of boiling stinky mud and roaring earth)... we loved his work though! So we left a little note saying so.

2006-03-25T17:51:00.000-08:00

A little feedback on how the TO DO list turned out.

AUCKLAND
Waitomo caves.
TO DO: we did the glowworm-tour, or as we preferably call it: the grandma-or screaming babies'tour. Yep. Been there done that. No pics to proof it though, because that wasn't even allowed. While we were in that kind of mood, we checked out a bunny farm on our way out of town. It turned out to become the highlight of our day: watching them tie up the bunnies -the medieval torture way and shear them (I thought it was shave, but the technical term is: shear apparently.)

2006-03-25T17:38:00.000-08:00

Waitomo caves.
I have to share this "did-you-know": did you know glow worms don't have a mouth so they die of starvation after three days? What kind of sick joke of nature is that?

Rotorua (or Rottin' Rua as the locals call it... it smells like shit overthere due to the mineral hot springs and volcanic activity)
TO DO: Jump in a mineral hot spring and go see the Buried Village.

Taupo
TO DO: tandem-skydive

Hawke's Bay, Napier
TO DO: a wine tour and meeting up with Natalie 's friends from the past - it's her hometown.

Ferry to Picton in Wellington
TO DO: get a little seasick

Nelson
TO DO: check the car and see if it is still going strong for the mountainroute

Westport
TO DO: drive right thru it

Franz Joseph Glacier
TO DO: look at ice moving down a mountain at 100 000 x slower speed then water flowing in a river

Queenstown
TO DO: something exciting

Christchurch
TO DO: find my religion I ve lost somewhere along the way.

Kaikoura
TO DO: swim with the F"%$ing dolphin's???

Wellington
TO DO: well... it's the capital, there must be something to do

And then...
Take our time to go back up to Auckland.

2006-03-25T17:13:00.000-08:00

Catching some tuna, and eating it that same day. Now that is what we snobs from the sea call 'Fresh Food'.

2006-03-25T17:07:00.000-08:00

The skipper's dog goes crazy hearing the word 'Dolphin", It's like my dog and his little ball.

2006-03-18T23:00:00.000-08:00

My log entries have been a bit sporadic, but that is what happens when you are on the open road.
I left the day after the wrap party to: the Bay of Island, but not after first dropping into work, as they had a wardrobe and propsale. 'Sick and dying'people shirts and trousers were flying over the counter.
I found myself some amazing bargains: the shirt of the armory nurse, the shoes of the dying kid and the purse of the heroine.

Anyway, after 32 unidentified roadkills (1 1/2 roadkill/12"), I arrived savely in the haven of the Bay. I had booked a random '2night on a sailboat'-trip just before I left Auckland.
The plan was also to spot a dolphin or two, and diving in to the water to live out my childhood dream. Indeed, like every freakin' 12 year old that dream is to swim with dolphins. They had to hold me back when we finally spotted a little dolphin-family, because I was totally ready to go in.
I had to settle with snorkling up some mussels from the side of a rock (mean slippery sticky suckers by the way). Tossing them on the BBQ, became the highlight of my little getaway. It made me feel like I was ready to go on Robinson, Temptation or any reality survivorshow where I could show off my skills.

Now the people on board were there, 5 other guests, they were just there.
Beside the odd joke or two, I kept to myself, no physical or psychological contact was made. My main goal was to sleep a lot, so I wouldn't get queezy from the romantic freakin' never stopping boatrockin'. -not that nice as I would have thought-
What also tends to happen on boats is: you start to contemplate the meaning of life, in this case: mine. -scary shit-.
But most of all, I was preparing myself for the real roadtrip ahead. Natalie, the exec producer's assistant, 1/2 kiwi 1/2 japanese, needed a break too, so she decided to join me on my worldly adventures.

It would become what we call, a Thelma and Louise-tale, without the dying-scene at the end, nor the scarves on our heads, but most definitaly with the Brad Pitt Character crossing our path.

Yes. I was ready. Ready as I ever was going to be.

2006-03-09T00:20:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time,
in a country far far away,
one might even consider it to be at the edge of the earth,
there existed a paradise called kiwikingdom.

In this paradise hard working people tried to create a makebeliefworld for two foreign fake belief queens. Now these two queens came from another planet,called Holly Wood, where tradition has it that all people, even the servants and the maids have crazy demands, like coffee with springwater or chicken noodles without noodles nor chicken. They believed in the existence of a country called Europe, where everybody speaks french. This Europe-country, was for them a place where you go to only once in your life, when you turn 18 to drink spirits and celebrate the coming of age.

Travel to paradise the edge of the world, was difficult for these queens, as they couldnt speak the language everybody seemed to speak; they spoke some kind of dialect called; foreign. And because they desperately wanted it to feel like home,this made them even more demanding in this foreign paradise then they ever were in their evil kingdom of makebelief.

Now, the rumour has it, that these queens were send by the three first letters of the alphabet to tell a story, and as it was the most important letters of the alphabet that send them, this made them mighty powerful.
People were scared that if they didnt do what they wanted,they would decide to just take the letters away all together and that would result in ultimate chaos. Letters like C or X, they could live without and replace, but ABC had copyrighted themselves, so that made these embassadors of ABC dreaded by the entire kiwikingdom.

They wanted a written story to be told in picture, broadcasted by national cabledistribution throughout their makebeliefworld. A brainnumbing ancient saga of epic proportions. A story of death and horror, medical disasters and drama. It had to be brought to the people in a record amount of time, otherwise, the ruling governor of Holly Wood, would become very mad. And when he became mad, many lives were taken, he would become some kind of monster,called the Terminator.

For many months, the entire kingdom worked day and night to make the story come alive. Whole villages of death were created, and questions were asked like: 'Have all the sick and dying been thru make-up?', and at that time everybody would know what that ment. People were talking in tongue, symbols were used, codenames were given out, just for the purpose of surviving this makebelief drama.
The queens had also ruled that the entire kingdom would work nights. This ment day became night and night became day.
And gradually,without realizing, a strange thing happened: the entire kingdom became zombies, and the makebeliefworld they were trying to create for the embassadors of televisionmovies, was threatening to become reality.
On the final day, one man actually bit the head of a young assistant. Luckily, the head got replaced instantly by two new ones.
That was only one of several incidents that took place. One other man actually became a machine, he just worked worked worked, and nobody knew how to switch him off (which was kind of annoying because he was from the lighting department). Until one day, that liberating sentence was said 'That s a wrap". It was like a switch was turned. There was children's laughter yet again as the two queens stepped on the giant bird with their film in the can and skyrocketed back home.

And of course to celebrate this, they held a party of epic proportions, based on ancient-old Holly Wood-Wrapparty-traditions. People that lived to tell would spred rumours about it that were actually true. It involved a bourgondian rotating roast, champagne, a mansion, and a lot of...
But that is, as you can imagine, a whole different kind of story.

2006-03-06T21:49:00.000-08:00

AND THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATS A WRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-03-06T21:35:00.001-08:00

ARTICLE IN THE NEWSPAPER

BIG MOVIE FOR FILM FACTORY -

West Auckland is playing host to a major film production.
Film Factory, a movie company partially based in Avondale, is shooting a feature-length television movie for Sony Pictures and the ABC Network in the United States.
The medical drama includes actresses Joely Richardson from the hit television series Nip/Tuck and Justina Machado from Six Feet Under.
Filming began on Waitangi weekend and is taking place at sites around Auckland and Waitakere, including Oratia and Glen Eden.
It is expected to be completed by March 6. Film Factory spokesman Paul Carran says the movie is one of the company's largest with more than 400 extras.
'It's exciting because it's our first big production we've done in 20 months. Our high exchange rate prevents us from bringing movies here, our hope is that the exchange rate will drop'.
Film Factory is responsible for the television movies. Ike: Countdown to D-Day and Redhead.

2006-02-26T18:43:00.000-08:00

The countdown has started. One more week and it is a wrap. The last few days have actually been fun. I have been put on set last Wednesday. First as a shuttle driver, doing nothing else then travelling back and forth with dying african villagers.
It was not the most exciting of jobs, but I loved every moment: I was outdoors.

The day after I went back to the office to prepare for the 2nd unit crew starting on Friday. From doing nothing at all on Wednesday, I went to : being on set with my laptop and doing the whole callsheet for second unit. It was quite the stress-trip, being responsable to have it done before wrap. That day, the second AD from the main-unit crew quit because the stress of the onetime-distribution of the callsheet was too much. It was not working out, so someone had to be flown in from Melbourne to replace her (nobody else was willing to do the job in New Zealand)
Now, I was doing it with the 2nd AD for Second Unit, and I completely understood the stress she was under. I felt for her.
The callsheet came out just in time, regardless all the obstacles: the file being too big to send thru to the office, which ment -losing one hour driving down there-, then running out of green paper, a copymachine-jam, and finally a copymachine meltdown. But that didn't keep me: I was a woman on a mission, and in achieving to reach my goal in the end, I must admit a little sense of proud came over me.

That Saturday, I had the best time at work so far. No callsheet to be distributed, as half of the crew was going to be replaced for the last two days of second unit-shoot this coming Wednesday and Thursday. It ment: just having a great time/no stress.
It also resulted in me asking the crew if they felt like going for a drink. Of course the lighting guys, grip and camera didn't mind, so, after dropping of their truck, they came and join us. 6 guys and me. Great fun. The men would 'take care of me' they said. They were quite the gentlemen, until of course a nice-looking female would walk by and the testosteron would take over again. I'm telling ya... MEN!
It was weird, one of the gripguys knew like belgian and dutch people, he had worked on 'anywhere the wind blows', lived in the Netherlands... spoke a little dutch. Two other guys had dutch parents.
I'm under the impression that a lot of dutchies are spreading their love in these regions.

Around 5 AM we ended up in the Skycity casino. We were a little tired and drunk by that time and the save bets on black were getting on our nerves, so we decided to just put all we had (which was like: nothing at all) on 1 lucky number 17.
I heard a story of an englishman selling his house and possesions, buying a ticket to Vegas and making a roulettebet worth all of his possesions on nr 17. He won.
We didn't.

Yesterday night, we had a nightshoot. I had the night off, so at 2 AM I went to see the scene they were shooting: the bonnfire of burning bodies sounded appealing enough to grap a bag of marshmellows and head off to the studios.
I was filming the whole scene secretly and got caught. I had to swear to not put anything on the internet. So: Sorry my friends, but believe me: it looked pretty nasty.

Thinking about all that was, and all that is still to come: the last week on the job, the travelling, the uncertainty of what will happen upon return to Belgium, I get a slight headache,a fatigue-attack. But for now, I look forward to 1 thing at a time: the second unit night-shoots coming up: the major stuntscenes.
Weird, how I look forward to the carcrashes, the evacuations, the burning bodies. I blame television.

2006-02-18T15:12:00.000-08:00

Being intrigued by the sign, I -and I suppose many others- went inside to see what the fuss was all about. I ordered a smoked-salmon sandwish. And No, I wasn't impressed.

2006-02-18T14:59:00.000-08:00

The boys of my neighbour had great fun when daddy was washing the car... speaking of carwashing: here is a story.

Yesterday, I was driving to the mall to collect my pictures. (yes they have authentic american malls here,… and KFC, and Wendy’s, and MacDonald, and Burger King…). Really pitoresque.
Anyway, as I was driving, I saw some really cute polynesian girls ranging from 7 to 10 years old with big carton saying ‘carwash- donations’ at the side of the road. On my way back they were still there shouting to all passing cars. It seemed that nobody needed a carwash, but as my car was still disguisting from that trip ‘back to the future’, I made an illegal U-turn. The girls were screaming and laughing.
I drove into the parkinglot, expecting a bunch of schoolgirls playing around with water. Boy, was I wrong. After a waiting period of 3 cars in front of me, 6 huge polynesian men came up to my car and washed my car in a record time of 1”35””
Now, feeling a little cheated, I was more worried about the donations. There was no fixed rate and in about 10” seconds a huge big man that could break me in two, would come and ask me for money. I saw him approaching and I beat him to it: ‘Who do I give the money to’, I asked with a slight vibrato in my voice, hoping he wouldn’t smell my fear. He replied with a smile ‘Just throw it in the bucket over there’. So I did, and man, was that bucket overloaded with money.
Well done, little girls.

On my drive here today, I stop in front of a red light. A huge guy comes up to my car, he wants to wash my window… Being less effective then small girls with big smiles, I try to explain to him I just had one the day before. He says ‘Oh well, this one is on me then’. Donating way too much yesterday, I let him wash away.

2006-02-18T14:31:00.000-08:00

That one day on Whaikere-island with my kiwi-housemate. Just what the doctor ordered:
A boattrip over, spending some time on the beach, driving around, starting a good book over a glass of wine and enjoying a fantastic sunset.

2006-02-18T14:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I told my boss, that these last two weeks coming up, I am or going to be on set, or I leave, start travelling. My time is too precious to be in an office all the time. She said she completely understood and would work on it. Let's see what happens. Indeed, I am ready to move on.

2006-02-11T14:13:00.001-08:00

I decided to stick around and help out. I just couldn't leave the frantic place while there was so much work. It would have been the selfish thing to do, unfair to the others. They decided to put me in charge of all that involves camera-equipment and filmstock. Which is more interesting then what I was doing before, as I’m actually learning to do some new stuff, a new part of the productionprocess.
The last days of preproduction stressed everybody out at work. All my fingers have papercuts from the stupid madcopying that went on every day, the build up towards shooting was making each department cranky as hell.
And then, after scriptrevision green, and a crew of 110 people shooting started on Wednesday.

Shootingweeks are from Wednesday till Sunday, the weekend is Monday and Tuesday. But the office has to be permanently occupied: all days of the week.
I share the office with the production-coordinator,S., who seems to be working night and day (RESPECT!), the production-coordinator’s assistant, N., the very efficient production secretary, J. and a receptionist, C., who has what I assume are religious problems picking up the phone. She doesn’t seem to get the hang of it. Art department is in the same room, so it gets very hectic and wild at certain hours of the day.
On Wednesday and Friday, the callsheet wasn’t ready to be issued before wrap of that day, which ment that we had to call up everybody (110 crewmembers and cast) to tell them where and when shooting would start next day. I was home both days at midnight.
On Fridaynight, my flatmates decided to throw a party in our house, so J. from the office and I went there after work. I arrive, and immediately get a hashbrownie and a rum and coke shuffed in my hands. I say to myself ‘What the hell, Why not?’, and just let the relaxed fun night take it from there.
One of the flatmates comes in. He is completely shitfaced. He apparently took a cab home, and didn’t pay. He is lying on the kitchenfloor yelling ‘ssssht everybody ssssh hide me’. It was quite the scene. After the commotion, when the cabdriver decides to give up, he comes up to me and starts a conversation with me for the first time since I have been living in the same house with him.
He asks: ‘So, how do you say, what ‘s up babe, in belgian?’. The guy is from England...
Maybe it was the brownie, maybe it was the prospect of a two-dayweekend, maybe it was a magic combination of all things combined, that made the night one to remember.
The next morning, I tried to recollect what I did the night before, the only thing I really remember is that I laughed a lot. And that was good enough for me.

As my personal workweek runs from Monday till Friday I have Saturday and Sunday off, I decided I would go and hang out on set. So I drove over there, realizing while watching the whole process like a disaster-tourist watching a planecrash, that it is actually quite boring when you don’t really have a function or something to do. After having a nice lunch on set, I went home and watched a movie. I couldn’t help grinning and seeing the irony of the whole situation.

Today, I’m back at Starbucks. And as usual, I can’t find my password and login to get on the internet, so I call up the service center. The man says ‘Is that Ingrid again?’. I am surprised by the personal approach of the Telecom-customer service.
He says he did some research about me on the internet on a quiet day. I freak out a bit.

2006-02-04T16:37:00.000-08:00

I went back to work, and immediately I got swampt in the logistics of things. People were asking me everything and nothing at the same time, orders for their stupid stationery, updating the crew list, picking up people at the Hilton
Like that one pick up at the Hilton. I had to take the executive producer big shot from LA. out to the recce. Yes, indeed I was the ideal person to go pick up the man with the money and bring him safely to the other part of town, 45 minutes further down. With a map on my lap I was driving down Auckland-City Central. He looked a little strange at me, wondering what the hell they were thinking, as was I. But in the end, he arrived safely, without any U-turns. Thank God for my girl scout-past.

All the shit nobody else really wants to do on a film. I was doing it. If the only thing I was going to take with me when I leave is appreciating everything and everybody working, and figuring out what I desire the most at the same time, I thought it was all worth it. That was the optimistic state I was in until Thursday.

But then, on Thursday, everything shifted. The girl I was replacing came back from Sydney, and they decided that I was doing a good job and that I would continue helping out at the office during the whole process. Which means I would be nowhere near the ‘ACTION!’ when shooting starts, which I had specifically requested. I was overhearing them hiring new cast-drivers and A/D’s while I am sitting right there.

I’m starting to have mixed feelings and wonder if I should continue work on this production or try to find something else for the remaining time of my stay.
Even more so, when I heard on Thursday that I got selected for the film festival d’Aubagne in France, and I am invited to go there Mid-April. I did a lot of contemplating.
Always having thought, that I would be here longer then planned, the thought of maybe coming back to Europe a little earlier then planned was kind of daunting.
Talking to friends, they all agreed on the fact that I had to go. For all kinds of different reasons, it all started to make more sense. I decided I would, making the time I have left here even more precious.
After working Friday from 8 AM until 11:30 PM, and working on Saturday as well,
I am getting a little tired of how I’m being treated, taken for granted as a passe-partout.

Yesterday evening my housemates and I went to Mission Bay for the Jazz and Blues Festival. Loved it. I laid down in the park with a white wine in my hand and with every sip I took, the doubts and unhappy thoughts drifted away a little further.
On the way back home, The Doors’ ‘Riders on the storm’, floated thru the airwaves, and I thought to myself: What a wonderful World, mixed in with AC/DC’s Highway to Hell.

Today they called and asked if I wouldn’t mind coming in to work. Normally, I really wouldn’t, but I did.

So instead I came to Starbucks, the only place with a wireless connection, and started writing.
A little bird starts picking from my muffin and no, that doesn’t make me feel like Snow White, nor Crocodile Dundee. But it does amaze me that it knows exactly were the long windows end and a small door starts. It must have learned it the hard way.

I call up the service system to help me out with my Internet-account. After giving him my lastname, he knows exactly where I’m sitting. For a second, I felt a little like Will Smith in Enemy of the State (I said a little). Feeling a little violated, I look around the room while I upload this new blogcolomn.

Someone told me that this dazed and confused state of mind is part of the whole process of living abroad for a while, and that I should embrace it. yepyep, sure. But then I thought, should an embrace cut the blood-circulation flowing to your head?

2006-02-04T15:25:00.000-08:00

What a week… I have the feeling I start every column the same way. Complaining and nagging.

So I was a little presumptuous : I worked on Saturday the whole day; because the stupid pink -very baby pink- scripts needed to be ready by Monday. (scripts have different colours to tell which draft it is, first there is white, then blue, pink, yellow, …)
Who was in charge of that?… yep… the one and only. The mission: to find someone that can copy 7000 pages in more or less 3 hours, and then drop it off at the keyplayers in the whole filmmakingprocess their homes.
Although the copy-guy didn’t fully understand what baby-pink looked like (he probably never saw a baby touchie) and did some in really nasty Village People-pink, it all worked out in the end, the bulk got done. I have no recollection of what I did after that… it is probably because I was that tired, working 6 days straight.
On Sunday I was on stand-by, just dropping something off at the bloody Hilton. Aftewards, Mel (my kiwi-housemate) and me, went to Summer Series (music festival) in the park. Downtown Auckland, really relax. W e met up with some friends of her and went to see the biggest fireworks New Zealand has ever known. Celebrating the 166th anniversary of Auckland. (Not a really special age to have such a big fuss about if I must say), The soundtrack of the fireworks was as eclectic and strange as I was feeling that night: AC/DC’s Thunderstruck, mixed in with Louis Armstrong’s What a wonderful Night.
My fatigue was showing, that is why Mel had the wonderful idea to ask me to visit her parents with her on Wahiki-Island, only 30 minutes by boat, but a tropical destiny away… Hanging on the beach, without any constructive purpose at all. I thought it was the best idea since the invention of Ice Cubes.
So we went, relaxed on the beach, had wine, ate, slept, started to read "the Lovely Bones" (Peter Jackson just bought the movierights for this amazing book). The sunset from the island was amazing. It was just what the doctor ordered. I could go back to work fully refreshed, and just take it as it comes.
I thought…

2006-01-27T19:02:00.000-08:00

What the hell? What was yesterday all about? Everybody was in a terribly cranky mood. From Accounting to Assistants all over the nation. It was weird, my flatmate had the same at her work, so it must have been something in the air. And it certainly wasn’t love.
I got told off twice, for no reason what so ever, so in the end, I just started laughing.
Trivia like water with bubbles and sandwiches with or without napkins would make people freak. Hilarious. Apologies followed later that day, which was weird, because that made me all emotional. (Don’t worry, nobody noticed).

And then there was Friday, Friday’s are wonderful. After a nasty week of all possible forms of rain: from drizzle to pourring showers, the sky is blue again. This day has passed. Fast.
As of this afternoon I am filling in for the production secretary who is absent until Wednesday, I’m filling in: forms and such. Complete Mind and body-Switch to a different mode: from running around to sitting still, from azerty to qwerty. But even at a desk, it’s still hectic: preproduction is coming to it’s end.
Busy is the way I like it, so in the end it’s all good.

My flatmate who works in a nice Asian restaurant in Ponsonby (compare it to what Soho is for New York -arty/farty nice), asked if we were interested in getting food delivered from them. We decided to give it a go the day I changed jobs.
Lucky runners, they didn’t have to do the shopping nightmare that I went thru daily. It involves: heavy shopping carts tipping sideways when going down a slope, bags ripping, peanuts scattering all over the floor. And more of those fun adventures.
Yep, a lot of cursing goes on when you shop for 70 people daily all by yourself.
So anyway, I placed an order for the whole crew (it came in carton boxes, like in the movies… jieha) and a special one for the execs, they wanted:
Cashew Chicken with mandarin, spring onions and noodles,
but no mandarin, no spring onions and no noodles.

I couldn’t help wonder if these powertrips last forever? Is it genetic? Is there a way to come down from that? Maybe ‘Down to earth-stars’, is a contradiction 'in termini'. I sincerely hope not, as I might -cross my fingers- switch jobs when shooting start: castdriver and on-set production/director assistant.
In the end, I feel for the assistants who are terrified of making the next little slip-up.
On the other hand, it builds a nice groupfeeling when people come down to the tiny little kitchen to have a short mental breakdown. With a cookie, a hug and a peptalk, I send them back to face the enemy. We will prevail.

This weekend is three days long. Long live the public holiday of Auckland this Monday. (pff it only means I will work next Saturday).

2006-01-27T00:08:00.000-08:00

the standard ugly group-picture of me and friends,
a view, stairways to hell, the beach from the movie 'the piano'

2006-01-26T23:42:00.000-08:00

Logbook-entry:
The amount of people is increasing drastically. Last week I was feeding 36 people, today they were 72. They are spreading like a virus.

My days seem to be floating into each other.
The troops storm in at 13:OO daily. It's a bloody mess. Five minutes later, everything is gone, total devastation.

Yesterday was a good day, me and the other runner, -poor sucker-, got the dishwasher to work, it was the highlight of the day.

Friends back home, are telling me 'don't forget to enjoy yourself', these words stick when you are washing dishes. Yep, indeed, on rainy days like these, when you are sitting in a car, jammed in traffic with a ridiculous deadline, the pounding headache takes over. And you think: only a few more preproduction-days. Some days, like today, the blues take over.
But then after the storm only five minutes later, the clouds lift up, and a different song pops on. Jazz gets replaced by funk.
Questions as 'What the hell am I doing here?' get washed away until the next tropical storm, just around the corner.

2006-01-26T23:36:00.000-08:00

Disaster-tourist-Ingrid: A rescue-mission at Piha...

2006-01-26T23:34:00.000-08:00

Indeed people, these are complete strangers: newlyweds, romantic couples, a view... I think I have some issues.

2006-01-26T23:12:00.000-08:00

2006-01-26T23:02:00.000-08:00

So peeps,

to give some feedback regarding the pics. But not too much.
The people you see on the pics are or complete strangers. Yep, indeed just feeding on somebody else's happiness, or housemates, which is more or less still the same as perfect strangers.
The sites are places around Auckland...my getaway-weekend breaks: the beach, Auckland seen from one of the two sissy volcano's..., a memorialstone of some kind...

2006-01-26T22:45:00.000-08:00

2006-01-18T12:03:00.002-08:00

ANCIENT TRUST AGREEMENT BROKEN

At 3:45 PM Tuesday 17 January 2006, a sole kamikaze-pigeon was responsible for a breach of contract between cabdrivers and pigeons.
While I. was driving thru a tunnel from Motorway 16 to Auckland City Centre, P. crashed into her. A suicide-terrorist attack that may well have serious consequences for the international relationships between both species.

I. stated the following: ‘Yesterday, on one of my driving missions thru the centre of town, a pigeon that probably flew out of the cuckoos nest, crashed right into my windshield. It scared the shit out of me. I screamed. The pigeon got stuck underneath the car (my boss’s car). It was really disgusting.
Normally, I’m always very careful, because sometimes they walk over the streets, and then you just have to trust that they know what there are doing near your tires while you are driving by. Because you know, you can never see them: they are always in the dead-corner.
I am not very superstitious by nature, but the week prior to my departure, I saw 3 dead pigeons at the side of the street where I live. Not squashed, just plain dead. First I thought, oh, ok bird flue, so I carried on with my business. But then this happened, and today I had 4 drops of pigeonpoo on my windshield. It feels like the pigeon is shitting down on me from heaven, you know? Don’t I get enough crap as it is?’

The shit may indeed well have hit the fan, as the faeces-samples were taken to the lab for further investigation.

Although Hitchcock-scenario’s are a little far fetched, this incident has triggered great tension between both parties on an global level. London authorities have taken precautions and advised humans to stay away from Trafalgar square, as angry protesters are starting to rally up at the headquarters of Pigeons United.

2006-01-14T22:32:00.000-08:00

Although it wasn’t all ‘rosemary and moonshine(?), I made it thru my first week. Alive and Kicking.
My days are getting busier, which results in feeling drained in the evenings… It unables me to keep my logbook up to date… oh, really, who am I kidding? The real reason is that I have discovered card-games on my computer (I suck at them, but that makes me want to play them even more).

In a nutshell, the rest of the week consisted of driving around and getting to know the lay-out of the city and on Thursday: starting on the job, running (the job, not the actual action).
My first day consisted of:

8:00AM grand tour of the offices
8:02 AM: running down the street for milk
8:17 AM: making a grocery-list for lunch
8:45 AM: drive to Pak ‘n Save to buy the stuff
10:00 AM: back at the office with apparently unripe avocado’s, so:
10:05 AM: drive to the superette for avocado’s
10:15 AM: back at the office: new list for Pak ‘n Save, they forgot a few things
10:30 AM: drive back to Pak’n Save
11:15 AM: back at the office
11:20 AM: toilet break (number 1)
11:23 AM: first accounts set up (the old fashion way: with the physical yellow pages)
12:15 AM: exec prod. assistant comes up to me and asks if I have already been grocery shopping. Deu-heuh -of course- (the execs want lunch served at 1PM sharp). They would like noodle soup. Chicken broth.
12:17 AM: Race to Pak ‘n Save for chicken noodle soup/broth
12:30 AM: can’t find chicken noodle soup/broth, so I take several soups that have the word noodle, chicken or fat free on the package.
12:50 AM: Back at the office. Wrong soup.
1 PM LUNCHTIME. I drive to Chinese superette to see if they have chicken blablabla.
1:10 PM: Noodles no chicken, chicken no noodles, the Chinese clerks don’t know the word: soup let alone: Broth.
1:20 PM: Back at the office. wrong soup. Everybody is eating. I heat up a resembling soup. We will see what happens.
1:40 PM: everybody has finished eating. Nothing left for me.
1: 50 PM: start cleaning up the table, running down the stairs (they eat in the office, not in the cafeteria, near the kitchen, like normal people would).
2:10 PM: I start my meditation-hour: the dishes.
3: 30 PM: Toilet break (number 1)
3:33 PM: Trip to the post-office and back (reason: stamps)
4:00 PM: Accounts set up (INSTALL ME INTERNET, IT TAKES FOREVER)
6:15 PM: Garbage-collection
6:30 PM: two trips to the dumpster
6:45 PM: Set out snacks and nibbles (back up and down the stairs) + ‘Ingrid, would you mind bringing me 3 green teas?’
7:05 PM. 12 faxes to be send (HOW SLOW CAN A CONNECTION BE??)
7: 50 PM: If you don’t need me anymore I think I’ll go home.
7: 52 PM: Can you send this fax before you go?
7:56 PM: I sign off.

Indeed, this might be showbiz, but Glitter and Glamour is known to me as Spik and Span, the cleaning products I use. If I hear the word chicken f*^ing noodle soup one more time, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.

My second day looked a lot like my first day, and I was already very relieved that the weekend was ahead. I’m really wondering if I’m that motivated, if it’s really worth it.

After work on Friday, me and E., my English housemate went to the local pool hall. It’s like the ones you see in the movies, where all the big bikers go. In this case, all Maori or other Polynesians. And I have to tell you people: THESE MAN ARE HUGE! Scary Enormous. Apparently it’s in the food the eat and the genes they own. They have a root here they eat daily: 1 root is the equivalent of 10 potatoes.
Believe me, You don’t want to mess with them.
The owner of the pool hall gave us two vouchers for two hours of free pool. Maybe he thought we wouldn’t be coming back, scared of by the Marilyn-Manson blasting thru the boom boxes and the Maoris shooting their balls around.

I slept 12 hours straight that night, noodle-eating Maori warriors infiltrated my dreams.

2006-01-10T17:55:00.003-08:00

This morning I wake up in my new room and prepare myself to face the production office yet again. Third time is a charm they say.
I landed the job. Or at least under pretext that I get some driving done on my own time before starting. I should have bragged about my parking skills, but I don’t think it would have mattered.
Like they say, it’s a real straightforward job… not a lot fuss, just do it. The only thing I had to do, is not wreck the car. I don’t know if I can make those kind of promises.
There was an other job for which I would be considered as well (it involved less driving). As it’s a big movie with an 80 people-crew, and 2000 extras. The casting director might be in need of: indeed, an assistant.
I would actually prefer that job.
Again, she would check my references, she said.
After the promise that I would work on my driving skills, I went on my way, in search of yes, a car.
I took the bus to the center and asked the busdriver about rental cars. She suggested I buy one, it would be cheaper.
She dropped me of in front of a cardealer who also had rentals. This cardealer was a true kiwi: Too honest for his own good. With a big smile he asked me if I wanted a cheap or a good car, explaining me renting a car for a longer period of time would be too expensive (50$/day), that his place wasn’t the right place for a girl like me (a little too expensive). He did tell me his son was selling his piece of crap -his words-. When asked what kind of car, he said ‘a green one’, spoken like a true professional. I like green cars actually, a green car took us all the way to Spain and Portugal without breaking down. He concluded he, as a joke that he, himself, would never be caught driving it. Honesty is beautiful.
800 $ was the price (480€).
What about insurance, I asked. Apparently, it doesn’t really exist in this country. Cheap cars just accept a new dent, nice cars have insurance for themselves. I would think about it, and come back the next day. While I was walking out the door he finished with: ‘I’m reading a book about Belgium and WO I, it’s tragic what happened there’.
True.

The thing is, I really wanted to start driving now, so I did check out the rentals, and like he said, it was f%µîng expensive. I called up M. at the house, and asked her what the options were, she said, we would go driving with her car later that day.
Arriving at the house, I bump in to N. the dutch guy who is moving out the next day. He got a job in Queenstown. His car is for sale. Do I want it? He advertised it for 1250$, he sells it to me for 800$.
Hoping to be able to sell it again in three months, I accepted the lawsy investment.
We decided to give it a testdrive, and headed to the infamous Piha-beach, a drive thru a Jurassic Parc-scenery. The vulcano-disillusion from two days before slowly fades away as we cruise down the winding road.
Descending the hill of the beautiful dark sand-beach , we see a helicopter ship out. Due to strong currence, rockformation and huge waves, one rescue-mission a day is the average on this surfers-hotspot.
Don’t worry people, I didn’t go in, the only other risk that was brought to my attention was sunburn. As I’ ve been told that the hole in the ozonlayer moves around. During winter, it is located above the Southpole, and around this time, well, above my head. No Ozon: so a lot of sunblock adviced. Oh well no tan in summer, what’s new? It’s the story of my life.

So to sum up the last days events: I am currently a carowner with a job and a residence. If there was a pool going on how long it was going to take me to get organised, I think we have set a record-time of five days.
To be honest, even I was convinced that I would be shaving sheep, but apparently that would have been even more tricky, as that happens before the summer, so now, the sheeps are in the nude.

2006-01-10T17:42:00.000-08:00

So I didn t get the job. It was not the fact that I missed out that ticked me off, but more that they made me wait for 2 hours before giving me the verdict.
The two executive producers didn’t even meet with me. This is how it went.
Four persons for three jobs. The three others: all locals. Me, myself, well, not.
The two Exec.Producers decided they would feel better with girls that know the town and the driving Blablabla.
The third one just got the job because… she was promised a job… Don’t ask me more ‘Cause I really don’t know. So there I was back at zero, calling up other people from my list. With meetings later this week and month. All very vague.

But then, later that day, after getting settled in in my new room, my new house, my new ‘quartier’. I get a phonecall from someone at the office, she heared that I didn’t get the job as a PA. but they were still looking for a production runner, and want to give the job to me. For the ones that are not familiar with what a runner is on a set, it is somebody driving around Auckland collecting things, people, being all over and everywhere.
Can you see the irony of the situation as well?
Thus, I go back in tomorrow, this time for this position. I’ll see what the deal is, because as a lot of you people know, this is not the most interesting of jobs. On the other hand, I get to know the city and surroundings, I’m in a foreign country, nobody knows you, it ‘s a start. N’est-ce pas?
But what wont happen for sure: is waiting another two hours to get a ‘njet’. This woman has some dignity left. (not a lot, but some)… Indeed.
This reminds me of something completely not related to anything: I forgot S.’s Salami and Brie in the communal fridge at the hostel. Can Brie go bad?

2006-01-08T20:00:00.000-08:00

Tinky Winky, Tipsy, Salami and Butt cracks.

I really thought the jetlag had passed me by, but then, on Friday night it knocked me of my socks. At 7PM I went to bed with the intention to rest my eyes. I slept until 9AM the next morning. Apparently it was that what I needed after my first evening in Auckland.

That first night, Thursday night, I went out drinking with a roommate who was leaving the next day. S. just graduated, and won a photo-contest organised by an english charity organisation which allowed her to roam the planet for four months as a travel photographer. Although her laptop, camera and lenses were stolen somewhere in South America, her spirit would not be broken, it was all too wonderful.
She was travelling on to Vietnam the next day, leaving me her salami and brie.
That was my only 1 minute friend until now, the other backpackers, I don’t know about them, they have the tendency to arrive late at night and leave even earlier that same morning. On top of it all, the little zombies make a hell of a lot of noise.
Today a 65-75 year old woman entered the dorm room (I have the same problem with senior citizens, that I have with babies, I can’t really tell how old they really are).
There were some difficulties holding the conversation with this lady from nearby San Francisco, as her hearing wasn’t all that anymore (and totally aside from anything: she drank freakishly a lot of water, scary!!) But it s all good I think, youth hostels is how old one feels. You could state: as long as the back holds the bag, you ‘re in.
For me on the other hand, it is time to leave this backpackers-hideout, so I took action and went looking at apartments (indeed I looked at the amazing amount of 2 apartments).
The first one: horrible. 6 Argentinean people living as refugees in a box. 3 people per room, the apartment looked like a battle-field (with victory for the cockroaches). I friendly said it looked promising and that I would call her if. As if ever.
The second one was a hit. Located just outside the city-centre, nearby the offices of my possible new job. The bus took me there.

A bus ride where I noticed something else, allowing me to sidetrack from the story: a moment of reflection about advertisement-billboards in this country. (I know, it’s what you get after working in commercials for a period of time, you notice them all). I saw two and let you draw the conclusions:
1 for a beer brand: Baseline: Goes together like sand and butt cracks.
1 for a new crunchier Magnum: Baseline: Overcome your fear of big nuts.

I say no more and return to the story.

After getting the big tour of the really nice clean house, E. showed me the garden. He pointed out the Peachtree. I was sold.
I only met the Israeli couple, the 5 others I will meet on Monday, when I move in. It’s amazing that it all went so easy until now, something is bound to go wrong. The job for instance.

Realizing now, what a state I was really in before I had my coma-like night of sleep on Friday night, I sincerely hope my lack of sleep didn’t affect the interview that I thought ‘went so good’. I was trying hard to be witty, but did not really succeed as my English dropped to a sad teletubby-level. It’s very embarrassing to give such a first impression. (Although, I know I’m not fooling anybody, the telletubby-impression should not be blamed on the english).
But like I said, I don’t do well on tests and official feasts, and yes, we can add job-interviews to that list. D. asked me if he could call anybody for references. I said Lovo may have some good words about me. Hoping that the time-difference would scare him of, I gave him the number of the office in Belgium. I wonder if he called, I wonder what was said.

This brings us up to speed: my last evening in the city-centre.
I took the ferry to Devonport, for a nice view of Auckland from the top of a volcano. So this is what I did, I went up a volcano today, and descended disillusioned down a hilly. You would be so too, if you would have red that Auckland is surrounded by 80 volcano’s. It creates a King Kong-spectacular image in my mind. The shortness of breath was nothing more then the condition my condition was in. Indeed, nothing more.
The sun was surprisingly present and caused the second afternoon nap in my life (+ a lobster sunburn).
Afterwards I took a bubble bath on the roof of the hostel. Just me, surrounded by skyscrapers. It builds up quite an appetite, so I decide to go explore the neighbouring streets. On the corner a man is singing Bob Dylan-songs. So I sit down on the terrace in hearing-range. Coincidence? It turns out to be the Belgian bar in Auckland: Stella, Witte v Hoegaarden, Leffe, Kriek, Stella,…
Relaxed from the Jacuzzi, enchanted by the music, looking forward to some amazing New Zealand Belgian ‘Mussels with lemongrass and coconut’, I quickly forget the sad state and shape I was in on top of my hilly earlier that day.

2006-01-06T16:14:00.000-08:00

Friday 15.30 h.
I’m sitting on a bus. The woman behind me smells like onions. I think I’m hungry and the rocking movement of the bus awakens the jetlag in me (it's a 12 hour time difference).
I start my generalisations already: everybody seems very friendly and helpful in this country. When somebody gets of the bus, they always say to the busdriver: ‘thanks brother’, or, ‘thanks, friend’. Charming.

So, I’m actually coming back from my interview with Filmfactory. One day in the country, and maybe already with a job starting from Monday.
Monday is my second interview for the job. It’s for a telemovie from the US. The 3 american producers and director need assistants, I would assist one of the 2 executive producers or be the assistant to the director and the producer I just met.
The meeting went ok, I think. The only thing that really seemed to concern him is the fact that I haven’t driven at the wrong side of the road (which they do here- bloody english settlers-).
I said that this wouldn’t be a problem. (I don’t know if I lied yet).
So, on Monday, I know if I have the job. I would start immediately, as the two other executive Producers and the Director arrive this weekend. Shooting is scheduled for four weeks in February in and around Auckland.
This would mean, straight to work. Time to look for an apartment this weekend.
Am I going to be working on a B-Flick? More on Monday.
Here is where I have to get off. 'Thanks, friend'.
And of course, it starts to drizzle. Reminds me of summers in Belgium.

2006-01-06T15:50:00.000-08:00

Starbucks: The center of the seating area at London Heathrow.
I have to wait for my connecting flight to Kuala Lumpur. Only 4 more hours to go.
The journey started of well this afternoon. Apparently you can only have 20 kg of stuff, I had 33. The man behind the counter was willing to give me 5 kg extra for free (from then on: 60 euro per extra kilo). Which was not an option. So I deleted and rearranged all of my belongings: the 8 gossipmagazines were the first to go. Most of the rest ended on my back.
Which means, living from moment to moment, unaware of anything else then getting through the next 4 and a half hours of transit without losing my mind and getting a hernia.
I must admit, the departure was more difficult then I would have imagined. I shed a tear or two, while I was receiving lots of nice textmessages and said goodbye to my parents. But I said to myself: only in Belgium, when you take-off, you switch to a different mode: auto-pilote on looking for/onward. It worked.

So this is where I sit down. The Coffee Mekka. On a chair. In undefined white liquid: could be vomit, but we do so hope that it is condensed milk.
We curse, order a coffee and continue the wait.
(note: writing in plural-form gives me a sense of ‘less loneliness’, yes indeed, we are a sad little individual).
A baby is staring at me. I wonder:
Is it I that seek up the children’s laughter? Or is it the other way around? Can they smell fear, can their mothers detect my -still-underdevelopped motherinstinct and try to rub it in? Why are they always around wherever I am?
While I ask myself this existential questions, an other question gets resolved. The Indian mother of the child (ranging in between 1 to 6 months old,… who can really tell?) smiles at me. A little bit of dried milk-vomit on the shoulder of her black jacket.

A retired Santa Claus look-a-like starts a random conversation with me. Originally from Bristol, on his way to Auckland as well, although his plane leaves in less then an hour ( a little bit of envy from my behalf). The man is going to the wedding of his son: which means staying in Auckland for only 4 days. When I ask him if this short time doesn’t bother him and his biorythm, he says no. And I actually believe him, and for a slipsecond I think: Santa?
30 minutes after he leaves, I see on the announcement-board that his flight has a 3hour delay. I can’t help to have a mean little grin on my face.

Finally on the plane. My day just gets worse, realizing I have already seen every freakin’ movie they have to offer. So now, 12 and a half hours feels like: eternity. Again: I sit next to a screaming and shouting 4 year old and a baby (several months old). When the mother goes to the bathroom, she asks a flightattendant to stand next to the children and watch over them.Apparently it shows.
The other 10 hour flight from Kuala Lumpur to Auckland, I sit next to an odd retired couple.
During the entire flight, they gaze in the distance, did not once put on the television or radio, I can’t stop but wonder: Is this a content couple or not? Normally I would say: not, but then I just don’t know anymore: they don’t talk to each other during the entire flight, yet from time to time, the man takes the hand of his wife and squeezes in it. Maybe everything is said in only that squeeze.

Touchdown. We made it, altough, I didn’t think the customs-procedure would take so long. Again, with my hernia-inflicting bags: 2hours of XRAY-BIO-SURVEY-PROBING. The woman in front of me gets a fine of 200 $ because she forgot to declare her chocolate-bar. I realize I still have a granny in my bag I forgot to declare, but decide to live on the edge, and just try to sneak it in. The illegal granny gets thru. Who the fuck needs to go bungee-jumping in Auckland, when this is already one of the adrenaline highlights of my day?

2005-12-27T16:40:00.001-08:00

This Friday was my 'byebyeparty' (check out: http://www.grapheine.com/bombaytv/play.php?id=395317 for the vibe)

yes indeed, as you can tell, more then a week too early, but as it is the holiday season, apparently people have other plans on the 2th of January: people tend to gather their forces to, and now I'm going to use the technical term:
get over the hangover.

So, after serious calendar-flipping, Friday the 23th was the only date left to throw that party, as some smart-asses reserved the 25th and the 31th to celebrate 'a decorated tree' and 'the intention to quit smoking'.

For me personally, the 23th date signifies from now on:
The rebirth of Ingrid.
and I don' t mean this in a religious way what so ever. Although, run with me for a moment:

Everthing went as planned that friday:
I was dying of utter stress.
ridiculous questions floated thru my mind:
-Will somebody actually come?
-Did I buy enough extra booz?
-Are all these people going to get along?
-Is this really the end and the beginning of a new chapter?

My absent mind would soon become: my absynthe minded mind.
As going over my drinking capacity was not predicted by my psychic (reminder to myself: fire that bitch), I elegantly went total loss.
(gradually of course, because that is how it always goes: you only realize when you had the last deadly sip of white wine, when the gulp is swallowed, and you feel yourself become a ridiculous foolish wreck called the artist formally known as 'I have know idea where I left my car'

I haven't been in that artistic state of mind since winter 2002. (Besides that drunkfest just last week then).

In the end, it's just me, I don' t do well on tests and officially declared feasts. (you should see me on Valentine's day, that day's worst cynic), but anyway,
on detoxication-Saturday (also known for you christians, as Christmas-eve): it was a day of reflection (and a lot of water), it made me think of the rebirth of Christ and myself.(Yes, people just go with me on this egocentric trip just for a paragraph more)

- The stress of the departure combined with the stress of the approaching arrival, was symbolised by the blood of Ingrid: a fruity mix of cointreau, rum, wodka, a splash of orange juice, and yes, of course the deadly cheap white wine (which actually only should be made by Germans that can manufacture it with names as: LieveFraueWein)

- The saying goodbye to loved ones, but with the promise to return in the end
The complete hangover (which seemed to last more then 40 painful days)

- And last but not least: a written down censured version of the whole episode:
It is the Bible called... my blog.

2005-12-08T15:09:00.000-08:00

Everybody knows I'm leaving soon.
Go, go, gone.
To the other side.
...
of the world.
Why?
Nobody really understands,
and don't ask me...
I'm just the executor of the wims of my flickery will.

So, what 's the plan man?
I don't know, and that 's maybe what might be the interesting part of this whole journey.
Things will figure themselves out as I move along. -we hope-
Working in film? Ideally.
Shaving sheep or serving coffee? Definitely less interesting, but also a real option.
But on the other hand, hey, maybe who knows... I might find the sheep of my life and settle down.

Yes.
Moments like this, when I write faster then my shadow, and my never deleted random thoughts start to cluster, the only word that brings me back is: ANYWAY...

back to the yellow brick road straight to the point:

I will try to give an update from time to time... all about me.
Sorry people if I dissapoint. (Yet, again).
The debates, platforms and forums about chinese and australian trade-agreements and such, are just on the blog next door. But again, who knows, we might tackle any subject that I find interesting, again: ME, me, me).
Because, Yes indeed, I am God on the blog That I have Created.
Resident: 1
Visitors: ...(Damn, this will be one sad ordeal without any comments from you guys, because why invent diaries otherwise? My innermonlogue needs to be out there)

So, when I am all by myself in my complete and utter... alone-ness, at the other side of the world.... don 't worry:

Because really, serious now, as long as I stay in touch with y'all... I'm fine.
If not, I 'll close my eyes and just click my shoes (and book a ticket, pack my bags, buy some souvenirs and take the first plane back to Belgium) ... "my Oz is where my Fiero States", isn't that how the old ancient chinese saying goes?

So peeps:
Hope to hear from you all throughout my journey. Because in the end, I need your support when sheep 542 dies on my watch, when life pulls me down, chews me up, spits me out and lifts me back up again.
Yep, trouble in paradise, that's definitaly how it's going to be.

Jiepiekayee Mother Fucker!