After our previous blogs have mostly radiated pure sunshine-and-roses vibes, today it’s time for a proper moan. Had to happen eventually – consider this blog my therapy session for processing recent events 😊

But before I descend into the valley of tears, a quick update on the job: I’ve now been back in the working world for a week and two days – off the streets and into the thick of it – and I have to say, I’m really enjoying it. Great energy, brilliant engineers, fascinating topics, everyone very pragmatic. And back to a proper daily routine, complete with my 1-litre thermos of tea before lunch. The Kiwis love to tease Germans about their herbal tea obsession – I make do with a blend of chamomile and peppermint, for lack of alternatives. But more about working life in NZ another time.

Morning – or as I call it: „brrr o’clock“

This is how the day starts: We currently have 9 degrees, mostly sunny but increasingly cloudy and rainy. Since our heat pumps sit right outside my and Marie’s bedrooms – and the walls feel like they’re made of cardboard – we turn the heating off in the evenings. Result: every morning, water condenses on the aluminium window frames. At least Kiwi windows have a handy little water catchment channel at the bottom. I’ve heard that 50% of New Zealanders complain about freezing in their homes in winter – but very few actually do anything about it. Well. Let’s just say it’s not quite comparable to my KfW-60 house back in Germany. To my house buyers – if you’re reading this: never take for granted how good you’ve got it 😉

So first things first – a hot shower. And there: the next problem. The pump dispenser on my 2-litre shower gel bottle – yes, supersized is perfectly normal here – gives up after approximately 50 ml. I curse the appalling quality loudly. A well-informed friend has since discovered that NZ receives lower quality goods from China than Europe does – with only five million inhabitants, you’re simply not a market anyone feels the need to impress. I resign myself to manually extracting the shower gel from the bottle and make a mental note never to buy this product again.

Office, hot water bottles and the acclimatised son

Arriving at the office, first stop: coffee. Next to me in the kitchen: a colleague filling two hot water bottles – one for her thighs, one under her wool-socked feet. I think to myself: „Aha, so there are cold-blooded Kiwis after all.“ Good thing our open-plan office is relatively warm.

Ferdinand, meanwhile, has fully acclimatised and charges around day in, day out in just his school polo shirt – no jumper, no negotiation. He does at least wear long trousers, while at least 50% of his classmates still turn up in shorts. Kiwi kids are clearly made of different stuff.

The Problem Zone

But I’m jumping ahead – because before this working life even began, I had a traumatic experience to process. The Problem Zone. Located front and centre on my face, it goes by the name of fringe. Cut wrong, Vroni can look quite ridiculous – a fact I’ve learned the hard way over the years. Katrin, my hairdresser back in Germany, knew exactly how to handle it. Katrin, if you’re reading this: warmest greetings to you!

After my daughter once cut my hair, after I’d repeatedly cut and butchered my own fringe, and after being asked more than once why I’m so fond of wearing a cap – the mission was clear: find a hairdresser before starting the new job. So I booked an appointment at a nearby salon with good reviews, explained exactly what I wanted – and was then confronted with New Zealand haircutting technique. My sensitive Problem Zone was tugged strand by strand instead of being cut and shaped layer by layer. I’d been warned that the technique here is different and one simply has to accept it. On top of that, the hairdresser appeared to be having a bad day: her „awesome“ and „amazing“ were delivered in a tone that suggested the exact opposite.

I left the salon feeling like a plucked chicken and immediately resolved to ask Google whether there’s a German hairdresser in Christchurch. Just as the German butcher here gets enormous business because he simply knows his craft better than the average Kiwi equivalent – surely there must be a German hairdresser filling the gap? Katrin, speaking directly to you once more: How about it? Emigrate to NZ and open a salon – the clientele would be guaranteed, when I think of all the poor German girls here 😄

The Roundabout. And the Fury.

So off I went, plucked chicken and all, back into the car and onto the road – heading to a new part of town, when: a two-lane roundabout. I entered clockwise on the outer lane, intending to continue to the third exit – when a driver on the inner lane almost crashed into me as she tried to exit at the second. I swerved just in time to avoid a collision.

I pulled over at the first opportunity and took a breath. The other driver pulled up alongside me, both windows down – and then: „You scared the shift out of me!!! Learn how to drive a roundabout!!! You fucking son of a bitch!!!“

I thought briefly: „Erm… bitch rather than son of – but fair enough.“ What I actually said was a very meek: „I’m so sorry. Sorry. Sorry…“

Having duly received my telling-off, I turned around and drove past the roundabout again – and sure enough: there was a solid white line I should have respected. I then consulted the AI on roundabout rules for two-lane roundabouts while driving. Now I know. Lesson learned – the hard way. And with that, back to the present – back to normal (working) life, which after all of the above felt almost relaxing 😄

Cucumber: €2.70. Farticles: priceless.

While driving, a thought occurred to me that’s been nagging for a while: ever since we arrived in NZ, I keep seeing people who look strangely familiar – not because I know them, but because they look like doppelgängers of people from Germany or Europe. I asked the AI whether I was imagining things – result: every person statistically has up to six doppelgängers, though there are no reliable studies on their geographic distribution. It probably also doesn’t help that I haven’t seen people from Germany or Europe in over six months, and my brain is starting to manufacture similarities. Or I’m simply going Kiwi-blind 😄

On to the supermarket. And as always, I’m struck by how expensive vegetables are in winter here. A cucumber: NZD 5.50, roughly €2.70. At Aldi in Germany? 40 to 70 cents. Nothing is subsidised here, the two major supermarket chains appear to coordinate their prices – and with five million inhabitants, they can get away with it.

On to garlic: also expensive, and poor quality on top of that. In a huge basket full of bulbs, you search in vain for a single one without at least one clove already going off. Our well-researched friend has looked into this too: the good produce gets exported, and second-rate quality lands in New Zealand supermarkets. I’ve learned: garlic must be bought at the Indian supermarket – excellent quality at German prices. Genuinely absurd when you just want to make tzatziki and the supermarket is right around the corner.

And then there’s Adi. Coming home every evening has become something of a ritual: where has he got stuck today? Our smart lawnmower finds, with an almost admirable consistency, a new corner to strand himself in every single time – looking up at me with those sad little eyes. The culprit: our struggling WiFi router, which leaves Adi’s sense of direction somewhat lacking at the edges of the garden. But help is on the way – Thomas is bringing a Fritz!Box from Germany. Hang in there, Adi! 😄

And then Ferdinand wanders in with a joke: „Mama, how do you call the particles in a fart?“ – „Farticles!“ 😄 Thank you, Ferdinand. Always enlightening.

Homesickness, Pining and Marie’s Verdict

After a week at work that flew by, something resembling routine has set in – and with it, probably also helped along by the greyer weather and the plucked-fringe episode, a proper bout of homesickness for the first time. And of course I miss my Thomas, who has now been in Germany for almost three months.

The other morning at breakfast, Marie caught me wistfully scrolling through all my photos of Thomas on my phone – one of those smart phone features that shows you all the pictures of a person over the years. At that very moment, Thomas called on WhatsApp. I put it on speaker – and he greeted me with: „My most darling, most wonderful wife in the whole world, how are you?“

Marie solemnly stuck her finger in her mouth, produced a gagging sound and delivered her verdict: „You two are awful – you’re behaving like teenagers.“

Well, that’s just how it is 😊 And he’ll be back soon.

To wrap up, a few photos: Thomas on a work trip in Long Beach, Los Angeles. Morning outing with the kids. Fireworks and music at New Brighton Beach for Matariki – Māori New Year. Marie’s latest artwork. View from the balcony – this is what winter in NZ looks like: lemon tree and snow-capped Alps in the background. And of course: Port Hills hike.

Kisses to the Northern Hemisphere 🌍