Join the club

When we first moved up to our little rural environs, we were continuously quizzed by the coastal residents about the other people who live waaaaay up here on the mountaintop. There are persistent rumors -- similar to the type you hear in certain areas of the States about the kinds of places brought to mind when you hear the Deliverance soundtrack for example -- but we’ve determined that tales of swinging farmers are a combination of the townies’ ignorance about country life; they simply can’t imagine what passes for entertainment without shopping, dining, and pubs to occupy their time, and a heapin’ helpin’ of plain ol’ xenophobia. I’m happy to say we’ve met quite a lot of people and haven’t yet been approached to join any secret society (though this may be a result more of our general physical appearance and less our neighbors’ morality) however, we are definitely members of another local club: The Ex-Pat Club.

I initially worried residents might resent foreigners moving in on their turf, much as I did the flocks of newcomers perpetually descending upon Florida, but no worries, mate, we are in the majority here. Off the top of my head I can name a dozen or so German, Swiss, and Austrian neighbors, two Brits, a Canadian, a couple Kiwis, a handful of Thais, a Torres Straights Islander, a Zimbabwean, an American or two, even an Iranian, and most of the other Aussies here hail from other regions as well. There are still a few old-timers around, third and fourth generation families easily recognizable by their surnames posted on all roads not named after creeks or mountains, and they have been friendly and welcoming. Basically, if you're not Aboriginal, you're an immigrant. Admission to the club, what passes for the secret handshake, is as simple as answering two questions: 1) Where are you (or your accent) from? and 2) How did you end up here?


We have learned that we cannot live alone, at peace; that our own well-being is dependent on the well-being of other nations, far away. We have learned that we must live as men, and not as ostriches, nor as dogs in the manger. We have learned to be citizens of the world, members of the human community.

-- Franklin Delano Roosevelt

What next?

After working a couple oddball jobs, Jorge replied to an ad in the paper for a construction manager. He emailed off a general resume with “references and additional project details upon request” and received a prompt email back requesting an interview and those additional project details and references. After the interview, where he was happy to learn the position was more administerial and not running a crew, something he hopes to never suffer again, he was offered the position which includes housing, food, and travel allowances and told to name his salary and preferred schedule.

Sound too good to be true?

It’s in Papua New Guinea.

The girls don’t want to go and I can’t say that I blame them. They love their school and new friends too much to move again and have really have blossomed these past few months. We’ve all settled in quite nicely; however, we don’t have an endless supply of the green stuff. We initially planned for a six-month stay and recently juggled finances to accommodate our new extended plan with the knowledge that the sale of our properties would afford an investment in a permanent situation here.

Have you been following real estate trends lately?

Jorge chose a six-week on and two-week off roster. His two weeks off would be paid and the company would fly him back and forth, or fly us all up there when desired.

We came here with the goal to spend more time with each other, working together as a family, and this certainly runs contrary to our plans. It comes down to the money because that is a finite resource (the Melbourne Cup is only an annual event, after all), and this opportunity affords infinite new possibilities. I mean besides earthquakes, cannibals, malaria, tsunamis, dengue fever, volcanic eruptions, headhunters…


Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course…

-- Homer