My Relocation Agent is not German!

With my new position as a Senior Project Manager in Germany was provided an on-site relocation service. A relocation agent had me appointed to assist with my work permit; registration to the Town Hall; apartment search; transfer of driving licence; etc. Normally, this agent is a person who knows very well the administrative and social particularities of the region in question. As it turns out, the (oh so powerful) Murphy's Law striked once again on my ass as I'm trying to figure things out in my new environment.

Amongst the most common stereotypes the popular world associates to the German people are the fact that they are direct; they love rules, organization, and structure; they are punctual; they love soccer; they are well insured; they are distant; they love to drink beer; they know how to bake bread; and they love sausages. Based on these above-stated perceptions of the German people from a foreigner's eye (and a fair amount of personally experienced spots), I can assure you that my relocation agent is NOT German, especially when it comes to organization, structure and punctuality!

I have indeed gone through some rather negative experiences with my relocation agent, which managed to bring me to total dissatisfaction in terms of customer service. Keep in mind that this is the first time that I go through such a process, so my expectations are pretty low since I have no previous experience to base myself on. And yet, she managed to bring it to a level that could only be explained by the fact that she must have been Italian in a previous life (based on the same previously mentioned Popular World Common Stereotype Framework). You would think that with so much money invested into making a new employee comfortable in his new environment, the company that hired me would insure a high level of customer service, but in the end all of it can be completely scewed up by one person if her very self is as backwards as Kriss Kross pants. Unfortunately for myself, it was the case of the relocation agent I had the priviledge to come across.

Registration

It all started on the very first day that I landed in Germany. I was on my way to the temporary relocation apartent when the so called relocation agent reaches me asking to meet her in a few minutes. Apparently, we needed to go register myself at the Rathaus (Rathaus is the German word to say Town Hall... How ironic, right?) and it could not wait until my post-travel jetlag recovery nap. When I arrived at the apartment, she was indeed on-site, waiting for me. When we got to the Rathaus she realized that she had forgotten the necessary papers without which it would be impossible to go through the registration process. No worries! Let's walk to the car and get the papers. At the car, she realizes that the papers are not there. Therefore, they must certainly be at the office. No worries! Let's walk to the office and get those darn papers so that I can register and finally get to my temporary relocation apartment where I will be able to recover from the 10 hour trip (all the way from Montreal to Amsterdam, Nuremberg and finally, Herzogenaurach) from which I found myself unable to sleep on the plane. This was the first time it ever happened to me... Stressed, are we? New job; company; industry; city; country...Alouette! So yeah, definitely! Back to my relocation agent, it really seems like she never has all the papers at once. It would have been nice if she would have come prepared with all the necessary documentations the first time. So we walked from the car to the office and then, back to the Rathaus where we re-did the line and went through the registration process. If only she had the papers with her in the first place, all of this precious time we lost could have been used on my recovery!

Two days after my arrival, I had a second appointment with my relocation agent at 8:00am sharp at my doorsteps to go open a banking account, pick up my temporary work permit and bring my driving licence to an agency to have it translated to German. She arrived in front of my apartment door at 8:15am. Not bad, but not German-like. On top of that, only then had she asked me to bring 200€ with me to pay for the work permit. This kind of expanse should have been planned in advance as one cannot assume I have this kind of money in my apartment if no one told me to plan for it. One would think that it has been enough misfortune in only one day... WRONG! The cherry on top was that when we got to the offices, we realized that they only opened at 10:00am. This translated in my mind into two extra hours of sleep which I will never see again! At this point in time, I have to admit that my blood started to warm up a little.

Apartment Search

For my apartment search, I had clearly communicated my requirements many times as we have spent a lot of time looking at apartments during my Look/See visit back in April. However, the flats we have visited did not match my requirements at all. They were often too expansive, to small or very sketchy (to say the least). When I mentioned to her that I was looking for an apartment that filled my requirements in terms of location, size and cost, the only thing she thought of saying was that I should live a little and allow myself more comfort. In other words, she wanted me to choose a more expansive flat (probably to boost her sales commission). Really?! How inappropriate is that?! I think this is a very uncalled-for comment to make in a professional-client relationship. The way I manage my budget is none of her business! There are definitely many good reasons for me to look for a specific type of apartment and she does not need to know them at all. For all I care, all she needs to know is the list of my requirements and not the X and Y of them. Imagine I have a specific investment plan which requires a certain level of monthly savings if I want to reach my objective. Imagine I have debts I need to reimburse. Imagine I have decided to embrace this new hipster trend that is the one of a minimalist lifestyle. Imagine I have someone in charge back in Montreal which requires me to transfer a fair amount of money every month. Whatever the reason is, I stand my ground by saying that it's none of her business and she should not comment on my choices of lifestyle under any circumstances!

Following this event, I decided to look for an apartment myself. I found an interesting apartment in the northern part of Nuremberg (which I did not end up choosing). So I asked her to drop by and have a look at the neighborhood for a second (without even going into the apartment). To that, she answered that she did not want to drive in this area because she needs to go home to see her dog and have dinner with her husband who is already waiting for her. It looks like she prioritized her own life over the service she is meant to provide. On top of that, while looking at apartments, she never knows exactly where it is located, she mixes up with neighborhoods and loses a substantial amount of time just driving around trying to figure shit out. As a result, she rushes me to have a look around the apartment quickly to catch up on the lost time while driving around searching for the right address... like it was my fault!

To sum up, in two weeks of search, she was never able to send me listings that suited my needs, so as mentioned I decided to look myself. My search was successful in only three days. During that time I was able to contact the owner, book an appointment, visit the apartment and sign the contract. I don't understand why it was so quick and easy for a foreigner like me who does not know how the system works in Germany, while it was so difficult for her to find a handful of apartments that filled my requirements for someone who has been living here her whole life. At this point in time, I have to admit that my blood was at a burning hot temperature.

Mail Delivery

As far as my mail is concerned, I did not have an apartment yet at the time I went through the whole process of registration at the Rathaus, opening my banking account, pick up my temporary work permit and bring my driving licence to an agency to have it translated to German. Therefore, the address provided to all of these instances was the one from the relocation agency. Then, my beloved relocation agent is supposed to bring them in hand to my temporary relocation apartment until I find my own apartment and transfer all my accounts to my new address.

I was waiting for some important letters containing my banking PIN to be delivered to my temporary apartment. Only, when I mentioned it to my relocation agent, her vague answer she provided was that I would get my letters sometime during the week unless it's an emergency. I thought it would speed up the process if I mentioned that it was an emergency as I was out of money and I need my PIN to withdraw some cash. To this statement, she answered that I could pass by the relocation agency if I needed my letters so urgently. Didn't she just say that she would drop them off if it was an emergency? The problem I had was that the agency's offices are not yet open when I leave in the morning and they are already close at the time that I come back from work. In addition, my temporary relocation apartment is located at a solid 45 seconds away from the relocation acengy. So how much of a pain would it be for her to walk to my temporary relocation apartment and drop what belongs to me in the first place? This situation happened a few more times where she kept forgetting to deliver my letters to my mailbox. Those letters contained critical documents such as my residency permit, my banking information, etc. She kept promising to pass by and drop them, but the promise was never fulfilled as I was found disappointed every time. I kept asking over and over to drop them as soon as possible, but it was unsuccessful. At this point in time, I have to admit that my blood was boiling and I could feel it starting to evaporate.

To be honest, I have no idea of the process to follow, nor of the remaining steps until the end of the service. This does not provide me with a sentiment of security while relocating in a totally new country. Thankfully, I am resourceful person who always finds ways to get the right infromation and get by (knock on wood) regardless of how competent my relocation agent is. Right now, I have no more blood flowing through my veins since the boiling made it all evaporate. I think it's fair to say that I have just built up an irreducible mental strenght that resembles the one of a Tibetan monk. For all these above-stated frustrating moments I have experienced, I came to the objective conclusion that my relocation agent is not German! Perhaps I should buy her this book (see picture below)!

Somewhere I call home

My head is spinning... 

I wandered in the airport all day, walking next to each gate, looking at the destination it is promising its passengers. When I see these people, all I think about is stories. Stories, stories, stories that people transport with them from a city to another, from a life to another.  Some of them are finalizing the last chapter while others have just started the plot. When you travel, you have a purpose, even if you are aware of it or not. There is a reason, a motivation that pushes your limit to cross your confort zone.  All these people's impulses make the airport such a special place to wander in. I can feel all the energy around. Sad trip. Business trip. Vacation trip. Honey moon trip. Decision making trip. Big trip. Confused trip. Research trip. Everybody is looking for something to see, to know, to meet, to learn, to teach, to grow, to discover. 

"Sweet dreams are made of this

Who am I to disagree

I travel the world and the seven seas

Everybody's looking for something. "

8:00 pm - Boarding all passengers from Detroit, destination to Sao Paulo.  

I just got in the plane. I sat down on my 5 degree inclined chair and a basic question hit me. Why is it we travel?  When you think about it, it gets harder and harder determining if we are actually going away or coming back... This is where the concept of home comes in place. 

Home is a very blurry statement. It can be a place you spent most of your lifetime at… as well as a land you just set foot on.For some people, it’s where your family and friends are. For others, it’s where your dreams make the most sense. A place that allows you to grow wings. 

Is home really a geographical place? A concrete wooden house, a city or country you’d need a passport to get to? What is that factor that makes you feel at home?

In my opinion, we are all as lucky as turtles, if we decide to realize it. We often forget that us too, are carrying home with us. Everywhere we go. Think about it, all you’ll ever need is up there, in the infinite and limitless possibilities of our mind. If you define home by family and friends, their memory is forever printed within you. If you need dreams and wings, well they can only take source from your inner self, from your imagination and your guts. 

When you let your mind go on a trip of its own, be aware of where it wanders. Let it go and notice. Where does it tend to always come back to? Home is a state of mind that few of us are aware of its existence. We seek confort in houses, but true peace comes from a intangible state only you can know about.

Home is somewhere within. Once you find it, you’ll be boundless and free.

Funny enough, when I finished to type this and closed my laptop, I decided to watch some Ted shows presented on the  Delta Airline's TV. I bumped into this interesting video, which combined perfectly with my thoughts.

Retour à l'étranger

Déjà trois ans ont passé depuis la dernière fois où la vie m’a permis de brandir mon passeport bleu. Cette vie qui nous place souvent face à un dilemme, nous demandant ainsi de choisir entre la richesse humaine qu’un voyage puisse nous apporter et le choix logique qui semble à priori le plus bénéfique à long terme en termes de sécurité sociale. Je me suis retrouvé dans cette situation pendant trente-six long moins où j’ai passé de sessions universitaires aux stages pratiques, à mon entrée officielle sur le marché du travail. Trois interminables années pendant lesquelles j’espérais trouver la force de passer au travers de ma rupture amoureuse sans devoir attendre jusqu’à ma prochaine évasion.

J’ai tenté à trois reprises de quitter temporairement ma vie montréalaise vers l’inconnu, seul, afin de marquer une véritable séparation temporelle entre le passé et ma renaissance émotionnelle. En vain, j’avais toujours une bonne raison de repousser mon voyage à plus tard, me roulant ainsi dans la même poussière, résidus d’une apothéose qui n’existe désormais que sur des cartes postales et souvenirs fragiles, vestiges de mes peines qui m’ont autrefois fait sourire. Je me suis alors résigné à ranger mon cher sac-à-dos de 50 litres au profit de choix de vie visant à m’offrir un meilleur avenir.

M’étant finalement fait à l’idée de la solitude, le célibataire que je suis s’est enfin réveillé de son coma amoureux, après trois ans d’abstinence totale face au plaisir du voyage en me disant: "Has it been that long…?". Les réminiscences des merveilles qui se sont si souvent dressées sous mes yeux ont donc jaillies depuis les racoins les plus profonds de mes souvenirs pour me rappeler cruellement que la vie défile beaucoup trop vite sous nos yeux. Il est grand temps de renouer avec mes amours et flirter à chaque jours et le plus souvent possible avec les courbe sinueuses des lettres formant l’écriture de la maxime Carpe Diem.

J’hésitais pendant longtemps à partir le plus loin possible, chez les maoïstes, dans le but de vivre le dépaysement le plus total. Ce voyage n’a toujours pas eu lieu. Un bon matin, une amie m’ajouta à une conversation en cours sur la toile, me proposant de joindre un groupe d’amis qui désirent partir en voyage de surf au Nicaragua. On n’a pas souvent l’occasion de voyager avec deux de ses meilleures amies, d’autant plus que je ne connais rien de ce pays centre-américain. Inutile de chercher davantage. Le "Yes Man" que je me suis efforcé de devenir depuis quelques mois afin de jaillir de cette crypte poussiéreuse avait déjà pris position. C’est parfait, je me lance! C’est ainsi que j’ai ressorti mon backpack de  la plus haute tablette de mon armoire et me suis décidé à partir vers une destination qui, je dois l’avouer, ne faisait pas partie de la liste de mes prochains voyages à réaliser. Il ne m’a fallu qu’une fraction de seconde pour me souvenir que ce qui comptait était le voyage et non la destination. Et qui sait, peut-être que derrière cette porte vérouillée par mes amers songes triénaux trouverais-je une oasis ensoleillée qui saura marquer le début d’une nouvelle ère dominée par la légèreté de coeur que propose la Pura Vida?