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“Well that sounds a bit weird,” says Shaz as I try to explain how the finance market works. I start to suspect that she was just being polite and that she’s not really interested in what I do. She seems a lot more interested in wrestling the Landcruiser down the track safely.
Shaz or Shazza, who was presumably once called Sharon, is the co-owner of the lodge where Ellen and I are spending our vacation. Within moments of meeting her I recognise that I am on holiday. I could go and sit on a beach in Thailand, or go scuba diving in the Philippines, but if there is one other person there who is a banker or a lawyer, then I am unlikely to leave my work life behind entirely.
So in order to ensure there is no chance of bumping into a client or colleague or anyone else who has anything to do with the finance industry, Ellen and I have travelled all the way to Australia to an “eco-lodge” which is entirely populated by people who have never heard of sub-prime and who think the market is somewhere you buy fruit and vegetables.
This place is entirely cut-off from the rest of the world and so is a perfect escape from information superhighway. They have no TV, no mobile phone coverage, they don’t get newspapers and while they do have a computer, they only have dial-up, so accessing the internet is pretty difficult. But despite that it is all other ways a comfortable wilderness lodge, except that there is no mini-bar as the whole place runs on solar power.
Shazza’s husband, Barry, built the lodge. When people I know say that they are building a house they mean that they have spent a load of money hiring an architect, a construction company and a construction manager on some far away tropical island. When Barry says he built the lodge he means that he got on a ladder and bolted great big pieces of wood together, that he laid bricks, that he nailed window-frames together and did all manner of macho things.
“So you work for a bank do you mate. That must be tough.” He says greeting me with the raspy hand of someone who does actual work.
“Well there are tougher things that you could do, although there are a few easier things” I say, hoping he doesn’t ask me for an example of the latter.
“Yeah, well good onya. I could never get through all that numbers stuff. Can I get you a beer?”
Once through the check-in process our hosts show us around the wilderness areas they have restored since buying the property. Then they introduce us to all of the kangaroos, koalas, possums, they have rescued or rehabilitated and who now live around the lodge.
Turns out, they’re not really running a hotel; they’re really running a wildlife sanctuary. Their main occupation is rescuing injured or orphaned animals, and nursing them back to health or independence. They started the lodge in order to make enough money to pay for it all.
When Barry shows us the sugar-glider enclosure he explains that it needs to be upgraded.
“Shazza would probably prefer that I get on with building our house first, but these little guys need a bit more space,” explains Barry.
“You don’t live in the lodge?” I ask, confused.
“No, that’s our place there,” he says, pointing at a very dull and very small square hut that I had assumed was some sort of pen for injured animals. And they’re not building a bigger one, until the sugar gliders are sorted out.
There’s plenty of ways to make money. Come up with a new way to do something old. Come up with something new people never thought they needed. Or if you are not too imaginative, get a degree and go work or a bank or law firm or something like that. But starting a wildlife sanctuary is not a generally accepted way to make your fortune. I must find out what their secret is.
“So what do you guys get up to in Hong Kong?” asks Shazza over a cup of tea tree and eucalyptus tea.
“Well we work, we go out for dinner quite a lot. We play a bit of tennis. We have some great friends who we often go for a drink with. Oh, and I closed some fantastic Asian M&A transactions and one of the region’s largest high-yield deals earlier in the year.”
“That sounds nice,” she says looking a bit lost for words, “so you must enjoy living in Hong Kong?”
“Oh yes, the tax rate is fantastic.”
Our conversation is interrupted at this point by the squawk of some hungry native bird, which Shazza must run off to feed. When she returns I decide to try to understand their business model.
“How long do you expect it will be before you start to make a substantial profit?” I ask.
“Oh, I dunno if we’ll ever make a profit. Probably not. It’s not something we really think about I guess.” I’m wondering if she understood the question.
But no, she did, and she continues, “It would be nice though, because there are some great community projects we’d like to help out. There’s a very nice bird sanctuary under construction just down the road and they could do with a bit extra.”
I realise that the conversation is never going to reach common ground. I’ve got to get out of here. These people are weird.
The shock of getting away from it all is just too big
Sunday, January 6, 2008
