When or if?
November 7, 2005,Christchurch, New Zealand
7:39am.
Odd dreams last night.
Dreams of movie star siblings on sheep farms, one of them snobbish, the other quite affable, one correcting my pronunciation of the author Jeffrey Eugenides (Middlesex, the book I just finished, top five, if not top three), the other sibling touching my knee and smiling, causing stirring in places that should not stir. Woke up to Hud’s face, smushed full of grog, asking for a cuddle. He climbed in; I peed, came back and moved him to his own single bed beside ours. I lay there, hands behind my head, thinking about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about until it was time for my walk.
Now, after 52 minutes and 6km, I sip coffee amidst the musky pong of my own morning body, and write because television has lost its appeal.
Christchurch is a great city. Although we have yet to see it full weekday buzz, the pace and lush malaise of the weekend was definitely appealing. There are many clock towers and old (by NZ standards) churches and cathedrals.
We walked through their massive city park, which is split many times by the Avon River. It is much more British here, in architecture and people. There is less of a Maori influence, and strangely, way more Asians. Punting boats can take you, for a fee, along the shallow water of the Avon, the punters wearing the traditional circular hats and striped shirts, pushing the giant stick off the river bed, offering a tour if you let him, or silence if you prefer.
We thought it was a little too expensive so we watched another couple enjoy the forced romanticism of it all.
We stopped at the playground of course, continuing Australasian Playground Tour 2005, and Steph and I drank bad coffee and watched our son run around on spongy fake grass, smiling like a jester and demanding we push him on the swing. After the park we walked through the rose portion of the Botanical Gardens, and while internally I am struggling with it, I did enjoy the roses at their absolute peak of bloom, where the vivid petals seem to be begging for a hug.
At the end of the park, a Saturday market began, mostly crafts, with nothing too impressive. Hud ate a trailer bought tomato and chicken panini as we watched, waiting for any scraps to fall on his jacket for us to gobble on. Later Steph had the best looking chicken soulvlaki on a pita (a tribute to the Danforth she admitted) while I watched and then snapped at her because of my returned exile from food.
We fought a little bit after that, mostly me being an idiot, being hungry and confused about my manhood because I enjoyed the Botanical Gardens. I was able to turn it back to light and fluffy, but not before suffering the aggressive chin of my beautiful wife. Those who know her will be picturing her bugged eyes, and jutted jawbone right now. Aggro-chin we call it, because we name everything for easy humour reference.
Today we have no real plans. Some internet maintenance, including the posting of this, and maybe take a drive to see the outskirts of the city. Tomorrow’s destination is 300km south of here, just north of Dunedin. We did not see any pictures of the inside of the cottage, so it should be interesting.
It did have a little rowboat, so I am hoping my morning walks can be trading in for morning rows for a week. My legs feel fit, my ass taut, but my arms still feel drunk, wobbly, like hocus pocus grade school number two pencils.
Love to all,
J.
November 5, 2005
Christchurch, South Island, New Zealand
9:04pm
Feel a little guilty for not writing in Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, but with only two nights and one day, it was difficult to find the time, or the space, to write with the concentration this journal deserves.
Travel day went fine. Both today and the trip from sheep farm to Wellington. Talk about sensory overload. Went from nothing but sheep and vast green farmland, to high rises and suits and bar scenes in just under five hours. It was a little much at first and then felt perfectly comfortable as the latter was much more familiar than the former.
The hotel/apartment I booked online turned out to be perfect. A one and a half bedroom with full kitchen facilities we did not use once. It was right downtown so we were able to park our car and leave it there until this morning. I say this as a partial foreshadow.
A long time ago we planned to spend our one full day in Wellington, visiting their national museum, Te Papa. We read it was one of the best museums in the world and we were not disappointed. From covering all the geological wonders of New Zealand to all the odd fauna that live here, to its origins both from a Maori POV and from the European, we-want-to rule-the-world settlement POV. All done with interactive touch screen technology and voice activated displays. It even had a house you could enter with a reenactment of the 1931 Napier earthquake. Very cool.
Steph, being the supermom she is, called in the morning and signed us up for the 1:30 story reading in the preschool section of the museum. Being quite ignorant of preschool shenanigans, I was partially interested to see how Hud playing with kids he did not know. Well, he continues to shine, now one of the more confident children, answering questions, trying on the costumes, and racing around showing all the other kids how to work stuff.
Steph is in awe of the dramatic difference from when we first set foot here in NZ and she joined all the playgroups. It may sound repetitive, but it is so nice to witness your child’s mushrooming confidence. You can feel him starting to rule the world.
After the museum we walked the Wellington harbourfront, and I was impressed by the set up and the cleanliness of the city.
They take such pride in their cities here. I love Toronto, but I do not get the same kind of sense of civic responsibility and pride as I do from the people here. I keep on looking for ways to bring it back home, make it commercial even, I think cynically, but then I stop, sluice back to reality and join Hud and Steph playing at the pristine park.
Now this may be shallow, but my favourite part of our day in Wellington was after the museum, after the park. We flippantly decided to have a drink at one of the many bars right down on the water. Hud seemed up for it, so we found a nice table with an umbrella with glass wall preventing our son from leaping into the ocean. So we sat, at around 4pm on a beautifully sunny Friday afternoon, as all the suits tore off their ties finding there own perfect tables, and drank three beers for me and two Chardonnays for Steph. Hud stuck to cranberry juice. Maybe it was because we were so isolated so recently, but I was digging the vibe and the beautiful people filtering in and out of the patio, some locals, some tourists like us, all sunglassy and happy to be thirsty and alive and out among the living. So many of the guys reminded me of me just six months ago, some even reminded me of six years ago, sans the responsibility of son or dog to immediately go home to. The times where I would call Steph to meet up with us and she would say sure, or tell me she already had plans and maybe we would hook up later to take a cab home together. So young, so foxy, sitting on patios and chatting up not really that pretty waitresses or joking around with the table of guys or girls or both behind us. I got caught up in nostalgia and made me think maybe city life isn’t all that bad. Then Steph mistakenly insulted me and I just wanted to go back to the room to sulk. I only sulk when insults ring true. This one did. So it was more an accurate observation than an insult. Still made me feel bad though.
The night held nothing more than sleep and organization for the morning’s ferry trip to the south island. I woke up just before six to start the last minute fridge packing and other random anxieties I needed to quell before my mini travel day panic attacks begin. Steph and Hud woke up shortly after, so I decided to dump the first load of overnight bags at the car. It was parked behind the hotel so I lugged the four bags down the elevator into the lot and tossed them in the trunk.
Checked the watch. 6:30am. Money. We had to be at the ferry terminal at the latest 7:45 and it was only five minutes away, part of the plan when I booked the hotel. I tossed the keys in the air and caught them and began walking back to our room. Two steps later, I thought to myself, why not just turn the ignition, check to make sure every thing is kosher. Why I thought this, why it even occurred to me to pack my large body into the driver seat and slide the long key into the ignition, something I never do, is beyond me. I find quite baffling now. But when I did, and turned the key to hear the heart stopping sound of absolutely nothing, my panic began escalating. The car was dead, the battery was dead, a light was left on, for two days, no sound at all when I turned the key, not a click, not a hum, not even an evil laugh. The ferry was my first thought, 130 bucks down the drain as we bought the most affordable ticket 6 weeks ago. Why was it the most affordable? Non-refundable, non-transferable. The next thought was the room in Christchurch. Another hundred and a half down the tubes, and then to find another room in Wellington for the night was another outlay of cash. Mostly I just used the money excuse as a reason to worry. Mostly I was just bothered by the potential inconvenience of it all.
It all turned out, obviously, as AA (their CAA) came at 7:10am, boosted me and we were idling in line at the ferry terminal by 7:40am, giving the battery ample time to recharge and leaving us five minutes to spare before last boarding.
The ferry was fine, not as visually spectacular as I hoped, or maybe it was but we spent 90 minutes in the basement of the boat to let Hud play on the giant pillowed playground with all the other kids.
We did manage to catch the sight entering Marlborough Sound and approaching the Picton Port on the south island.
The drive from Picton to Christchurch took just over four hours, with Hud sleeping for the first half, and generally content the second half. So far what we noticed about the south island is the land is not as green, more the colour of wheat, but still grassy, and the water is way more turquoise. Why for either we have no idea. Still wicked to see turquoise water and snow capped mountains within the frame of one camera click.
The place we are in now is a two-bedroom ground floor apartment we found online back when we were in Onemana. It is just under the size of our house on Harcourt and way nicer. Why anyone would pay the equitable amount for a hotel room I have no idea.. It’s amazing.
A place like this in Toronto would go for about $2000 a month.
I wish we could find a place this nice when/if we come home.
Like that if?
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 1:47 PM
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