the garden city
Out of all the towns I visited in New Zealand, Christchurch will remain by far the most picturesque of them all. Shady trees line the river Avon, and splodges of greenery and parks compliment the miniature versions of Victorian, Edwardian and ´gothic revival style´ stone buildings which pop up all over the town. Christs college is one of the most famous, and renowned institutions in Christchurch, the building itself also modelled after the more elite British public schools. It was intriguing to see the striking striped blazer uniforms which the boys wore in contrast with the souvenir shops, bars and tourists who wandered the streets and lanes.
It was easy to imagine times gone by, and if I were to have taken a black and white photo now of the school and its pupils, that this would not have been much different from one taken nearer the founding of the college in 1863. At the same time though, I got the impression that it was all rather staged, and a little outdated, especially when you looked over to the Avon and the tourist attraction of ´punting´, where the punter dons a stereotypical luridly striped jacket, suspenders and a straw hat. No doubt all this adds to the charm and ´tourist pull´ of the place, but I enjoyed taking it all in (despite myself) and envisaging bygone times.
I went on possibly the shortest city tram journey ever, which did a tiny loop of the city centre and somehow managed to tally up about 14 stops (possibly to make the ride seem to last longer). The truth of it was you paid for the novelty of being on a ´heritage tram´ with all the wee bells and frills, because the route could have been done much quicker on foot..
With my bus itinerary now at its final destination, myself and fellow traveller Ann, decided to switch from bus to train for a day, and took what is apparantly one of the top 10 great rail journeys, the Tranzalpine journey across the south island from Christchurch to Greymouth (and back). Now I know what you may be thinking, because I realise my impressions of Greymouth were not the most encouraging, certainly not enough to make me want to rush back there in a hurry.
However, it was the journey itself which was the reason for taking the 4 hour (one way) train jaunt, which would take us up through the snowy mountains of Arthurs Pass, through the exceedingly long Otira tunnel, and burst out into green lush rainforests bursting with sunshine. This picture perfect vision was well clouded over, literally, on the 2 1/2 hour journey to Arthurs pass, where a white mist stubbornly obscured much of the landscape and any ideals we may have had of pretty frosted mountain ranges. A completely different world blitzed into our view as we came out of the tunnel, however, and very welcome after 15 minutes of dull darkness.
The sun had managed to find its way out of the fog, of which there was now no sign, and we were suddenly rushing through valleys of tropical greenery. The change was exactly as the tourist information guide had described, but no less unexpected, and as we approached Greymouth along glistening riverbeds, I found myself appreciating the west coast of New Zealand much more, including Greymouth (which I was surprised to discover is the largest town, or ´township´ as kiwi´s continuously refer to them as, in the south island).
I was also not disappointed by the commentary onboard as we travelled along, though perhaps more for the dry kiwi sense of wit I have come to love and appreciate, in the most unlikely places. Our introduction included the following: ¨please note that the TranzAlpine is a licensed premises, and you are therefore prohibited from drinking any alcohol you may have brought onboard. Please leave any such items inside your bags, or it will be confiscated and consumed by members of staff.¨
A quick turnover in Greymouth allowed for a bite to eat before jumping back on the train, and making up for any hidden scenery we had missed that misty morning. The return trip was much more glorious and arresting in its landscape, with the only slightly irritating feeling of dejavu as the conductor (possibly?) repeated titbits of information he had already recounted on the morning trip.
The train was then traded in for a much more unique mode of transport, a Hagglund. What sounds like something a Viking might sail the seas on, is actually a mode of travel used in the Antarctic to battle against the rough terrain and changeable conditions. The Antarctic centre in Christchurch offers the opportunity to ride in one of these monsters, and simulates in true theme park form, the capabilities of this powerful machine.
Up and over gravel inclines, across crevaces and even through water, this tank of a vehicle managed it all at considerable speed, and with ongoing entertaining commentary from the driver. The jolts and bumps were a great prelude to the antarctic centre itself, which was jampacked full of information, documentaries and experiences. Its not often you get to live through a snowstorm, and the centre had a simulation of one which reached windchill levels of -20 degrees celsius. My face felt like it was made of hard plastic afterwards, but soon thawed out!
I would like to say I filled up the following days with activities and day trips galore, but due to a kidney infection I was forced to take it easy (reiterated by regular phone calls from mum, dad and sister). My days consisted of short wanders, sleeping when I could, reading, watching film after film (one of the few ways to keep me sitting down and not on the go), and gulping down the antibiotics and ibuprofen round the clock. On one of the sunnier days I wandered along the road to the arts centre and found a small weekend market with stalls clustered around. Apart from artwork, crafts and jewellery, there was the equivalent of a food court, with tents cooking anything from thai noodles to german bratwurst. A small stage was also set up, where an acoustic singer was playing songs he had written as well as the odd cover, and I whiled away some time there listening to him.
The art gallery had been mentioned by almost everyone I talked to who had been to Christchurch, and I made it there on one of my short trips. Although I had expected the exhibitions to be bigger, there was some fantastic artwork there, including a temporary exhibition by daniel crooks, called ´everywhere instantly´. This was a selection of video installations which focussed on scenes and images from daily life, whether it be a commute train journey or commuters themselves. The exception to the ´normality´ of these visualisations was that crooks morphed, stretched and manipulated the subjects as well as the time frame, which created some bizarre, yet hypnotising videos where time was almost captured and suspended.
