Christchurch

The largest city in the south island, Christchurch measures up to its national hype. The city centers around a large gothic cathedral and from it stretch the streets, meandering along rivers, running alongside parks, stretching out to the sea and mountains. Colonial style buildings, once the homes of settlers were converted years ago into office spaces, restaurants, shops and travelers’ accommodations. Large outside patios and backyards provide a habitat for people and animals alike. Everything is as quiet as a Sunday picnic. Light laughter here and there but the majority of the city is slumbering, a constant nap stirring only from time to time to populate the busy shopping stores hanging onto the edge of the square. It is Super Bowl Monday and everyone in America is gathered around a television set. I heard rumor of a large outdoor screen being set for the big game but when I finally wander over it is deserted and the screen is blank. A few couples are sipping wine and beer under the canopies. I figure I have missed it until walking home I pass a sports bar, deserted as the streets of Pamplona after the bulls have; their television sets are tuned in to the most watched sporting event in the world. The game is not only playing but it’s not even half over. Priorities run different here.

When I drove into Wellington I thought I had stumbled onto a hazing ritual for new sorority and fraternity pledges. Men and women alike were dressed up in all manor of costumes. Football players and cheerleaders from Ridel High, Oompa-Loompas, women in muumuus and men in muumuus they were all here to celebrate the Sevens, an annual rugby tournament, featuring sixteen international teams. The revelers’ voices combined to make one incomprehensible roar, but once the match was on the streets were noticeably empty and the bars bursting at the seams. They may not care for American Football over here but their love for sports runs deep.

In Cathedral Square and along the brick lined streets running out of it like spokes on a bike street performers work the crowds. They use similar techniques and I wonder where they learn their tricks. Crowds, when spread out look sparse, but group them together and you have an engrossed audience drawing others in. It appears that the veteran performers understand this rule and from time to time they break from the show to draw in the crowds. And how shamelessly they play on our weakness for children. A child volunteer is pulled from the crowd. He or she performs a multitude of tasks culmination in one final great one. The performer offers the child a five or ten dollar bill to really give it his or her all. But before the bill is handed over the performer asks the audience if the child deserves the money. The reply is a resounding yes, after which the child is presented with the money and the performer points out that watching someone perform, for their benefit, is indeed work worth five or ten dollars.

The evening before Waitangi Day a big concert is given in Hagley Park. In the great expanse of a park over 70,000 people attend. It ends with a fireworks display capable of being viewed from anywhere in the city. The symphonic orchestra plays Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture and cannons fire from across the park. A group of Maoris come out and perform the haka. The meaning is lost on the crowd. They do not see Napolean retreating from the Russian countryside before him like red ants after a meal. The watch the war dance but they do not see the ghostly fighters put up against the British. They ooh and awe over the popping lights in the sky; like adults scoffing at children with a firefly in a bottle they can not comprehend the enormity of what they behold, but the children do and we sit back amazed.

The next morning it is quiet out. Many shops are closed and it is basically impossible to get anything, of any importance, done. I will walk pass three closed grocery stores before I am finally able to buy supplies for my dinner and next day’s meals. The once busy park is now dotted with families picnicking. People rent kayaks and go for a paddle down the Avon River. Those looking for romance go punting and are pushed along. The ducks stay close, in case of food, but remain weary of humans.

Farther down the botanical gardens are alive with people and plants. Giant trees give off shade and surrounding them, like a fairy ring, people take shelter from the blazing New Zealand sun. In the flowerbeds themselves small plaques name the plants, but they have overgrown and you can’t always tell from where one plant was suppose to be and where it has ended up. The garden of useful plants is my favorite stop. On each plaque a symbol tells you if the plant is used for medicinal, herbal or edible purposes. Also within the garden are poisonous plants. Here’s to the gardener that finds poisonous plants useful.

February 6, 2007