Christchurch

Happy Birthday Carla.

We have three days in Christchurch, and find the city appealing and welcoming. The city was conceived by the Church of England and founded in 1850 as a model of the English class system in the South Pacific, a cut above other scruffy colonial outposts. And it still shows in the buildings, the parks, the mentality and the imposing presence of the cathedral and even the Chalice monument erected in Cathedral Square for the new millennium. And also for the three original squares named after the first three Anglican Archbishops of Canterbury (Cranmer, Latimer and another whose name we cannot remember). It is not unlike a small provincial English city.

We had a free guided tour of the Cathedral by a man from Farnham, now living in Christchurch. It’s a small world! We had a ride on the vintage tram which runs round the centre of the city. The trams were running from 1905 to 1954, and recently some of the trams have been restored for the tourists.

Few people can be as commemorated in the world, and particularly in the Pacific, as Captain James Cook and Queen Victoria. States, seas, islands, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, streets; all are named after them. And Victoria Square in Christchurch has a fine statue of each. While Victoria was born to greatness, Captain Cook was the son of an impoverished Yorkshire farm labourer who rose to greatness by his own talents and hard work.

Michèle had her hair done. She wanted Peter to have his cut as well, but Peter has decided to cultivate the Sir Edmund Hillary look: wild, untamed, rakish, devil-may-care, and modestly heroic. Michèle disapproves, but at least she looks lovely.

We visited the Botanical Gardens, essential to all self-respecting colonial cities. Michèle thinks that this would be a perfect place for pushing a pram. It’s obviously time for the second grandchild to arrive. Superb. See the pictures.

On the second day it was raining, so we visited the art gallery, and had a tour of the exhibition of the works of Rita Angus. We had never heard of her, but she is one of New Zealand’s most famous 20th century female artists. We have included a picture of one of her best known works, Cass. An old man waiting for a train that will probably never come, alone, and reduced to insignificance by the surrounding scenery. An iconic painting.

And then the Canterbury Museum. Loads of stuffed birds, including kiwis and penguins which we have singularly failed to spot in the wild.

That night, at 11.30, we got a text message from Anne to say that James had proposed to her (in French) at the top of Mont Vallon in Méribel. We had been expecting something of the sort, because James had rung us before they went to Méribel. Everyone very happy.

On our final day we went up the Gondola (sort of cable car) that takes you up to the crater rim south of Christchurch. Wonderful views, as usual, and we walked all the way down on The Bridle Path which was once the main route from Christchurch to the port at Lyttelton Harbour.

We have now kissed farewell to the van, and to our nomadic existence of the last four weeks. The first van was a disaster, and although the second one was much better, and allowed us to live in reasonable comfort, we are far from certain that the campervan is the best means of visiting New Zealand. We did not always find that camaraderie of campers which we had expected; we were frequently fighting for the use of amenities in the camp sites, and other campers refused contact more often than not. 

A hired car and motels might be a lot more comfortable, and no more expensive, although camping fanatics will probably disagree.

But many memories will remain. 

The large number of Dutch campers, and the inordinate amount of time they spend cleaning their teeth. Very hygienic, but with a tendency to be withdrawn and uncommunicative. We discovered that there was a special arrangement for the Dutch to emigrate to New Zealand in the early fifties, which explains why there are so many Dutch tourists here now.

And the number of elderly long-haired bearded superannuated hippies, looking more like garden gnomes, who frightened Michèle when she went for a pee in the middle of the night.

And the fact that practically all the campervan fraternity are wrinklies like us, many of them much older than us. We had expected most of them to be backpackers in their twenties.

And the Australian man at breakfast in the kitchen who turned out to be a handyman. As soon as he saw Peter, he knew he was looking at another DIY expert, and then talked non-stop for hours. Very tricky to disengage without causing a blown fuse.

All in all, an eye-opening and challenging experience, but tonight we’ll be in a proper bed with an en suite bathroom. Blissikins!

Tomorrow we’re off to Auckland, back to our starting point, the final leg of our New Zealand holiday.