This is actually my third stop in Christchurch. The first I didn’t think I’d stick around, but at 6:20pm I was browsing the internet for local swing dances and found a big workshop happening that night, starting at 6:30. I checked my watch, booked it upstairs to get my shoes, and took off into the night.

Two lindy hop workshops later I learned there were more workshops and a dance the next night, so I decided to stick around. Budgetary concerns kept me from the next workshops ($20 each adds up, even when hostel living is relatively inexpensive), so I just went to the dance. It’s a small scene, but generally friendly (for the uninitiated, it’s much easier to get into a dance scene if you’re relatively competent at the relevant style of dance).

J told me that I had to go to Cave Stream while I was around. I had no idea what it was, but apparently it was one of the coolest things to do. Unfortunately, and naturally, you can’t get there without a car, and it’s a fair bit of trouble getting there by bus as you’d have to ask especially to get dropped off nearby, and then walk. But! He might be taking the lindy teacher who was there for the workshops next Tuesday, so if they went and I was around I could tag along. That, combined with my offer and acceptance to teach a workshop for the Charleston Stroll at the classes the next week, and my interest in seeing Akaroa, led to me heading to the Information building the next morning.

I got there, bags in tow, at 10:05am, and asked for a ticket to Akaroa. The woman’s face fell – the last bus had left at 10am. Superb. I bought a ticket for the next day instead, and hauled my things back to Fraureisehaus. A whole day now at my disposal I checked my email, and learned that the leaders of the local swing dance couldn’t make my workshop happen, and so they were sorry but they had to cancel. Things were going my way!

(The view down to Akaroa)

The bus ride to Akaroa went off without a hitch and I settled myself into Chez La Mer backpackers. I booked myself for a Swimming With Dolphins tour for the following morning and wandered up and down the one main road in Akaroa. J sent me a text and said Cave Stream was on for the following Tuesday if I was interested.

Swimming With Dolphins was cancelled in the morning due to bad weather (just as well since it was freezing cold and cloudy), so I rebooked and went back to bed for another two and a half hours.

It was sunny and warm the next afternoon when I got suited up for dolphin-related adventures. The company takes a picture of you in your wetsuit before you head out, and takes another picture of the boat heading out. It was far more successful than my last venture. They managed to find two Hector’s dolphins who seemed interested, and they dumped us in the water, and we bobbed around as the dolphins wove in between us.

A tip, should you ever go swimming with Hector’s dolphins (unlikely, since they’re only found off the coast of New Zealand, but just in case) – bring along two small rocks to clack together under water. They think it’s the most fascinating thing. They also seem to like bright colors which does no one any good since you’re likely going to be wearing the tour’s black wetsuits. Different species like different things. Dusky dolphins (which are found in Kaikoura, which I almost got to swim with) like it when you squeak and hum and generally make a ruckus into your snorkel. Bottlenose dolphins like quiet. Who knew?

On the ride back in I chatted with a fellow scuba diver (he’d brought his own suit with bright green on the sleeves – he was very popular with the dolphins) who told me I absolutely had to dive the Poor Knight’s Islands, which north of the north island. Suddenly I’m thinking three months isn’t enough time. And we saw a penguin. It was cute.

There was little other excitement in Akaroa – it’s just quiet and calm and lovely there. Monday I went back to Christchurch and to Fraureisehaus. I asked J what to wear for the trip, and he said shorts and a t-shirt would be fine. Shorts. Great. I didn’t have shorts. Well, I did, but they weren’t terribly flattering. So Tuesday morning I raced around Christchurch trying to find a not-awful pair of shorts that didn’t cost $100. Not as easy as it sounds.

(Outside of the cave)

At noon I met up with J, and we picked up S before heading off to Cave Stream. Cave Stream, it seems, is an underground cave with a stream and a series of waterfalls running through it. You start at the exit (really) and climb through the water, up the waterfalls (1-1.5 meter high) before climbing a ladder and emerging at the other end. Seems backwards to me, but what did I know? I read the sign outside that said you should wear a long sleeved shirt – I didn’t have one – and a hat – didn’t have one of those either – and recommended closed shoes with thick socks – I was wearing sandals and feeling woefully unprepared.

We pranced down a steep hill to the mouth of the cave. It should be noted that it’s a mountain stream, and with the warm weather the snow on top was melting. And heading into the stream. T-shirt and shorts. What a splendid idea.

The first pool is the deepest, and where you gauge everyone’s comfort (according to the sign) and the feasibility of the tramp (slosh?). Normally the pool is waist deep. When we were there it came up to J’s armpits. J is not a short man. I’m short. We aborted the walk.

Instead we walked to the other end to see how going was from that direction. At the entrance is a waterfall maybe 3 meters high with a ladder at the side for clambering purposes.

WHY NO, I DON’T MIND HEIGHTS, HA HA HA.

J made it all the way down the ladder before deciding that the force of the water was too much, so we wiggled back out again.

Fail.

A quick clothing change later and we went to Castle Hill where they filmed parts of Narnia and wandered through the surprisingly big stones. People climb them apparently. Know why? Because they’re crazy.

(J trying to climb the rocks)

The next night I went to another swing dance in Christchurch. It wasn’t thrilling. It was Halloween and apparently a memo had gone out that costumes were encouraged, and they could choose from 1. devil, or 2. angel. There were also two lions and two witches. Someone should’ve gone as a wardrobe. HAR!

I took off Thursday for Akaroa again and didn’t end up doing any of the tours I was thinking about doing (or hit the walks as much as I’d intended), but got a lot of sun. My poor nose is peeling away, and if this keeps up I’ll end up with one similar to the nouveau Michael Jackson.

I’m tan, though, which is very exciting. I mentioned this to P, a chap I met in Akaroa. He noted I was still pretty pale. “Pale!” I squealed, ever graceful under pressure, “I have tan lines,” I yelled, pulling up my sleeve and wielding a bare shoulder at him. “Look at me! I’m the tannest I’ve been in years! I’m like toast I’m so brown!“

He didn’t buy it.

Now I’m back in Christchurch for the third time, a place that I hadn’t even intended to spend three days. And today I’m leaving, thank you.

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1. If you’re just wandering around a shop you’re not browsing, you’re “having a browse.”

2. Apparently I am very obviously a tourist, though twice I’ve been mistaken for being British.

3. Construction workers often wear shorts. Sometimes rather short shorts. It’s unnerving, like stumbling into a photo shoot for a special edition of Playgirl Magazine: The real men next door!

4. It is damn hard to find healthy food here. There’s plenty of fish, which all the newspapers and gossip magazines tell me is good, but 3/4 of the time it’s fried in some way. Which isn’t a bad thing, to be sure, but doesn’t add much to the health benefits (never mind the ambitious serving of fries or “chips” that are added to the side). Aside from that there’s a lot of fried, a lot of eggs and bacon, pies, cakes, breads, and not a whole lot in the manner of “vegetables.” I’ve spotted a few salad cafés, but only in Auckland and Wellington. AND gyms seem to be exceptionally rare, even in the cities.

As a result this isn’t a “thin” country. I’d call it rather curvy, actually. And yet in clothing stores (not of the department variety, but of the fashion variety) the largest size is still just a 16. But on the local television shows they employ a lot of “regular-looking” people rather than the standard strong-jaw, slim-legged, glasses-free actors that are so popular in other first-world countries.

There’s also at least ten stories per newspaper/magazine/news hour about how New Zealanders are overweight and are eating poorly. There’s a big fuss now about how processed meats are being linked to colon cancer. I don’t think it’ll change much for BBQ season.

5. It’s really not “pedestrian friendly” here. They will mow you down. When they have to wait for you to cross the street they’ll creep up slowly as you walk past, and zip by as soon as they can clear your heels. I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of reward system for hitting someone not in a car. But I could be wrong about that.

—

In the meantime I’ve been staying in hostels and it’s been decent. A good technique is to be the last one to go to bed. Cuts down on the number of people who will come in and bash around while you’re trying to sleep. Having a few beers beforehand doesn’t hurt either.

I went to Akaroa last week and stayed at Chez La Mer. The first night I lucked out and got a dorm room to myself. As nice as it was to spend $25 on a room to myself, having four empty beds in the room felt lonely. Bitch, bitch, bitch, that’s all I do. It filled up fast enough, and every now and again there’d be good conversation.

I didn’t get the best reception from one of the owners, though. Our first meeting was when she yelled at me for having my towel on the heater. Then she rushed off and the only time I saw her direct any happy feelings towards me was when she was waving me goodbye. Nice!

I’ve also spent more than a few nights at the Fraureisehaus Hostel in Christchurch. When I’ve told people that it’s women only they get all flustered and say they wouldn’t want to stay somewhere like that. I didn’t think I would either, but the fact is that the kinds of people who would stay at a women-only hostel are not usually the kind of people who stumble in drunk at 3 in the morning and do unspeakable things to the floor/bed/whatever. They’re more the kind of people who tuck up in the evening and watch a movie. And who are considerate and respectful. I can see why some people wouldn’t be into that.

This hostel is really cushy. Big screen tv, a plethora of videos to choose from, a garden to lounge in, resident pets, free coffee/cocoa/bikes/laundry/use of nice hairdryers, and no more than 4 beds per room. It’s wonderful.

Except that one morning when I woke up absolutely covered in bug bites (they changed my sheets and didn’t see anything, and suspect a spider had gotten in and thought I was delicious and/or threatening). And this morning when I had a very confusing series of interactions with one of the women who works here. When I dropped off the DVD of Frida that I’d borrowed for a bunch of us to watch she was very friendly. I was sitting in the garden some hours later and she came out of the building lugging my big bag which I’d left tucked in a corner of the hallway (under a sign that said “Leave your luggage here if you’re checking out before 8am” which makes no sense to me. If you’re leaving then you’d have your bags with you, and you surely wouldn’t leave your luggage there the night before). She asked if it was mine, and said it was to go into the shed until I left. She was downright frosty. There was nothing to indicate that that was protocol, and I hadn’t thought to ask. Silly me.

Other than that it’s been great.

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It was a bit of a trap; I could stay in a cheapish ($40/night) single, not do anything and try to find a place, or I could leave where I’d have to pay more money per night for a single ($60+/night), or I could stay in a hostel and never have a moment to myself.

But by staying I wasn’t doing anything.

So I left. I bought a ferry ticket and took off. No plans, just a vague direction.

The first thing I noticed about the ferry was that the underbelly (where the cars and such were) and up in some of the hallways it stank. USS Urineville. Bleah.

Anyway, it was cold and rainy at first,

so I spent much of my time inside, knitting and watching Ocean’s 13 which was showing on a big tv.

When we were around 45 minutes away I stepped outside, and oh. Y’all.

Gorgeous.

And then my camera batteries died. It’s happened before – no problem! I have spares! I went into my bag and got my rechargables that I’d charged in California.

They were dead. Har, har, har.

I hopped off the shuttle bus in front of Villa backpackers. My room had 2 bunks (fairly civilized) and a carpet that had seen more than its share of spilled beverages (I hope beverages). There was a nice-looking courtyard with plenty of places to sit. My roommate, Charlotte, invited me to walk along the dock, so we took off.

Around the bay, over a bridge, and into the woods for a short tramp. Which kept going and going, and I was trying desperately not to puff and pant at the sudden expenditure of energy. We ended up at Bob’s Bay – a secluded length of beach overlooking the harbor.

Indian food for dinner and an early bedtime. In the morning I saw Charlotte had tucked her card into my knitting.

There was a ton of time to kill before my bus whisked me away, so I walked up the street in town, and stopped for some breakfast at Picton Village Bakkerij², a Dutch bakery, which was hella good. I sat in the sun and had some visitors.

My next stop was Kaikoura. The town itself isn’t much to look at (again, just one street), but the location is awesome. Imagine the Rocky Mountains, and tack on Caribbean-blue water with steep stone beaches. That’s what Kaikoura is like.

I stayed at Lyell Creek Lodge, which is worn but super friendly and cheap (I called the proprietor more than once to get a lift to or from the hotel). I had my own room and a tv. It was good.

There’s plenty to do in Kaikoura, most of which involves going out on the sea, which meant that when it poured rain the first day I was there my plans got screwed. But! Here’s a rundown of my activities:

Swimming with Dolphins: Everything depends on where the pods of dolphins are and how interested they are in you. They warned us before we left that there was a pod in the morning, but we wouldn’t be able to catch up to it. I think that when this is good it’s really, really good. My trip was just mediocre. For $130 you cram yourself into a 7 mil (read: thick) wetsuit (there’s also a cheaper viewing only option), hop on a bus, hop on a boat, and take off.

Eventually we caught up to about six dolphins (a pod has about 200), and we prepped by pulling on our flippers and hoods and goggles and sitting on the back of the boat. They gave the signal and we hopped in, shoving each other out of the way. We did that three times, and didn’t spend more than five minutes in the water each time. I saw three swim by, but that was all.

And they gave us a partial discount, so there’s something to be said for that.

Whale Watch: Fortunately didn’t involve a wetsuit (or unfortunately – swimming with a whale would be awesome), but they required us to sit inside the boat until they’d found a whale and stopped. It took a while. Then we all shoved each other aside to get out and see…

The back of a sperm whale.

Who just laid there, occasionally spraying up some water.

And then, after a few minutes, went under again. Not with a splash, but with a blip.

And then we found another whale, and the same thing happened.

I was kind of expecting more. It was hard to get an idea of scale from the distance. Then an informational video on the boat, and that was it.

Seal Swim: Similar to the dolphin swim, but on a less grand scale. Wetsuits, yes, and a corroding jeep instead of a bus, and a tiny boat instead of a larger one that caught every wave and sent it up into our faces before crashing our butts down onto the seats.

The seals weren’t as interactive as I’d been expecting. We were visiting a colony that housed sexually immature seals – that would be fur (or “eared”) seals, by the way – until they were ready to go get frisky with the other adults. Mostly they stayed on the rocks and gave us funny looks, but occasionally one would swim by and give us a thrill.

And that water is really cold. I mean really cold. The wetsuits helped except for right around the mouth that caught the water directly, and the hands. My gloves didn’t keep me warm for nothin’. (That’s probably not true – I’m sure it would’ve been worse without them). It was neat to see them so close to their territory, and the reef we were over was full of plants and fish that I vaguely recognized but can’t for the life of me name. (Lisa, Chris, Greg: are you surprised?).

Surfing: The instructor was on the west coast. As the woman in the shop told me, “For surfers, the world stops when there are good waves or a competition.” So I couldn’t get a lesson. Nice.

Scuba diving: Visibility was so bad they weren’t going out. But I got a brochure for another place that’s supposed to have good diving. Strike two.

I walked up to the seal colony (as is accessible by land), which is a really long walk from town, and don’t let guidebooks tell you otherwise. There were some hanging out surprisingly close to the car park:

And this one got real mad when a woman tried to walk by because they – I swear – blend into the grass.

To think – I nearly witnessed a Darwin Award in action!

I like Kaikoura. I like it a lot. I was disappointed to leave, and in retrospect, should’ve stayed longer. I was in the mood for a small town.

Christchurch is not a small town. It’s not a big city, either. It has its charms, but I must admit I’m not finding, um, anything to do here. I stayed in a hostel because a Scottish chap I’d met at Lyell Creek Lodge told me I just might like it.

HAH. First off, it was $28. Second, 8 people sharing one room is way too many. First thing I did when I opened the door (at 1pm, mind) was turn on the lights. Six pairs of eyes glared at me from six beds. Great way to make a first impression, self!

Browsing the internets that evening I did a search for Christchurch swing dancing, and found out that there was a workshop happening that evening. In fact, in ten minutes. I got directions and my shoes and booked it over to the hall and begged my way in. $40 and two classes later I’d met some new folks. They hipped me to the dance the next night and I promised to show.

In the evening my Irish roommates chattered and bashed about, their stuff strewn everywhere. They made a vague attempt at being quiet by whispering, but in a small room it’s just as loud as talking. And there was a porch and a lounge that they could’ve been using. Honestly. The big problem with hostelling alone is that you never know who your roommates will be.

They crashed around in the morning, too. I packed up my bags and took off to a farther away, slightly costlier backpackers – Fraureisehaus. All women (which, after my previous night’s roommates, proved nothing), but obviously calm. I got a single ($38, though Lonely Planet said 35). There’s free laundry, a resident bunny, resident guinea pigs, mineral water in the outside taps, free movies and music to borrow, and it’s quiet. Worn as they all seem to be, but cozy.

The dance was good, and I got to meet the resident kitty that wanders around the hostel. Still couldn’t find much to do in Christchurch.

Tried to get a bus out the next morning, and missed it by 5 minutes. Fantastic. I sheepishly walked back to Fraureisehaus and got another room, and decided there STILL wasn’t much to do in Christchurch. I did go to their aquarium in the information center (because where else would you have an aquarium?) and they have two kiwi (kiwis?), one of which I got to see rummage around in the dark. Because if you’re going to see kiwi, the first place to go is the aquarium.

¹ Fraureisehaus
² That’s actually spelled correctly

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