A visit from mom

On June 22, Stephen's mom arrived at the Christchurch airport. She had just flown halfway around the world from Canada to come and see us in New Zealand. Stephen was on a break from school and I, well, graduate work is flexible.

We spent the first couple of days around Christchurch, sharing our favorite sights and sounds and places for feeding ducks. We also rented a car and did some out of town travelling. Which was great as it allowed Stephen and I to try driving for the first time here in someone elses car. We first went to Akaroa, a small french community on the southern side of the Banks Peninsula. The drive over was windy and pretty steep, as the peninsula is made up of a collection of old volcanoes, with Akaroa resting in one of the old craters where the ocean now caresses the tree covered shores. Once we got there we hopped on a boat and went out for a harbour cruise. The trip was wonderful, I hadn't realized how much I missed being out on the water until we got there. And to add to that, we also saw a couple of white-winged fairy penguins and a more than a couple Hector's dolphins (the smallest dolphin in the world at 1.2 meters long).

The next day we drove north to Hanmer Springs, a natural hot springs in the foothills of the Southern Alps. We went for a hike to see some unplanted forest and find a waterfall, and returned for the main attraction (the hot springs) before heading back home for dinner. On Saturday we took ourselves over to Lyttelton to partake of the farmers market there and get some food for our dinner and our trip north the following day. We hiked back over the volcanic rim (same peninsula as Akaroa) and into Christchurch, meeting hikers, runners, and a couple pigs along the way. That night we bundled ourselves up and tore our voices to bits cheering on the All Blacks as they played against Italy. The game was complete with opera singers, maori warriors and more than one haka. It was a great way to share our place before heading north for the rest of Jan's visit.

Early the next morning, Stephen and I trundled over to Jan's motel to catch the shuttle to the train station. We pulled ourselves onto the train and headed off into the dark morning towards Picton and the North Island.

Scavenger Hunt

Alright folks, I am changing things a little for this post. As much fun as it is to write a story, it is sometimes difficult to come up with something new to share. So instead I am creating a sort of scavenger hunt to entice you to come and visit us here in New Zealand. Granted there is no vast monetary prize for being the first or the fastest or the most comical in completing it, however you will gain far more than any 'prize' by simply coming to visit us and explore the beautiful country we are living in.

The way this works is simple. Stephen and I went for a walk today and along the way I took several photos. I have chosen a few dispersed along our route and posted them here. In order to complete the excercise in geographical re-navigation you will have to come here to Christchurch, find the places present in the photos and enjoy the very fact that Stephen and I will probably at that point be with you sharing our new 'home'.

Enjoy!

The Sewing Machine

It started when I was invited to join a stitch'n'bitch group that two of my fellow Gateway Antarcticans were part of. So I biked out that Wednesday night with my little basket of knitting and felting, and found my way to a cosy house with tea and treats. There I met Fenela and Louise (Ursula and Briar being the ones who invited me). Mostly the others quilt. Quilting is a pastime I've always told myself I will take up when I'm old and have time (that's what happens doesn't it; as you age you have more time on your hands?!). That first night, I worked on my knitting and watched as various squares of beautiful fabric came together.

The following week was hosted at someone elses house, with different treats and tea, but all the same lovely fabric overflowing from bags and baskets. I spent more time asking about how to hand sew and choose fabrics and patterns. The weekly meetings encouraged me to finish more projects than I'd ever even dreamed of, but it also expanded my creative desires, much to Stephen's chagrin as more and more wool, fabric, beads, paper, and all their requesit tools filled our little space. This all came to a head when last Sunday I took a much desired trip to Riccarton Market (without Stephen).

I went there with only a certain amount of cash. This is a must when attending any sort of market (much like setting a limit before going to an auction). I gathered all the vegetables and fruit I knew we needed, then set to with the remaining cash to find what sort of deals I could find to feed my growing crafting urges. A beautiful porcelaine bowl here, some heavy silver cutlery there, a variety of frames for the collection of Yukon art cards I'd brought from home, and always, on the back of my mind a good deal on a sewing machine to replace the one we left behind in Whitehorse.

And there it was. A gorgeous old Singer. Gold flower design handpainted onto it's slender body resting amongst an assortment of antique wooden furniture and worn tapestries. I inquire off-handedly as to the cost of the "old sewing machine" and choke on the answer, 100$. Okay, so maybe that's not all that much, but it's certainly more than I had left in my pocket. So, it was one more lingering glance and goodbye. I wove amongst the hundreds of other market goers looking for deals.

Some ten stalls later, I chance a glance of another, somewhat less antique machine. This time I use more surreptitious techiniques and scan for a price tag, 85$. Not much better and certainly not within my budget. Things are not looking good, as I've done my once over of the market and can't remember seeing any other machines.

Winding my way through the stalls, I make towards the exit. Stopping at a stall held by several women to pick up a little glass vase. Making my way to the table I literally stumble over my prize. An unassuming wooden tubular box sits on the ground amongst some cardboard boxes of kids toys. I carefully peel back the cover, underneath sits a dusty, grimy, glowing, regal Singer sewing machine. I quickly move to the table and ask for its price. The lady looks at it and back to me, "How does 30$ sound?". Done!

Then of course I realize I have a bulging backpack on, I'm carrying two overlaoded bags of goods, I'm 45 minutes from home, and on my bike. Hmmmm. I ask casually where the lady lives. On the other side of town from me. Not much better from here. I tell her where I live, she's not planning a trip in that direction any time soon. But she does work only 10 blocks from there and she'll bring it in on Tuesday. Hooraahh! So I pass over my money, load the machine into her car and head off singing.

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It's Tuesday and it's raining. Pouring. Hailing. I'm not leaving the house.

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Wednesday, See Tuesday.

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Thursday, not much better than Wednesday or Tuesday, but I'm tired of waiting. I haed out on my bike, loaded with as many bungee cords as I can muster (4 - hey, they're harder than sheep, especially with no mustering dog to help; believe me, the cat does not even approach helpfulness on this front). I arrive at the office without much fuss and find the machine sitting on the desk waiting for me. A nice lady helps me with the door and wishes me luck with the rain and the bike home. I trundle outside, muttering about the rain and work at somehow attaching a 30lb. piece of machinery to the back of my bike.

Just as I struggle with the last of the cords I notice a distinct lack of increasing wetness. In fact the rain has not only stopped, the sun has come out (partly). I slap on my helmet, meet up with Stephen (who stopped on his way home from school to help with the expected terror of a trip home), and carefully bike home. And now, the Singer sits on the dining room table (when in use), whirring happily away on my basic projects (like seaming). The excitement now lies in figuring out what all the various sewing 'heads' that came with it do (there are some pretty complicated looking ones) and how to convince the other stitchers to come to my cramped quarters and teach me how to use them for quilting. . .PhD?! What's that?

New Home

Last weekend, Stephen and I packed up our stuff, cleaned our place from top to bottom, and lugged our boxes and bags about 100m, around to the other side of the house. Our new flat has the same square footage as the old one, but the layout is much different and in our minds better. We also get direct sunlight. Which as we all know, in the cool and rainy winter is absolutely wonderful.

A Guest

Well, we have our first guest. An overnight one none the less. I know, I know. You've seen the layo.ut and your wondering where on earth we're fitting them in. Well, knowing her she'll probably snuggle into our bed with us. She seems to be that kind of cat.

Yes, we have a wee cat in our lives at the moment. She came in with the neighbours, who were coming over to thank us for looking after their cats while they were away. She just sort of waltzed in and made herself at home. We asked if they knew if she had a home, but they had no idea, and could we maybe keep her since they had tried introducing her to their cats and it was really no good. So, since about 4pm this afternoon we've had this little sweetie in our lives. And sweet she is. Apparently she can not be more than about 5inches from one of us at any time, preferably close to the face. She has no qualms in jumping up onto you (while you're standing) and clambering up to your shoulders where she can snuggle up under your neck. I called her Smaug, after the dragon in The Hobbit. She's kind of all over you and won't leave you alone and she sort of looks like a little dragon (though she doesn't breath fire as far as I know).

We've put a little ad up in the hallway of the house, in case she belongs to one of our neighbours (no knocks yet). And tomorrow we'll put up notices on the poles outisde and at the local grocer. I figured I'd call the SPCA too in case someone calls them looking for their cat. But I'm pretty sure if she doesn't already belong to someone she will get picked up pretty quickly simply because of her need for constant cuddles. Maybe I should just have my friends over from Gateway. . . . . . I'm sure one of them needs a cat.

St. James Walkway

This past week, Stephen and I hiked the St. James Walkway. A popular tramp amongst kiwis, it is more common to find hunters and families along it than foreigners looking for their fill of New Zealand bush. Similar to most of the parks and tramps on the Southern island, the St. James walkway travels through several cattle and sheep stations, and therefore has no lack in megafauna encounters (though they tend not to be very charasmatic with all that poo lying in your path).

The walk starts at Lewis Pass, where a bus dropped us off at a tiny bus shelter on the side of the highway - gotta love the bus system here. There was a light drizzle, so that even at 11am when we started hiking, the sky was grey and gloomy. We tramped through a pretty dense forest, up Cannibal Gorge to Cannibal Hut and on to Ada Pass Hut. Along the way travelling across avalanch paths, along steep slopes, and towards the end, through some quite nice alpine meadows. Arriving at Ada Pass Hut was nice though, where we shared the place with three other groups - one couple out hunting deer, one couple doing the same thing we were, and a teacher and student from the NOLS New Zealand 'adventure' waiting on their team members to come over the pass. Stephen went to bed early as he was full on into a strep throat battle, but I stayed up and chatted with the others until a very late 8:30pm when we all decided to conserve the one candle we had and go to bed.

The next day, without tent or wet gear to deal with, Stephen and I were out of the hut in an astonishing half hour. Even more astonishing was the fact that we were on the trail at 8am, that's earlier than I'm usually out of bed at home. But today was a long day, as we were going past the next hut and onto the following one, an agonising 20km hike through grazing land for cattle and apparently lots of Canada geese. We were lucky enough to spot 3 wild boars along the way, along with the plethora of song birds that live here, especially the Bellbird (http://www.nzbirds.com/birds/sound/bellbird2.wav). The Anne River Hut was our final destination for that night and proved every bit as nice as the Ada Pass Hut, although it was empty all but us. The hut system here in New Zealand is amazing. I mean imagine all the extra food we were able to bring without having to carry a tent (the answer is too much - though we had fresh fruit and veg the entire time).

The third day, the walk goes up another river valley to Anne Saddle and down into the Boyle River valley. Probably the most diverse in landscapes, this day was also sunny and warm. We spent the 6 hours from hut to hut dodging cow paddies, watching birds, finding mushrooms, and eating all our lovely fresh food. We got to Boyle Flats Hut at around 2pm with lots of light left in the day and plenty of books to read (what else do you do with free tent space?). So after soaking our feet in the river, reading the various magazines left by previous visitors, we settled into making dinner and enjoying our last night in the bush.


The last day was a quick hike down to Boyle Village, with really only one stop to enjoy the show put on by a little male Fantail (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3-KtEu0Tf4&feature=related). He was quite forward, almost landing on my head a couple of times. But we had a bus to catch and so continued on. At 2pm, the bus picked us up 15km south of where it had dropped us off along the highway and we were on our way home again, both wishing it could have been longer. We're already planning our next tramp, either Banks Peninsula or Harper Pass, depending on the weather. . . . .

Architecture

The Art Gallery glass wall.

Cathedral Square with its weekend market, floral funnel, and fancy hotels.

Under construction.

A gargoyle; much of the Christchurch architecture is adopted from old European style.

The ever-popular penguin bus, though I have been informed that the penguins at the Antarctic Centre are only New Zealand penguins (ie., little blue [illustrated] and yellow-eyed), and not only that, they are also the rescue penguins (ie., with one eye, crippled flippers, etc). As a result, kind of sad.

The clock tower on the tourist information centre in Cathedral Square.

Captain Scott, the englishman who challenged Amundsen (Norweigen) to reach the South Pole first. Amundsen beat Scott, Scott and all four of his companions starved and froze to death on the way back, as they did not plan very well. Amundsen used dogsleds and made it home (severla other factors are important here, but this is a very quick and dirty explanation). Scotts' wife made the sculpture.

A reflection of style.

The Christchurch skyline, as seen from the non-tourist side of town.

What is this?