Christchruch

Have I already seen enough to justify a blog post? After all, today I spent the day either in bed or in hospital. Of course I have. But let us start at the beginning.

Once my entry approval for New Zealand came through, and the NZeTA was granted fairly quickly, I booked a flight. I had actually been eyeing Wellington, but soon realized it would be too expensive. A good thing, really, that I dislike fixed plans. So I shuffled things around a little and booked a flight to Christchurch on the South Island for roughly half the price.

Christchurch was founded and settled by Europeans around 1850, though traces of earlier settlement and previous inhabitants apparently go back to around 1200 AD. It was established as “the most English city outside England,” and now that I have walked through it a few times, I feel confident saying: that is not quite true. Perhaps it was founded with that ambition and designed accordingly, but in my view the city itself does not really live up to the claim. I could add here that I find Christchurch rather beautiful, but I will spare English cities that particular comparison and refrain from underlining the point.

Once my entry approval was sorted, I also filled out the New Zealand Traveller Declaration, the NZTD, via the app twenty four hours before departure. I had camping gear to declare and showed up at the counter the next morning because I did not want to check in online. There was some mild confusion over which of my passports was actually the correct one, since my Australian visa was still tied to my old passport. I had not updated it yet because I assumed it would only matter once I re entered Australia. The woman at the counter was genuinely very sweet and very helpful. She picked up the phone, and a short while later I was allowed to put my backpack on the belt. Though not before I had to prove that I also held a ticket out of New Zealand again. I did, and what can I say, with that ticket I am fulfilling a teenage dream. People in Sydney have such a particular accent. I find it almost endearing by now. Just thought I would mention that again.

After security, where the tent pegs in my luggage were flagged as long pointed objects, I said: throw them away. She told me I should remember that next time, then packed them right back in. After that I sat at the gate and waited and waited and waited, using the time to update my visa details with the Australian immigration authorities, which turned out to be surprisingly uncomplicated through the online account. Departure was delayed, first by an hour, then by another. And then I started scratching. My ears began to itch. I went to the bathroom and was startled by my reflection in the mirror. I had not had swelling in my face that bad in a very long time. My ears were red and swollen, same with my nose and eyes, and I had a rash on my neck and scalp. To anyone who does not know me, it probably would not have looked like much. To me, it definitely did. I went to the pharmacy looking for something specific, did not find it, but bought hydrocortisone cream and an antihistamine instead. That would simply have to do.

At some point I was finally on the plane. The woman at the counter had really taken pity on me. I had an entire row to myself on the Airbus A380, and what a beautiful aircraft that is. After a good film, One Battle After Another, I was already landing in Christchurch, and thanks to the delays and the time difference, the day was nearly gone already. It was four in the afternoon.

I made it through biosecurity with relatively little fuss. Did I have anything to declare? Yes, I said, a tent and camping gear. One station further on, an officer took a look. “That is new, is it?” No, I cleaned it. Pack it up again and send it through the X ray scanner. To the annoyance of other travellers, he sent me straight to the front of the queue, where two young women tried not to let me in and pushed past me in outrage. Not much they could do about the man at the scanner, though, when he reached for my backpack. Slightly sheepish, I slipped past the two of them and found myself in the arrivals hall. Simple enough.

The very first test New Zealand had to pass was this: is the coffee as good as in Australia? I complain a lot about Australia and its complete lack of anything resembling (food) culture, but there is one thing I will grant them without hesitation: they know how to make coffee. Not as well as the Italians, but not far off either. And here, they do not need to hide at all.

On the bus ride to the hotel, trees drifted past the window, and suddenly I felt at home. I had not seen those in a very long time. Birches along the roadside, and not just one or two either, but quite a lot of them. And because it is autumn here, many of the trees are turning and shedding their leaves. I could now launch into a short excursion on evolutionary biology, on why the native forests here are evergreen and why the deciduous trees and birches were almost certainly introduced. Evolutionary biology, to me, is the only branch of biology that is actually exciting. Some of the others, in my personal taxonomy, sit uncomfortably close to esotericism, though I am admittedly a slightly spiteful person. Then again, Europe and North America developed their deciduous forests under particular climatic conditions, while those landmasses evolved on northern Pangaea, and New Zealand on Gondwana. Beautiful continent names, really. They sound as though they belong in fantasy novels.

The attentive reader will already have guessed it: I like Christchurch. And that is true. What little I saw on my evening walk struck me as rather appealing. Fifteen years ago there was a fairly serious earthquake, or rather a series of earthquakes, which seems to have contributed to the city’s renewal. You still see a few ruins here and there. You also see a church that now contains a pub, because after the earthquake it was no longer used as a church. And what can I say: the pub appears better attended than Christmas mass.

At dinner, and I currently have a weakness for Indian food, I got talking to my waiter. He asked where I was from, and I said Brisbane. He asked where exactly. Indooroopilly. He told me he had lived in Toowong for eight years before emigrating. Almost neighbours. I asked him what people here were like, whether they were like Australians. He said no. Here, he told me, people are genuinely friendly and less racist.

And how did this morning begin? With messages in my inbox. Work. So I spent the first hours of the day working in bed on a grant application until just before noon and sent it back. I said: I am homeless, friends, not jobless. Thank you for the messages.

After that I figured I should perhaps do something about my swollen head, which was continuing to expand and itch in a most determined way. Since I have already visited emergency departments in quite a few countries for one reason or another, I added New Zealand to the list. And what can I say: an emergency department is an emergency department. I told the woman at reception that I did not have a general practitioner here and that that was why I had come. She said that was fine, I would simply have to wait, and so I did. For four hours.

Then it was my turn. The staff member took me in, looked at me, I explained, she looked again, I told her what I had taken, I told her what I wanted. She gave me the prescription. Fair enough, she did not want to prescribe steroids just yet. One can always try. But I got the medication I had wanted, and then we sat there talking for another half hour. The waiting time has to come from somewhere, after all.

It is probably a good thing that I have not put together any real travel plan yet. That way I can remain flexible and spontaneous. Have I mentioned that already today? Still, I think I will move on tomorrow. In that spirit.