Christchurch

My plane from Melbourne left mid-afternoon on Saturday, but thanks to connection with a layover in Sydney, I didn't pull into Christchurch until after midnight. By the time I had finished picking the slowest line and demonstrating once again that my tent did not harbor any biological weapons, it was rapidly approaching 2am. As it turns out, I had missed my shuttle into the city and would have to catch a later one, so in the meantime I found an internet kiosk and checked the obligatory email. Waiting for me was a message from my hostel saying that they had accidentally filled up before reading my second reservation email (funny that), but they had booked me at another hostel around the corner for about the same price. While relieved that they were able to find me another spot (it was Saturday night after all), I was a bit apprehensive about this other hostel, which seemed geared towards the "Wow you mean alcohol gets you drunk?!" crowd (it was Saturday night after all). Having spent the night before my travel day drinking wine until the wee hours of the morning (now standard procedure prior to big travelling days), I was getting desperate for some decent sleep, so desperate that I managed to pass out even with four out of 10 beds (including the top bunk above me) in my dorm room quite noisily double occupied. At least I got to laugh at the four separate walks of shame the next morning. Happy Valentines Day.

I had the next day to rest up in Christchurch before heading south, so I ventured out into the city to try and catch some of the flavor. By reputation Christchurch is the most conservative city that New Zealand has to offer (which isn't saying much), and at first I was a bit concerned that the whole city would be closed up and nothing would be going on (being Sunday morning). Just as despair had begun to set in, I turned down an alley and found a little cafe that served delicious pancakes with fresh local berries. Taking my last sip of precious coffee, the sun burst through the clouds. All was right with the world again.

Energized by food and sunshine, I wandered over to a botanic garden and relaxed for a bit under an old sequoia tree (planted by the Duke of Edinburgh in 1856!), before happening upon an outdoor arts festival, complete with live music, lots of vendors, sidewalk artists, and even street performers. I arrived as one guy was just getting his act going, and stuck around to watch it for a bit. The guy was an Australian named Bruce who had given up a life working as a computer programmer to pursue a life entertaining tourists. Now you've probably seen a street performer before, and you've also probably tried to tuck yourself into the crowd and become as anonymous as possible...a leftover instinct to remain amongst the herd and away from danger perhaps. In between playing matador to moving cars and balancing a bike on his face I had somehow caught his attention (my ploy to hide amongst 12 year olds was ill conceived), and became his volunteer for the remainder of the program. While I had the powerful urge to run away with arms flailing (I'm sure I wouldn't have been the first)...but what the hell, I don't know anyone in this city anyway. At first my tasks involved simple things (like using my head to catch hats Bruce tossed from 30 feet away), but by the end I had graduated to kissing a german for world peace and allowing Bruce to juggle knives while standing on my forearms. Dangerous maybe...but a hell of a lot of fun.