Tag Archives: Christchurch

Gardens and vineyards

After a leisurely breakfast at the same cafe as yesterday we went to the Christchurch Botanic Gardens, a large park with the Avon River running through it. It’s Autumn in Christchurch and in this cooler climate the deciduous trees are a riot of colour.

We also went into an exhibition of whimsical dance costumes, all based on floral themes. Created by Jenny Gilllies, each costume takes three months to make. I don’t doubt it. The inspiration to create the design is amazing, and then each component piece must be sewn individually before it’s all put together. A screen at the back of the exhibition showed the costumes being worn in dance. That really brought the whole thing to life.

I loved the water garden with its strategically placed trees reflecting their Autumn splendour in the water.

We enjoyed a glass of wine in the gardens, and a simple wine and cheese meal at the apartment.

The following afternoon in brilliant Autumn weather we went on what turned out to be a private wine-tasting tour in the Waipara valley, just north of Christchurch. Our driver, Graham, picked us up in a Volvo SUV since we were the only people who’d booked. Touring in comfort – I’ll take that any day. He was much the same age as us, and he told us stories about the quake, as well as about the countryside we passed through.

We had lunch on the veranda

A simple platter full of variety

First stop was at Waipara Springs, where we enjoyed a wonderful, very welcome, lunch including fruit and salad. We sampled their wines, mainly whites with a final pinot noir. That was pretty much the pattern – whites, then maybe a light red and or a dessert wine. Our server here was an American.

Then we crossed the road to Greystoke/Muddy Waters. As the name suggests, two wineries were combined, one on limestone soil, the other on clay. Because of the soil differences, the wines from the two areas were quite different. The vintner here was Fergus, who is as Irish as his name suggests.

From there we went to Waipara Hills, dominated by a truly magnificent building. Graham explained it had been built by an American, using stone imported from the US. Unfortunately, the man’s wife became homesick, so they sold up and went back home. This winery also had vines in the Marlborough area, so one of their offerings was a Marlborough Sav Blanc, We tasted a couple of sub-varieties of Chardonnay, then we were offered a late picking riesling. I don’t normally like sweet wine, but I reluctantly gave it a whirl. It was absolutely delicious, a treat with cheese.

The last winery was Pegasus Bay. This property has a beautiful garden and would be lovely for picnics and concerts on the grassy slopes above the little waterway. Back in the main building our server was a lovely German lady. This property had its wines on tap, which apparently reduced waste and spoilage since the air didn’t get into the wine. After the usual sav blanc, chardonnay, and pinot, we were offered a drop of muscat. It was very, very nice.

After a slow drive back to town caught up in traffic after an accident somewhere, we rolled back to the apartment. Dinner was a delivery of pasta, followed by an early night.

Tomorrow we’re off to the mountains.

 

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The remains of a ruined city

Sunday morning dawned blustery, with scudding clouds interspersed with sunshine. My friend and I found Procope, a lovely little coffee shop, open on a Sunday morning for a welcome coffee and an excellent bite to eat, then we walked into Christchurch’s CBD. Every street had empty blocks, traffic cones, detours, wire fencing, cranes, and construction sites.

The wrecked cathedral is the outstanding reminder of the earthquakes that devastated the city in 2010/11, around 7 years ago. There used to be a spire where that metal brace stands. For the rest, the town is full of large open spaces where buildings used to stand. All these years later, the scars remain – although new, modern, (ugly) earthquake-safe structures have started to rise.

The first earthquake struck at 4:35am on 4th September, 2010. The magnitude 7.1 quake damaged many buildings, but only one person died and a few were injured.  For the following year the area was shaken by thousands of shocks and after-shocks. A serious quake on Boxing Day 2010 caused more damage, and then another serious earthquake occurred on 22nd Feb, 2011, taking down buildings already weakened by the previous activity. 185 people died in that quake, many of them inside buildings that collapsed.

It’s not just the damaged buildings, though. When the earth moved it destroyed sewerage pipes and water pipes, took down power lines, and buckled railway lines. Soil became mud and roads and buildings sank into the ground. All the fabric of modern society was destroyed. Portaloos were distrbuted and water was a problem for months.  Understandably, many people moved away from Christchurch.

I think you can’t get a feel for what has been lost unless you talk to people who knew, and loved, what was there before. Everybody has a story to tell about the quakes. I mentioned the bus driver who had managed hostels destroyed in the CBD. She was grateful no one she knew was among the 185 people killed. I spoke to the cleaning lady at the hotel, who said she still lives in her damaged home, and she’s still waiting for some sort of repairs through her insurance company. I remember hearing about the quakes on Facebook, all those years ago. One of my friends was forced to leave her home because it was unsafe – but that didn’t deter the looters. She lost valuables, but also irreplacable mementoes. She certainly wasn’t the only one.

Street art is common, as are parking lots on rubble

This city block looks okay, but look at the next picture

This building is obviously unsafe and abandoned

B had friends in Christchurch – we’ll call them W and S – and they took us on a city tour. They filled in the holes, so to speak, telling us what used to be in the empty spaces, or what was where that horrible piece of modern architecture now stands.

Nature bounces back. That basic fact was underlined as we drove past tracts of what we thought were extensive parkland that were actually places where suburbs had stood. The land has been cleared, but you can still see the streets, the trees people used to have in their gardens, the edges of the properties. In many areas people still live in their damaged houses, with the holes and damage covered up as best they can.

B’s friends’ house was also badly damaged. The house had two solid chimney stacks, and the rest of the building more or less twisted around those two structures. They were fortunate to be able to relocate to their holiday home at Akaroa – and they had insurance. We admired the house as it is now, a lovely, bright home with a gorgeous, productive garden. But S talked about what she’d lost, what used to be there, small things like tiles over the fireplace, large things like reorganised rooms.

S in particular still mourns for the beautiful buildings lost in the town. She said she never goes to the city now, and I can understand why. Some buildings have been restored to their former glory and there’s talk of restoring the cathedral, but W says there’ll be many arguments before that happens.

Every person we spoke to about the earthquake said the situation had been poorly handled, with everyone pointing a finger at somebody else. You can’t stop mother Nature – but rebuilding is something that must be done by people. Contrast the city of Napier, also devastated by earthquake, which took that unfortunate event as an opportunity to reinvent itself. The city has been rebuilt in Art Deco style (which it was not) and is very popular with tourists. In contrast, while there’s talk of restoring the old cathedral, nothing has happened so far.

One of the restored buildings giving a feel for what was here before 2010

Ongoing restoration

One of the lovely bridges over the Avon River

The epicentre of the earthquake was quite a distance from the CBD near Lyttelton, Christchurch’s main harbour. Our hosts pointed out coastal features which had been changed forever – rocks split, collapsed Maori caves, whole hillsides that slipped onto the road or into the sea. I remember seeing footage on TV of houses balanced precariously on the edge of precipices created when the land collapsed beneath them. Here, too, people are still waiting for the insurance companies to do something.

But through all this, the countryside is beautiful. We drove up winding roads to admire views over the harbour and the city, spectacular despite the gale force winds. Wind surfers – braver souls than me – rode the wind and waves, and we even spied a board rider out there.

Having seen the sights, we adjourned to B’s friends’ lovely home for drinks, nibbles and an excellent dinner – with superb NZ wine. Much of the meal incorporated home grown fruit and vegetables. The quince crumble dessert was lovely with ice cream. They make their own olive oil, too, which appeared in a hummus made from chick peas, fresh peas – and the wonderful olive oil.

Uber took us back to our accommodation. Tomorrow we’ll do a little more exploring outside the city.

Wind-blown waves in the harbour. You can see a brand new cliff just behind the beach.

From up here, the harbour is beautiful

B and G’s excellent adventure – getting there

I was off on my own (ie without Pete) for a short adventure with my oldest friend, B. She and I go back fifty years, when we first met at high school. We became firm friends at university and shared many a scrape and mistake and wonderful times back in Perth, where I grew up. These days, she still lives there with her large family and plenty of responsibilities, whereas I’m a retired layabout on the other side of the country. So we planned a short escape to give her time to refuel the engines, and give me a chance to see a small part of New Zealand’s South Island. And gossip and reminisce over a glass or two of good New Zealand wine. Of course.

Needless to say, we didn’t travel on the same plane. B booked a flight from Perth which would have her arriving in Christchurch well before me. I flew on a morning flight from Brisbane, which meant a 3-4 hour drive from Hervey Bay to the airport. Rather than get up at midnight to drive to Brisbane, Pete and I drove down the day before and stayed in a hotel overnight. It was pretty ordinary, but it was a bed for the night. Breakfast was pretty ordinary, too – we had a sort of Eggs Benedict, overcooked eggs on a slice of ham on a slice of bread, covered in rocket leaves, drowned in far too much (bought) sauce.

Hey ho. Pete dropped me off and headed for home while I worked out how to do the self-service check-in. Much as I poo-pooed the whole procedure when I first encountered it, I have to say it has speeded up the airport experience considerably. No more conga line of people and bags snaking around in front of the airline desks. I’m not sure what they can do about the security screening, though.

It has been many years since my only previous flight with Virgin, so it was going to be interesting. Although it’s no longer as cutprice as it was when it started in Australia, Virgin is still a bit spartan. I paid the extra to pick my own seat, and get a meal. But you use your own device to watch movies etc, having downloaded the Virgin app. There were no usb ports. The food was ordinary – penne in olive oil and breadcrumbs on top with gluggy potato salad. The chocolate mousse wasn’t bad.

We got off to a bad start when the flight was delayed for an hour. These things happen, of course, but when the pilot did the routine apology, he explained that the delay resulted from two factors; first, the crew had arrived from New Zealand that morning on another flight, which was late getting in. When they arrived, they had to go through transit security. NZ flights seem to leave from the gates furthest away from the main airport, so they had to go all the way in, then all the way out again. It must have taken 20 minutes. Bureaucracy gone mad, in my opinion.

It’s a boring flight most of the way. The plane crosses the Tasman Sea between Australia and New Zealand, known to us as ‘The Ditch’. I played Solitaire or dabbled in a book until we crossed the NZ coast. The alps were spectacular, with snow dusting the mountain peaks and turquoise rivers swirling through the valleys. Yes, the camera was up there in the overhead locker. I had more leg room in the row behind business class – but there was no seat in front of me to put my camera bag. But I did my best with the notebook.

I’d organised a super shuttle for the trip into the city. It’s a shared mini-bus service, costing $25 – much, much cheaper than a taxi. The driver was a refugee from North Carolina, a big, bluff woman who said she used to manage backpacker hostels in the city centre – until the earthquake (there will be more on that). Her job vanished with the buildings, so she bought into this franchise. She was the first and by no means the last person to tell me how frustrated she was with the lack of action in addressing the devastation caused in the earthquakes in 2010-11.

I arrived at the hotel (complete with 2 bottles of sav blanc from duty free) around 5pm, expecting my friend would have arrived well before me, around 10am.

She wasn’t there.

All sorts of things went through my head. Illness? Problems with the grand children? A sick dog? I sent her a text message. “You’re not here. What happened?”

The last thing I expected was aircraft dramas. The direct Perth – Christchurch flight she was supposed to take was cancelled due to maintenance problems. So she caught a Qantas flight to Sydney, which would connect with an Emirates flight to NZ. Except that after about two hours the cabin lost pressure. You know all that stuff they tell you in those safety briefings? Masks come down from above, put them on and breathe normally? Yep, all that.  She said there was a noise and all the lights went out, then a repeated announcement was made – ‘this is an emergency’. But the lights came back on, the pilots said a fault in the air conditioning caused the cabin to lose pressure. The plane descended rapidly to 10,000 ft, where oxygen is not required. B thought there was also a medical emergency in the cockpit, with a woman passenger she thought must have been a doctor running down to the cockpit. The cabin crew kept stressing that they were trained in dealing with the situation and to keep calm.  Since B flew business class, she would have been shielded a little from events in the rest of the cabin. It must have been heart-stoppingly scary, but B said after she accepted that there was nothing she could do, she watched the cabin crew, who wore masks attached to oxygen bottles they carried, doing their jobs calmly and efficiently. There were 297 people on the flight. It must have been a helluva job keeping all those people from panicking. Although I expect there would have been a few who panicked, anyway. Here’s the news report about it.

The plan had been to land at Adelaide, but Adelaide couldn’t accommodate the aircraft, so they flew on to Melbourne. There was no gate available there, either, so they stopped at a hard stand away from the terminal and waited until ground staff brought over a ladder for all the passengers to disembark. Then Qantas staff had to arrange new flights for everybody. My friend was put on an Emirates flight. But her luggage (and about 10 other people’s) hadn’t made it off the plane. Staff did their best, giving stranded passengers Qantas pyjamas and rudimentary toiletries. B spent 5 hours in the Qantas lounge and arrived in Christchurch around 6:30pm, suffering from lack of sleep – but with a great story to share. Just as well I bought that wine in duty-free.

B told me it was almost as if she had a premonition something might go wrong. Although she’s a great traveller, she doesn’t like flying. Apart from the usual hugs and kisses for the dogs (in case she doesn’t see them again) this time she packed an extra dose of her medication and a pair of knickers in her carry-on luggage – something she doesn’t normally do. At least I didn’t have to lend her a pair of knickers.

Dinner was a bottle of lovely NZ sav blanc, and a (delivered) gourmet pizza. Even that was a tale in itself, involving issues like how do you call an 0800 number from your roaming mobile, why won’t the online apps recognise the hotel address, and ringing pizza joints that no longer deliver. But with a bit of advice from the hotel staff, all was well. After that, both of us passed out for a much-needed sleep.