Christchurch NZ - Week 2

Oh my God, that's a long friggin' way!

I arrived in Auckland at 5.30 in the morning, nearly fourteen hours after I left LA and had no idea what day it was. With my eyes sealed shut with crust I managed to catch my connecting flight to Christchurch at 8.30, but after an hour or so of circling in the air we turned around and went back to Auckland because of bad weather. So, in my zombie-like state I collected my bags, wheeled them back over to the domestic terminal, re-booked for another flight, and exactly the same thing happened again. What the? Does no one talk to anyone over there? Couldn't they just oh I dunno... maybe phone Christchurch to see what the weather's like?!

Anyway, third time was indeed lucky, and after Auckland air traffic Control had read the morning's papers to see what the weather's like, we finally managed to land in For Christ's Sake Church and I checked into the trendy Hotel So at around 6pm utterly exhausted. I set my room lighting to ambient, switched the plasma TV to "mountain mode" and plugged in my iPod...

I woke up the next day at 11am with my hand still resting on the iPod docking thingy. I'd slept nearly seventeen hours. My short stay in Christchurch was really to recover from the jet lag so I was in no hurry to do anything anyway. I still had another six hour journey to ahead of me before I'd arrive at my base for the Winter season, so I was keen to spend the next few days doing very little. So I found the Tourist info place, booked a bus to Queenstown, and caught the tram to the city museum.

I'm not a huge museum enthusiast, but this was honestly superb! I bartered with an early settler in his medicine shop, I found out all about Edmund Hillary in the Arctic room (filled with snow!) I even got a bit scared in the cave where the early settlers lived. (What? It was pitch black!). I spent absolutely ages there.

And then I bumped into the England rugby team. Well not literally, but they were staying in the hotel next to mine and were playing the All Blacks that evening. And this, in New Zealand, is a HUGE deal. I asked around to find out where the best place to watch it was, and after a bit of wandering down some back alleys I found Lichfield Lanes.

It consists of a collection of quirky bars and restaurants converted from old warehouses about a year ago, all overlooking a courtyard. And for special occasions, like tonight, the big game is projected onto the wall of one of the buildings.

So, with a beer in hand, and surrounded by noisy Kiwis dressed in black, I settled down in an outdoor sofa to enjoy the game. But I sunk lower and lower in the chair as England fell more and more behind, and by the middle of the second half I'd lost interest and chatted to a Kiwi couple who sold baby blankets. Much more interesting.

Several strong beers later, both England and I were hammered. I made my excuses to blanket couple, accepted the offer of help out of the sofa, and staggered back to my hotel where I set my room lighting to anti spin and passed out.

Next morning I was up early to catch the bus to Queenstown. With a pounding head I dragged by oversized bags to a cafe, woolfed down a bagel, and then joined the Australian equivalent of Paris Hilton and Nicole Ricci at the bus station. After the bus driver had assured the girls that the bus was clean, we set off across the South Island.

I'd arranged to meet up with Tim, a guy I'd met in Canada, who'd managed to blag us a couple of press passes for the Queenstown Festival. In return for free lift passes, four star accommodation and access to all areas of the festival, all we had to do was meet the Prime Minister of New Zealand, attend various press junkets, and interview the famous Kiwi band The Checks. We'd come up with a name for our fictional magazine, Tim had his camera and I had a pen and some paper. Should be no problem.

Next stop Queenstown!

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