Day 41: Oamaru to Christchurch

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My bus left at 9:30 a.m., and I had three blocks to drag my luggage, so of course I checked out of the hostel just after 8. I arrived at the tearoom that does double duty as the Intercity bus station at 8:35. It wasn't open, of course. I sat on a convenient bench outside until 9; at that point the tearoom opened and the clerk there told me I really should be sitting on another bench around the corner. I moved, and by the time the bus came I had been joined by ten or twelve other travellers.

Once we had gotten on, the bus was almost exactly half-full, so everyone travelling alone had a double seat. I asked a young boy sitting opposite me if he would swap seats with me, as I prefer to brace my left arm against the side of the bus, and the boy was kind enough to do so.

He was well-behaved on his own, but at Timaru he was joined by another unaccompanied minor, a boy about his age who egged him on into mischief. None of it was really terrible; they were both just bored, but it was a great nuisance for the adults in the vicinity. They began by making rude noises -- first burps, then fake sneezes, and so forth -- giggling or laughing shrilly in-between sounds. Then they (the rambunctious one in particular) started squirming, and presently the rambunctious one started pushing his drink container in and out of the webbing attached to the seat in front of him.
The trouble with that, of course, was that he was jolting the passenger in front of him, an elderly gentleman, every time he did so. I leaned over and pointed this out to him. He said, "Sorry," to the gentleman, but he didn't really make much of an effort to stop.

Finally, after over an hour of this nonsense (during which time, not only I, but four other adults in the immediate vicinity had attempted to get the kid to behave, the elderly gentleman's wife came up with the trump card. I missed part of their conversation, because I had had to dash off to go to the restroom at Ashburton, but when I came back on the bus she had established that the kid was an unaccompanied minor and that none of the adults who had been rebuking him was his parent or guardian.

"But," she said, "you are being met at Christchurch, aren't you?" The kid nodded. "Well, if you don't behave, I will speak to the person who meets you, and these people (indicating the rest of us) probably will too."

That sent the kid into a tizzy. He apologized to all of us, sounding more sincere than he had the first time, and he came over to me, extending his right hand, and said solemnly, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again." After an instant's startlement, I took his hand with equal solemnity, and said, "Deal."

After that, he actually did behave for the remaining hour of the bus ride.

When I got to Christchurch, no cabs were at the bus station, so I tried to walk to my hostel. This time it was Celtic Backpackers, a couple of blocks from Dorset House where I'd stayed in December. About three blocks in, just as I was getting tired, a cab showed up, and I hailed it. Good thing I did. It was only $7.70 and worth every penny.

To my delight, Celtic Backpackers turned out to have the same ISP as the Empire, which was good since I still had time left on my Internet purchase with them.

It's a much smaller place than Dorset House; in fact, it seems to be a homestay with paying boarders. It's run by a family; I think they live here too. I have a splendid room with a queen bed, an armchair, and my own little refrigerator.

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