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Published: January 11th 2011
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I had another fabulous day!
It didn't start out all that well. Exhausted from wrestling with the laundry last night, I slept until after 9. When I finally got up, got moving, and got outside, I found that it was drizzling. Three blocks into my walk, it became obvious that it was doing a bit more than just drizzling. I had to go back, get my coat, change into my other jacket, and hang the original jacket up to dry.
I ran for the Christchurch tram at Victoria Square, and caught it. Afterwards, I learned that there was no need at all to run for a tram. The stated frequency was eight to twelve minutes, but they seemed to come much more often than that. Perhaps I was just lucky.
I told the driver that I wanted the tram/punting combo. He said he could not sell me a combo ticket, but that he could take me to the stop where I could buy one. He did, and I did. I was a little anxious about the weather, especially since the clerk warned me that if the rain made the river rise the punting would be cancelled, but after
being assured that I would get my money back in that eventuality, I bought my combo ticket.
I wanted to be punted through the Botanic Gardens, which is also the stop for the Canterbury Museum. I went into the Museum first, with a vague idea of perhaps finding the Museum's cafe and having a hot chocolate. I never did get to the cafe, but I wandered through a gallery representing a reconstructed 19th-century street, with numerous shop windows displaying real artifacts.
One of the shops was a toy store, and in it there was an elaborate, multi-story dollhouse. The furniture in the dollhouse, however, was tumbled about. A sign explained that the dollhouse, too, had suffered in the September earthquake, and the museum staff had decided to leave it in confusion to commemorate the event.
From the Victorian street, I went on into a gallery devoted to transportation. There was a stagecoach for the Christchurch-Hokitika (I think) run, which a docent later told me had been manufactured in California. There was a landau and a hansom cab, and a 1950's classic car. There was a whaleboat and a Maori canoe made out of reeds, in a style
unique to the South Island. And there was a gold-plated motorcycle.
It seems that the owner of the gold-plated motorcycle won 11 world speedway championships, three of them in a row in 1968-70. When he won the first two of those, someone offered to gold-plate his motorcycle if he won a third time, and they honored their word when he did, even though it cost $500,000. The motorcycle was disassembled and shipped to California, and every single part that could be electroplated was, even (according to a docent) the hidden parts of the engine. Then the motorcycle was reassembled and put back into working order.
At that point, I decided somewhat reluctantly to go home and have lunch. I didn't really want to leave the museum, but, had I eaten lunch out, I would have been stuck with a surplus lamb steak. So I took the tram back. This time the tram that came had a very high step, and a thoughtful conductor brought out another step to help me on (and later, off).
I found that Victoria Park was not the closest tram stop, but rather the Casino stop, which was not really at the Casino
but was only a block away from it. I hurried my way through lunch, and I was back on the tram by 1:45.
By that time it was no longer raining, though it was still overcast, and I thought I should go and claim my punt ride. I was worried about losing my ticket, and worried that the river might, after all, rise.
Just as I reached the Antigua Boat Sheds, which were farther away from the tram than I had expected, the sun came out. Furthermore, although advance booking is encouraged, they were able to fit me onto a punt that was leaving at once.
"Fit me on" is close to the truth; I was placed in a wide but shallow seat at the bow, almost lying down, with my legs stretched out before me. It took two people to help me down and -- four, I believe, at least three -- to help me up, but I managed it and for once I neither fell down nor fell into the river.
And, believe me, it is somewhat remarkable that I did not fall into the river. I had never realized just how narrow punts
were. Lord Peter Wimsey's celebrated Harlequin dive pales before the athletic accomplishment of making out with Harriet in such a watercraft. I nearly went over the side when I merely tried to put sunblock on my legs. After that I stayed perfectly still, and, I'm afraid, got a tad sunburnt. When I put my sunblock on this morning, I had blocked my ankles, but I'd failed to allow for the possibility of sprawling in the sunlight with my legs stretched out before me.
I had always wanted to ride in a punt, at least since I first read
Gaudy Night at the age of nine. I had hoped to do so in Britain, but I'd never gotten the chance. As with the Milford Sound trip, it lived up to, and indeed exceeded, every expectation. I was in the perfect seat. The river stretched out before me, wide and peaceful. Somewhere in the background, our punter was giving us a lively talk about the Botanic Gardens and the places we were passing, but I didn't need to listen to that. I could lie still and listen to the river and to the ducks.
There were quantities of ducks. The
punt moved soundlessly through the water, so they swam around the punt within inches of me, quite unafraid. Most were mallards, but I saw one species unfamiliar to me, smaller than a mallard, with a black head. There were a few ducklings, and quite a number of seagulls too.
I was (very mildly) disappointed to note that I could not actually see anything of the Botanic Gardens from the river. Whether my fellow passengers, who were sitting up decorously on seats and not lounging flat on their backs in the bow, could see the gardens, I don't know, but I couldn't. I could see the water, though, very well, and that was enough.
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