Believing in Phoenixes

There's a weird gap of time, between 3:45 and 5:15 in the morning, where things aren't real. Anything before that is a late night, afterwards it's bright and early – but in that gap, you could go jello wrestling with a monkey and it wouldn't matter, because nothing counts. I hate waking up in that red zone, even if it's for a wicked reason.

After two and a half weeks of early mornings at the Kaikoura Farm Park, the thing I wanted most in the world was to relax. I bought a bag of cheap chips and a can of L&P and watched a movie before I met up with a few friends for parting pints, and it was the best kind of night. But those early mornings still followed me like a deer named Bambi at feeding time.

Except instead of 7:30, it was 4:49. And instead of going out to the pigs, I was jumping into the semi-frigid waters of the Pacific off the Kaikoura coast to see some dusky dolphins. I still hate getting up that early and being bone-tired, but if anything made it worth it, it was that.

The Dolphin Encounters shuttle left town just about 6:00, pulling into the docks at South Bay not long afterwards. There had to be only 20 people all told, about a dozen of them putting on wetsuits to go for a swim. The sky was still pitch black, but you could hear the waves breaking and feel the chill in the morning air. Nervous anticipation – but it's that weird time thing again. Of course I'm about to jump into that water, why not?

Out to sea we went, sloshing along as the sun started to break through the clouds. With only a liquid breakfast in my stomach (that's a thing, by the way, not beer), I was starting to feel queasy, and when they showed us how to wear the snorkeling mask and I felt the weirdly restrictive, plasticy thing reduce my breathing just to my mouth, things didn't improve a whole lot.

And then there were dolphins leaping up around the side of the boat. My guts didn't matter so much anymore.

The boat stopped before a pod of dolphins, and the lot of us sat along the back, poised ready to jump in. A couple of things, to set the stage. First, it was cold. I know we were wearing wetsuits, but we still had to submerse our bodies once he call came from the captain. Second, all senses were reduced to nil. A tight mask blocked your hearing, the goggles gave you cloudy tunnel vision, and the snorkel blocked your nose. Those things combined in the last little bit of advice they gave us before leaping off, a thing that definitely does not belong in the list of things you want to hear: “Now, when you first get in the water, your body might go into shock for a few seconds, and you're going to want to breath much faster.”

And then we were in. Jaysus.

So, it was cold, but not as cold as I was afraid of it being. The suit was buoyant, and the key was to swim with your face down, making as much noise as you can. That's where the dolphins were going to be, and you had to pique their interest. These aren't tame things, at your beck and call – they're just out for a splash around in their natural habitat, so there's no saying what kind of a swim you're in for.

The first dive, I was surprised by how cloudy the water was. A dolphin may have swam beneath me, but I was more preoccupied with getting the breathing down pat. About five minutes later, when the return blow came from the boat, I was breathlessly happy to rip the tube out of my mouth and get a solid seat again, out of the open water.

The second swim, after moving the boat further along, was better. I came closer to figuring out how to control my breaths, and even to put it out of my mind long enough to make some calls that probably sounded like some otherwordly creature being murdered. I'm not sure, but with my restricted senses, that's what it sounded like to me.

Swim, come back, move further on. We repeated this a bunch of times, and the dolphins were largely indifferent. A few came alongside, but just little blips that kept on their merry way. By the time we prepared for our final jump, the water was taking on a different quality: it looked almost black.

That's because it was clear. Shite.

What had been the odd, scattered dolphin before was now groups and groups of them, weaving around you and coming right up alongside so that you could look them in the eye. And that's a pretty cool feeling. The early morning, the temporary seasickness, and the early morning air definitely didn't matter right about now.

After we'd hosed down with onboard hot water and changed into warmer clothes, the boat looked like it was populated with a haggard crowd that had just survived the plague. Actually, scratch that – with damp, messy hair and half of the swimmers dunking their white faces into buckets to spew, it wasn't so much that everyone was on the verge of death, but just barely on the verge of life.

At any rate, after some hot chocolate and ginger cookies, I was fine. Better than fine – I was just frolicking with dolphins for an hour.

Back on shore, after I had checked out of my hostel and gotten some solid breakfast, it was time to make my way to Christchurch. The day I cruised across the Cook Strait, I was chatting to an Londoner who ended up offering me a ride to Havelock, where I was due to start work that afternoon. I had already bought a bus ticket, but decided at that moment that spending money on public transport was a waste, and I'd never, ever, do it again if I could help it. There were people all over the place heading wherever I was heading, and given enough time, I'd be able to get a free lift anywhere. I tried it a few times on short journeys, but this was the real trial: to make the 200 km trip to Christchurch by sticking my thumb to the air.

I had a backpack, a sign, and nothing but time. An hour is an excruciatingly long time if you're doing something like holding your breath or watching Republic of Doyle, but when it's a sunny day, you're in no hurry, and waving at the cars that go by, it isn't so bad. Had I been out on the Kaikoura outskirts for a bit longer, I might have started worrying that I had no backup plan if I didn't get a lift, but a guy with a sore mouth on his way to the hospital in Christchurch pulled over around lunchtime, and I was walking down the bustling Papanui Road about two and a half hours later.

After I checked in to my hostel (which I found out was a stroke of luck to come by – accommodations in Christchurch are something akin to the needle in a haystack, especially for four days in a row) on Bealey Avenue, one of the so-called Four Avenues that borders the centre of the city, I was about ready to collapse, but figured 3:00 was a tad bit early. So I went for a walk – no place in mind, just to go somewhere.

About a year ago, I had a phone interview with Steve Poltz, a singer-songwriter who collaborated with Jewel in the mid-90s to pen her biggest hit, “You Were Meant For Me.” I knew he was a traveller, so I asked him what is something that everyone should do in their lifetime – he told me to get lost in a foreign city. And there's a real logic to that; if you know what you're looking for and how to get there, then you already know exactly what you're going to find. If you don't . . . well, who knows? Since I came to New Zealand two months ago, I've always had a plan. The chance to do nothing for a few days, to just wander and see what happens, actually made me pretty excited, a vacation from the vacation in some ways.

Before the earthquakes, Christchurch was known as the Garden City. There are hundreds of public green spaces in the city, and I ended up in Hagley Park, the biggest (164 hectares), complete with small lakes, a botanical garden, and long stretches of forest walkways. Christchurch owes a lot to its original English influence, and it shows throughout the park – the Avon River weaves a course through, with a punting station between Oxford and Cambridge Terrace. 

As I got lost in the park, I couldn't help but think, just for a moment, that I was going to come around the next bend, and there would be a Tesco – but that's not right, is it? Not just because the UK is geographically thousands of miles away, but because it's temporally that far again, if not more. I'm not the same wanderer I was in England, not by a long shot, and I couldn't ever expect to walk back through Harlow Town Park and find it the same. I think if I ever made it back there, I would find those paths as confusing a maze as the one in Hagley Park yesterday afternoon.

By the time I'd put a few more miles in my sneakers and picked up some groceries, I figured it wouldn't be too obnoxious to sneak off to my dorm bed. If I was excited to have no agenda, I was ecstatic to have a nice long, deep sleep—

“Hey!” calls a voice from the world map littered by pushpins of where people came from, “Someone was once here from Newfoundland!”

—and was kinda disappointed for a few moments that it wasn't meant to happen that night. Oh well.

This morning, I did manage to sleep in a bit, but my internal clock deemed 9:00 late enough. Which worked out just fine, because a Kiwi Couchsurfer had gotten in touch with me and offered to give myself and a Polish guy a tour of the city. In my stroll yesterday, I'd seen a lot of dilapidated buildings and rubble, and it gave a depressing aura to the city. Today, we went along the cordoned Red Zone of the CBD, and saw even more of the extent of the damage (one of the most significant sites I saw was the toppled Victoria Clock Tower, where the clockface was frozen at 12:51, the time of the February earthquake), but there was another side to it: the rebuilding and rebirth side. 

In spaces where rebuilding would not be possible for a few years, there were innovative, temporary projects – this all fell under the direction of Gap Filler, and gave local artists and designers a chance to express themselves in the face of such a disaster. One of these was a pallet pavilion, an outdoor cafe and stage for musicians constructed entirely out of freight pallets. Further on was Re:START, a pretty busy shopping mall with hundreds of stalls built out of cargo containers.

After we visited the Quake City Earthquake Experience, an offshoot of the Canterbury Museum, and saw photos, testimonials, and remnants of the city recovered from the brink, I realized not only the gravity of the situation, but a deeper appreciation for how the city answered the call. In a few seconds, something that these people thought infallible just gave in and fell apart – imagine all that had to be done in that moment, and the deepest sense of not knowing where to possibly start. It's pretty overwhelming, and even now there are hundreds of vacated buildings that have to be demolished before rebuilding can properly begin.

But, as far as he rebuilding is concerned, the residents of this city had adopted an attitude to approach this mammoth task. All around the city are signs of encouragement: this city has changed, but it's going to be ok. There really is a sense of optimism, a belief that a fresh start is possible. In fact, there's even a silver lining – no modern city is afforded the opportunity to rebuild its business core, and the utmost in modern city planning is being funnelled into the Christchurch project. It will take years, decades, but the city has the right outlook from the beginning – suddenly, the crumbling facades don't seem so depressing anymore.

After a spin through the suburbs of Sumner and Lyttelton (the port centre, on the other side of the hills via a tunnel), also touched by the quakes, it was back to the hostel for a bite to eat. No early night tonight either though – the local Couchsurfing community goes out for drinks tonight, and even get a special rate on pints. 

But that's alright – it's not like I have to be up early tomorrow for any special reason. In fact, not doing that is just about my only plan for the day.

Cheers,

rb