Christchurch

NEW ZEALAND

I’m up even earlier than I have to be for the flight to New Zealand to catch the first half of Chelsea’s first leg Champion’s league semi against Liverpool. I wish I hadn’t bothered with the 5am start as we go 1-0 down but I’m cheered up on arrival in Christchurch to learn that a Riise own goal in the 5th minute of injury time has given us a reprieve which we are to take advantage of in the second leg. Chelsea shortly afterwards beat Man U in the league as well to keep their slim hopes of the double alive, but the football season goes downhill shortly afterwards so the less said the better.

Christchurch is a pretty little town with the narrow winding tree-lined Avon River running through it. We take a little tram ride around the city centre admiring the punting down the river worthy of Cambridge and the colourful New Regent Street built in a very Spanish style. We work up an appetite in the Botanical gardens tree-climbing, duck watching and playground supervising that is sated with super seafood and a rather over-butch Kim Crawford Pinot Noir at the Dux Deluxe. Meanwhile Ruby has been fiddling with tree sap and can’t get the bloody stuff off her hands for ages, which stifles her budding arboreal interest somewhat.

The Oaks Apartments are a little claustrophobic but, worse than that, they are located right next door to a nightclub that bangs out tunes with a serious base beat until 6am. We are tired by morning but it’s Anzac Day and we refuse to be bottled up in the room so decide to head to the Art Gallery for some culture. The very modern building is housing a William Morris exhibition where we even manage to find Granny’s curtain design and send her a postcard. After a coffee in the central Cathedral Square and a look at the Irish dancing, we retire to the Tap Room on Oxford Terrace where I enjoy cooking my own scallops on a mini hotplate and washing them down with 7 different Monteith’s beers on a special tasting wheel. Fan-bloody-tastic. Less good is the 20% premium added to the bill simply because it’s a bank holiday. We were wondering why it was so quiet – what a bloody nonsense.

The next day we decide to take a trip to Akaroa, but poor Harley has twisted his ankle and can’t even get up out of bed. Deciding that this is not an elaborate ploy to avoid the long walk to budget rent-a-car Karen carries him as I’ve done my back in (no, not an elaborate ploy of mine either). Poor Karen arrives sweating like a rapist, despite the mild climate, but we do manage to get a deal on a 4WD Kia. Sadly there are no deals on booster seats, as the bastards are exploiting the new law making them obligatory, so we buy a new one instead which is actually cheaper. We drive over the mountains forcing me to get used to the car PDQ and are rewarded with great views of Lyttleton Bay. After a quick stop at Sumner Beach for lunch and coffee (is my new addiction a function of giving up smoking?) we continue for another 1 ½ hours of stunning scenery: cliff passes, turquoise lakes and steep mountains partially obscured by long white clouds (fittingly the Maori word for New Zealand is Aotearoa or ‘land of the long white cloud’). Akoroa is pretty if deserted and there’s not much to do but sit down for a drink overlooking the lake. Strangely the tables and chairs are all chained together and just as we’re remarking how this doesn’t seem like a crime hotspot and how dangerous it is to have all these chains lying around Ruby trips over one – typical. The views on our twisting and turning return journey at sunset are even more spectacular, with the mountain backdrop framed by every imaginable shade of pink, red and blue. Travelling in New Zealand seems to be more about the actual journey than the destination and I’m impressed – Karen less so which is fair enough, as whilst I’m engrossed in the wonders of nature, she is constantly catering to the whims of two extraordinarily demanding kids.