* * Day 20, Christchurch

Christchurch, New Zealand, airport. Jane, Whitney and I are through security and we wait in the terminal building for our flight which will board in about an hour. Then it’s travelers hell, with a quick flight to Auckland, then the LOOOONNNNGGGGG 12.5 hour flight to Los Angeles overnight, then a dash through LAX going through immigration, retrieving our luggage, transferring to the other side of the airport to the domestic terminal, checking back in again, then boarding a 5.5 hour flight to Dulles, arriving around midnight local time. Then we’ll need to find the car that my brother has hopefully parked there for us, then either driving home in the dark or finding a motel room and driving home the next day, whatever day that is.

We began the day in the seaside town of Kiakoura, driving southbound on Highway 1. The road hugs the shoreline for the first hour, and then sweeps inland.  It’s the main highway of the South Island yet it is a mere 2-land road, with limited passing zones. So, since I typically drive faster than most folks, there was often a slower vehicle ahead of me, including for many kilometers a semi-truck carrying cars that swooped through the tight mountain turns but slowed considerably for the uphills.

The day was overcast and cool in the morning, but the views of the countryside were the typical unblemished pastoral scenes we’ve come to expect throughout the country. After driving over 2000 miles and desperately looking for a decent radio station with our favorite classic rock, we finally found one that played Dylan, the Stones, the Spencer Davis Group, and CSNY, so why go home now? Our drive was only 2.5 hours, before we began to reach the outskirts of Christchurch.

Christchurch is New Zealand’s second largest city (next to Auckland), the largest on the South Island, and among other distinctions the jumping-off point for travelers headed for Antarctica. We were advised to take the bus tour of the central city, devastated by consecutive earthquakes in 2010 and 2011. Whitney did her normal excellent job of navigating while I drove to the visitors’ center next to a wonderful museum and botanical garden. By this time, the day had warmed to perhaps the hottest on our entire trip.

The bus tour ($15 each) was gut-wrenching. Whatever you saw in photos or on TV, reality is much worse. The iconic cathedral is in ruin, and the enormous steeple has collapsed and nothing visible remains of it. The entire downtown has buildings in various states of disrepair, collapse, and in some cases rebuild. The guide on the bus (named Virginia) talked about her own car being crushed by materials falling from buildings. Electricity was out, water and sewer systems were immobilized, traffic came to a standstill, and buildings all over the downtown were either immediately destroyed or rendered permanently unusable. We saw several commercial buildings that were akilter, tilting at odd angles, and with cracks in the bricks and facades, some with merchandise still inside, covered with dust. There were countless rubble piles, still actively being loaded on trucks for disposal. I’m guessing this is what some of the cities of Europe looked like following bombing in World War II. 175 people were killed, mostly in the collapse of a single building. You can read about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/June_2011_Christchurch_earthquake Virginia mentioned the typical Kiwi stoicism, saying there was nothing else to do except rebuild and move on. I spoke with a couple of store clerks who had experienced the main quakes and many aftershocks, and everyone’s nerves were justifiably frayed.  One said, “We haven’t had a shock for a month or so, so we’re calming down.” We bought a nice souvenier from him, a small Mauri shield inside a wooden, glassed picture frame.

One of Christchurch’s heroes from the past is John Britten, a motorcyclist, inventor, and builder who created perhaps the most intriguing and competent racing bike of all time with a handful of his mates in his garage. Britten died tragically of melanoma at age 45. An exceptional documentary video is on line. Please take a look here: http://www.nzonscreen.com/title/britten-backyard-visionary-1993  Virginia mentioned Britten, and after our tour I asked about any museum or similar monuments or artifacts. She said one of his bikes was on display in Wellington and his widow still lived in Christchurch, but otherwise there was no public memorial to this great genius for us to visit.

We finally found a McDonald’s and ate our first Lambburger. It was tasty, better than beef, but still not something I’d eat more than once.

Before departing for the airport, we walked to a series of new shops near the center of the devastated area. The shops were in brightly painted shipping containers! Private enterprise marches on!

The most stress we’ve had all trip was trying to find a petrol station to fill the rental car before returning it and figuring out how to use the automated payment system. We put our last tank into the Mazda 6, an astounding $111, bringing our total gasoline cost for the trip to around $900.

But back to the present.

There’s a certain sense of dread, relief, sadness, and excitement that accompanies the return from a successful vacation. This one is perhaps the most successful ever, certainly the longest, most distant, and most expensive we’ve ever done.

I’ll post again when I can, and try to do a wrap-up with final thoughts. Thanks for reading!