CHRISTCHURCH - Rooms with Views and Giggling in the Cloisters

The great New Zealand tour is almost at an end. And, yes, sad to say to all the Kiwis who shake their heads when I tell them, I really *am* about to hop over to Australia for a couple of months. (I don't think we're talking international hatred here, just a sort of 'why would you want to go anywhere but here?' sort of mentality. Can't say I blame them) But, before all the teary eyedness, there's the last few stops to talk about. And they've been good ones.


Queenstown looking awfully quiet and unassuming.

From the west coast and constant, constant rain I travelled to Queenstown and the furthest point south I'll be in the Phworld this year. And have since run into constant, constant sunshine. Funny New Zealand summers. Queenstown's high street is filled (and I mean literally, filled) with shop after shop selling bungee jumps, speedboating and the like. All sounded rather exhausting to my poor, tired, glacier shattered body so instead I took a stroll up to the enormously lovely Deer Park Heights. A huge, rocky hillock just outside the city offering lots of wildlife roaming about on rugged hilltops. Wandering up I bumped into a Kiwi called Stan who was on his way to feed the animals and who offered some impromtu touring. And so forgetting all my lessons about getting into strange vans with people, I went along for the ride.


Some animals know how to live in the most dramatic ways.

Seeing a fair few deer, sheep and the like in New Zealand it's funny how sometimes they lose a bit of their wonder. Because, you know, they're a bit numerous. And kinda dull. But wander up to them with a handfull of feed, especially when you have someone with you who can help coax over the newborn foals as well as their stagg and deer parents, and they're pretty awesome animals. Also handy to do it a few months before the staggs' antlers get all hard and they start hitting people and cars.

The other advantage of being driven around anywhere in New Zealand by the locals is that they'll show you, with much gusto, any Lord of the Rings locations in the vicinity. Deer Park Heights, a tiny little place has, bizzarely, at least half a dozen including a couple of my favourites:


No CGI necessary for this ickle tarn in front of the aply named Remarkables. Stick a few Rohan refugees in the background and you've got a scene.


And this cliff was where Aragorn got dragged to an untimely dream sequence and bout of kissing with a horse. Oh, sorry, I meant Liv Tyler... According to Stan, many women come here to shed some tears. I tried. Really, I tried. But, really, he's just a beardy guy with a hippy hairdo.

And so on to Lake Tekapo. Notable for being really, really, really blue. No, honestly. Let me prove it to you.


See, told you it was blue. Except the Church of the Good Shepherd. That's kinda grey.

I went to this tiny, tiny dot on the New Zealand map on the basis of a picture I saw in a book in Santiago similar to the one above. Probably the most spectacular setting I've seen for a church since, oh, August. It looked enormously pretty and peaceful, and I knew I wanted to go to a service there.

I realise I haven't put in any interesting church stories during this blog. Which is a bad oversight because churches are such funny places. Except, well, there haven't been *that* many funny church happenings to report this year. It seems the Phworld has many upstanding, decent and frankly normal places of worship in it. Kinda sad, really. The First Methodist Church back near Camp Aldersgate deserves a mention. Mark, Laura and I used to go down there on our Sunday mornings off before heading back to arrivals day in the afternoon (we were, like, *so* holy.) The first time we went, Mark got slightly hysterical sitting in a window seat because he was reminded of the story of Eutychus (Acts 20, Bible fans)

Afterwards, being the young fit and trendy types we were, everyone tried to offer us Sunday lunch but we couldn't accept seeing as we were due to go back to work shortly afterwards. The same thing happened every week and we were obviously either being regarded as either (A) Extremley shy retiring types who'd never accept charity of any kind. This is, of course, insanity. or (B) Very rude types who just didn't want to eat with crazy church people. This is, of course, insanity. or (C) Very busy types who kept matyring ourselves because of our need to get back to work. We assume everyone thought (C) because, on our third visit, the very well manicured rector actually gave us money to go treat ourselves to food before work. And not stolen from the collection plate, actually from his own wallet. We went to Dunkin Doughnuts, and we ate well that lunchtime before the kids arrived.

So, anyway, back to New Zealand where the service at Tekapo was pleasingly low budget. One well recycled service sheet, one very tourist friendly rector (German, Japanese, he speaks 'em all) and music provided by anyone in the congregation who could play a piano without music. And they get away with it week after week. Bless transient tourist congregations. And extra marks for a very bizarre version of the peace using both hands. Sort of like dancing.


Another interesting fact about Tekapo is it has some of the best stargazing in the whole of New Zealand. Because it is jolly dark.

And so to Christchurch. The garden city. It has a Cathedral Square. It has a Christ College. It has a River Avon with punts running up and down it. Yes, it's a bizarre place for a British boy to end up halfway through his round the world trip. It's an astonishingly beautiful city, with some very special little corners. I spent an hour wandering around the Arts Centre. Basically an Oxbridge College with cinemas, theatres and practice rooms scattered around two quads and some cloisters.


Arts Centre at Christchurch. Can you spot the hidden sculpture in this photo, viewers? No extra no points bonus marks avaliable if you do, mind you.

You can walk around and catch an excerpt of someone singing opera, see the tops of a group of fingers as ballerinas stretch in an upstairs window and then descend into the bowels of a tiny cinema to catch obscure arty movies you've missed because you've been travelling and South Americans don't know how to do cinemas without blockbusters. (In this case, Pride and Prejudice, which turned out to be much better than expected thanks to Matthew MacFadyen's awesomely subdued Mr. Darcy, Donald Sutherland's mutton chops and some fabulously grungy set dressing, costumes and country dancing. Unfortunatley it's saddled with Keira Knightley's horrible, horrible performance as a giggling schoolgirl. If she gets nominated for an Oscar, I'm leaving the country. Whichever country it is I'm in at the time) Oh, and dogs and skateboard. No, really.


Don't ask me to explain why.

I'm glad I'm not anything other than a writer. Else I would always have places I needed to be. The Christchurch Arts Centre caters exclusivly for daydreaming types with far too much time on their hands.


The South Island line-o-map. Gotta love it.

And so, reader, to Australia.