My First Week (and a Half) in New Zealand: Part 1

I write this blog, huddled up in my apartment as outside it dances between raining and not, on University of Canterbury’s first day of classes. As of today, February 17, it has been about a week and a half since my arrival in New Zealand. In the week and a half before classes, I have hiked around the Canterbury region, done some shopping in Christchurch, and attended international orientation. In this blog, I discuss my experiences so far hiking around Aotearoa. In my next blog, I will give information on buying the things you need in Christchurch and offer my initial impressions on being an international student at the University of Canterbury.

The Great Outdoors. Isn’t this why anyone comes to New Zealand? So far I have nothing but the best to report. After the flurry of arrival—with me collapsing at the end of each day with the exhaustion and uncanny feeling of just being transplanted in a new place—I began exploring wherever I could get by bus. Here in Christchurch, there is a Metro bus system, and IES Abroad will give you a Metrocard preloaded with $40 (after the $40 is spent, it’s your responsibility to add more money, or ‘top up’). Taking the bus isn’t too expensive, as they only charge you per trip, not by distance, and won’t charge any more than $2 a day.

The first place I visited was Sumner Beach, which is about an hour’s bus ride south of the UC area. Riding on the bus, I was stunned by the beauty and the idyllic atmosphere of the place; the colors of the water were vibrant like nothing I had ever seen, and everybody and their dogs were out. The dogs streaked freely throughout the sand and bounded across the line between land and sea, their unbridled energy and joy spurring on their fleecy little legs. It seemed like the most appropriate thing a dog could ever do. The scene was so halcyon that I began to imagine that if there was a heaven it would look like this, and began to consider the possibility that I had died and woken up there. But then I felt the familiar, nascent bite of hunger at the pit of my stomach and knew I wasn’t really dead.

I settled in a place beside a log, to shelter myself from the wind that stirred up every now and again. Nearby, there was a rock with a small cave inside, aptly named Cave Rock, that you could climb on top of and walk through. Behind us were steep hills and cliffs. A headland jutted out into the sea, and I watched a car slowly crawl, like a beetle, along a road that carved a seam into the cliffside.

Lying on the sand, some of the friends I had come with were toying with the idea of getting in the water. The air was warm enough, in the low seventies, but with the wind no one was dying to cool off. Finally, I sat up, rigid, and resigned, “I think it’s time.” Together we walked past Cave Rock to a patrolled lane of ocean where swimming was permitted. 

The water was cold, strong—not something to be messed with. Being in it was like being held tightly. I had never quite had this sensation before, that moving against the current was like squirming inside the grasp of a giant hand, and after about twenty of minutes of being in the water I grew tired and cold and left it with a riveted sort of respect. 

Later, I chose to go walking by myself. As I walked, I studied the cliff that loomed over me. It was large, imposing, grander than anything I had seen in a long time. I wanted to reach up my hand and feel its craggy surface, but it was too far away. The sand by Cave Rock had been finely powdered and soft beneath my feet, turning mushy when wet, but as I kept walking I noticed that the sand had changed and here was crusted over like a brownie. I continued, chasing the end of the shoreline, until I reached a point where the water seemed to section off into something smaller, what I want to call a cove, and swallowed up the rest of the sand. I stood there, at the last bit of sand before there was just water and a wall that rose up to connect to road, and imagined what it would be like to have grown up in Aotearoa. And reminded myself that I was really here. 

Maybe it goes without saying that I really like Sumner Beach. I went back about a week later and hiked around Taylor’s Mistake, another beach nearby, before coming back to Sumner to spend the afternoon. The two other places I visited were the Port Hills and the Halswell Quarry. To the Halswell Quarry I won’t devote much time; it’s a nice place to get outside, but I’m not sure it’s quite so dramatic as Sumner Beach or the Port Hills.

It was a few days after visiting Sumner Beach that I bought my ticket to the Christchurch Gondola and then hiked around the Port Hills. My group and I all bought one-way tickets, so we could take the gondola up but hike down. Along with someone else from my program, I ended up in a gondola with a chatty couple from Arizona. The husband asked us what we were there for, and, upon hearing that we were students, what we studied. When I answered that I studied English, he asked me to name my favorite authors. I did. “All women,” he said, somewhat grimly.

To which I replied, “Yes!” 

We ate lunch in the quaint and picturesque town of Lyttelton, in a café called the Shroom Room. Afterwards, the same friend who had been with me in the gondola accompanied me on a hike back up the Port Hills and around Mount Pleasant. I told him it was the most beautiful hike of my life. The water of Lyttelton Harbor is a stunning turquoise, the trees are a rich green like colored pencil, and everywhere around you are fields filled with grasses that undulate in the wind and sheep that turn to look at you with dazed, placid eyes. I cannot wait to go back to the Lyttelton area, and hope in the future to take the ferry to the Diamond Harbor. Also on my list are Mount Cook/Lake Tekapo, Abel Tasman, and Doubtful Sound. 

I’ll conclude here! In my next, more practically minded blog, read about what the past week and a half have taught me about the University of Canterbury and getting around Christchurch to buy the things you need.