New Zealand, Part III: Christchurch Rising

We split our New Zealand adventure into two parts, visiting friends on the North Island (see earlier blog posts) before leaving for Australia. So, on our return from Sydney, we flew to Christchurch on the South Island.

We had not seen Christchurch on our earlier visits, which we somewhat regretted. But we felt privileged to witness Christchurch now, when it is recovering from the earthquake it experienced on February 22, 2011. Five years later, the entire city is a construction zone. Because housing came first, the city is only now rebuilding the downtown. 

In the interim, Christchurch has shown great innovation and spirit. For example, the city created a mall out of shipping containers (The Re-Start Mall), which is really quite attractive. In addition to the retail spaces and banks, cafes and food stalls create a pleasant ambiance. We had a couple of tasty meals there, where the buildings of the new mall rise higher every day behind the temporary structures.

The creativity shown in recovering from the quake is just amazing! Consider the Cardboard Cathedral. (Not it's official name.) It was designed Japanese architect Shigeru Ban, who drew on his experience in creating post-tsunami architecture following the Japanese tsunami in 2004. This transitional Anglican cathedral is constructed with cardboard, glass, and shipping containers. It is quite beautiful.

Light glows softly in the cathedral. The laminated wood chairs harmonize well with the tones of the reinforced cardboard roof.

We were fortunate to have a kind lady, a volunteer who attends services there, show us around.

Nearby is the site where the Canterbury Television (CTV) building stood. It collapsed in the quake, and 115 of the 185 people who were killed in that event died there, many of them foreign students who were attending an English language school on the fourth level.

Slightly down the street and across from the CTV site are 185 empty chairs, a memorial to those who died. Appropriate chairs were chosen to represent each person who was lost, including the heart-breaking tiny chairs and baby carrier.

A poem at the site left me in tears, for I felt the poet understands what it is to grieve, and how, when grief is fresh, there is no consolation. And yet we go on.

****

A Blessing for the Brokenhearted

(Which is prefaced with a quote by Henry David Thoreau:“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”)

Let us agree

for now

that we will not say

the breaking

makes us stronger

or that it is better

to have this pain

than to have done

without this love.

Let us promise

we will not

tell ourselves

time will heal

the wound

when every day

our waking

opens it anew.

Perhaps for now

it can be enough

to simply marvel

at the mystery

of how a heart

so broken

can go on beating,

as if it were made

for precisely this—

as it knows

the only cure for love

is more of it

as it sees

the heart’s sole remedy

for breaking

is to love still

as if trusts

that its own stubborn

and persistent pulse

is the rhythm

of a blessing

we cannot

begin to fathom

but will save us

nonetheless.

 ****

 Later, we saw the former cathedral that was badly damaged in an aftershock. A controversy erupted between those who wanted it rebuilt and the Anglican Church who wanted to tear it down and build a new one. After extensive litigation, the church won the right to demolish the old building, but, perhaps out of sensitivity (or a lack of construction funds) that has not yet happened.

There are parts of the city that have rebounded. A streetcar offers lifts around town. In addition there are artworks and murals throughout the city. As our walking tour guide told us, "The city encouraged almost anything that would raise spirits after the earthquake."

Another spot that lightens the heart is the city's botanical gardens. Founded in 1863, they provide a cool, green oasis to retreat to. Best of all, they are free!

I am sorry we didn't get to Christchurch on our earlier trips, but if we go back to New Zealand, I would like to go again. This city, touched by a great disaster is rising like a Phoenix from the ashes, and if they can keep their creativity and community commitment, the future looks very bright.

A Kangaroo Tale

This is a guest blog post by our grandniece, Keara Holm-Nielsen. It requires a little background. Keara travels the world and currently works as a proposal writer, but you will see she is bound for bigger things. 

The photos below are ones that Kevin sent to family members. He encountered a kangaroo skeleton in the parking lot of the clinic at the abandoned military base, featured in the previous post. Believing that the kangaroo did not get hit by a car in the parking lot, he asked family members to speculate on how the kangaroo came to die there. Keara's response was so clever, and contains such deep, symbolic content, that I had to publish it.

WARNING: THIS POST IS RATED PG (parental guidance advised)!

Hi Uncle Kevin,

Thank you for the beautiful photos. In this decaying world, it’s good to know that I’ll always have you to lift my spirits.
 

Oddly enough, your photos do remind me of a story I heard once. Before I tell you, I must express the slightest resentment I feel about your word choice. You seem to indicate that my youth is a thing of the past, which is a grievous faux pas for a woman living out of a backpack approaching her 30s. But since we’re family, I’ll let it slide this time.

Anyway, If this roo’s fate is anything like the story I’ve heard, I agree with you. This roo did not get hit by a car while standing in the parking stall. The velocity required to make such a deadly impact would be difficult, nay, impossible for a car to reach while parking. Death from natural causes is not only unlikely, but boring. However, it is likely that this roo received its injury out there on the A376. What you have not considered is that instead of dragging itself, this roo was dragged.

Let me explain:

In the summer of 1968, the Shire of Exmouth was officially one year old and groin deep in the worst drought Western Australia had experienced in over 50 years. Everyone was thirsty. The men, their wives, the roos.

One man was feeling particularly unquenched. Jack owned the town’s local urology clinic. In the first year of Exmouth’s inception, everyone was happy. The town had just been established as a military base and all the enlisted boys brought up their girls from Perth. Everyone was carefree and in love. Everyone was getting urinary tract infections (UTIs). Things were great.

But then the drought hit and everything changed. Living in Exmouth became synonymous with inescapable heat and insatiable thirst. As you could imagine, the women left. And with the women, so went the UTIs. All except one.

Jack’s wife, Agna, stayed. Jack was repeatedly reminded how lucky he was that his woman didn’t leave him over a little dry spell, but he wasn’t so sure. Lately they had been fighting over petty things. Cars, mostly. Her bitching reverberated in his brain constantly. “Do you have to drive that ridiculous piece of crap around town? It looks like a rotting banana.” And, “When will I get a new car? That thing’s so rusty, I’m liable to get tetanus just looking at it!” But of the many things about Agna that perplexed him, the fact that they didn’t even share a bed and she was the sole patron of the clinic perplexed Jack the most.

Like many unhappily married manchildren, Jack’s solution to his wife’s perplexities was to dissolve himself in a pint or twelve of Emu Export at the pub. In the midst of a drought, drinking beer to save water is not only a great excuse, but also kind of a thing. Jack felt obligated to do his part to return Exmouth to the great city it had once been.

But not everyone was so community-oriented. Bragging loudly at the table behind him was the town’s local landscaper, Walter. Jack couldn’t even believe such a wasteful industry thrived in crisis times like these. Walter was nearly foaming at the mouth describing the incredible amount of water his company used. To drown out the noise, Jack muttered, “Walter the Water Wasting Wanker” to himself until he noticed a few weird looks from the bar regulars. He stumbled to his car and began the miserable drive home.

Some 10 kilometers away, Dusty and Scarlett were looking for water. They had been bickering lately, which was uncharacteristic of their relationship. Scarlett seemed frantic to find water, more frantic than usual. She even suggested crossing the bloody road at dark, which is basically a death sentence for a roo. Finally, Dusty gave in, which was characteristic of their relationship. After all, Scarlett had the nicest tail of all the does in their mob.

Dusty hopped across first, to make sure it was safe. Scarlett came next. And as life can be ridiculously predictable sometimes, a drunken manchild in a yellow sedan swerved into Scarlett at the last moment. Dusty fled to the mangled heap that was his wife and she gasped out the words that no male wants to hear from his dying lover, “Dusty, I’m pregnant.” In the moments that followed, Scarlett lit’rally became scarlet. (Note: Never miss an opportunity to be morbidly literal. And use puns. End note.)

(Don't worry. This particular kangaroo was alive and resting. But we needed an illustration.)

Dusty looked to the sky for some sort of answer. Instead, he found himself looking at the perpetrating vehicle, whose ridiculous yellow color was set off by some extremely tacky lettering. Before it screeched away, Dusty managed to read, “Urine? You're in!" They were words he would remember until his dying day. [Fade to black.]

Dusty woke up in the scorching sun next to his roadkill lover the next morning. After weeping all night, his mouth was as dry as the outback. His tongue was, well, dusty. He couldn’t stand the pun he just made up in his own head, or looking at his scarlet Scarlett any more. He began hopping deliriously down the A376.

Flies buzzed around Dusty’s face as he spotted a garden oasis in the distance. He hopped faster. But then suddenly the oasis appeared suspiciously two-dimensional. He’d been duped by a billboard. Walter and his misleading landscaping advertisements could go to hell.

Then Dusty noticed another billboard. With an extremely familiar tag line and a giant yellow arrow that said, “We test wee.” Dusty followed that arrow. Because he decided that the last thing he would ever drink was the red hot blood of the bastard that turned his Scarlett scarlet. He could already taste the sweet, salty revenge.

A few kilometers behind the bloodthirsty roo was Agna, who also had it out for Jack. She hated Exmouth. She hated Jack and his stupid yellow car. And she hated the goddamn piece of rust she was forced to drive around. It was finally time to tell Jack it was over, that she was leaving him for Walter the Landscaper. She was so wrapped up in her mission, she barely noticed the haggard kangaroo hopping in the same direction. She also barely noticed that she mowed over the haggard roo, and that its carcass became stuck in her undercarriage. Whatever. She would be done with this piece of crap soon. As Agna screeched to a halt in the parking lot of Jack’s clinic, the sheer velocity of the motion dislodged a barely living Dusty from the crumbling vehicle.

We could go into detail about what happens between Agna and Jack, but that’s not important. The important thing is that there would be no revenge or redemption at Dusty’s final destination. Dusty would spend his final moments shaking his fist at the sky. Or rather, at Agna’s rusted undercarriage. Life teaches you lessons, and Dusty learned the hard way that life’s not fair.

So to answer your question, yes. This truly is a story worthy of a haiku:

A kangaroo tale

Where happiness turns to rust

And Dusty to dust.

 

 

Love you,

Keara 

Dusty's brother still mourns the couple till this day.

Emus, Roos, and the Strangest Best Western Ever

When we first planned the Australian leg of our trip, we expected to go to the Great Barrier Reef. But we discovered we would be traveling when that area typically experiences heavy storms. It's also a time when the nearby coast is often infested with Australian Box Jellyfish—and their venom is so toxic, it can kill you in minutes. Since we couldn't visit the reef except by boat and the weather might not cooperate, we decided to go to the Ningaloo Reef in Western Australia instead. That's how we arrived at the Strangest Best Western Ever.

Officially known as The Best Western Sea Breeze Resort, the accommodation is five kilometers from the little town of Exmouth. (Pronounced “Ex-mouth.”) The motel was converted from the chief petty officer’s quarters on an inactive North American Naval Base, right next door to an active Australian military facility. That’s part of what makes it so different.

Emus stroll the grounds of the Sea Breeze.

We want to make it clear that we thoroughly enjoyed our stay there. The staff were extremely helpful and friendly­—and not strange at all. The building has been remodeled, so it offers a pleasant room with a kitchenette and en-suite bath, along with ­­­­­­ a pretty outdoor pool. Emus and kangaroos roam the grounds and galahs, a type of gray cockatoo, perch in the palm trees. But that’s not all.

Galahs searching for seeds at the Sea Breeze.

Because the hotel is located inside the inactive naval base, there are streets and streets of vacant buildings. It’s a military ghost town, including a dive shop, a bar, and a clinic (which is important to the next blog post.) 

If you drive down one of the empty streets, you will see kangaroos peeking out from around the buildings, where they go to rest in the shade. If you approach, they are shy, and quickly bound away.

Kangaroo resting in the shade of a building on the old base.

There is nothing—absolutely nothing but desert—around the hotel except for the small Australian active facility and the U.S. Navy ghost town. The motel bills itself as “the closest hotel to the Ningaloo Reef,” and it is. But you need a car to stay there, because it is still another half-hour drive, at least, to the bays of the fringing reef.

The landscape around Exmouth is a little barren.

We found the town of Exmouth itself a very friendly  and animal-friendly place. People seem to like the kangaroos and emus and give them free rein.

Traffic stops for the emus.

Emus have quite a good system: the females lay the eggs, but then the papa incubates them and takes care of the young for at least six months. The dad and chicks often stay together until the next breeding season. Meanwhile, mom takes off to live it up and find a new mate. (See what I mean about a good system?)

We liked the fact that because the three varieties of sea turtle nest on the Ningaloo Coast, the town has totally banned plastic grocery bags. That’s because when turtles see a floating plastic bag, they think it’s a jellyfish and swallow it, which can bind up their insides and kill them.  

The Ningaloo beaches are incredible, with the whitest sands and turquoise waters that teem with tropical fish and sea turtles, and seasonally with manta rays and whale sharks, the world's largest fish. Filter-eaters, whale sharks aren't dangerous, and the tiny towns along the Ningaloo Reef all promote opportunities to swim with them.

I swam from the white, hot beaches of the Ningaloo Coast, where snorkeling from the shore is quite good. I also went on a snorkel tour by myself, since Kevin doesn’t snorkel anymore. (But I did get him in the water once.)

While I was in the water, people on the boat raised an alarm: “Shark! Shark! Right there!” I caught my breath. In what seemed like several minutes—but was probably only seconds—the word came from the captain, “It’s OK. It’s a harmless reef shark.” I didn’t panic. But I wasn’t pleased to hear someone shout “Shark!” when I was seventy feet from the boat! Particularly, when I found out later there was a resident female tiger shark in the bay named Terrie, and only great white sharks attack humans more than tiger sharks.

Don't yell "Shark!" when I'm in the water, please!

Kevin and I explored the land area too. We hiked up an old gorge seeking small rock wallabies without success. But we did see a red kangaroo, at least 7 feet tall, bounding up the creek bed. Great sections of the landscape are also dotted with termite mounds, rounder than the ones in Africa, but quite large nonetheless.

A collection of 13 large radio towers at Exmouth, the tallest as high as 1,270 feet tall, enables the U.S. and Australian military services to communicate with submarines as far away as Alaska through very low frequency (VLF) radio transmission.  Now that the U.S. plans to beef up its presence in Asia and the Indian Ocean, the U.S. Navy is coming back to Exmouth. Sadly, that means the kangaroos will find their shady spots taken over by American naval personnel, and the Strangest Best Western Ever will revert to military housing once again.

Note: I don't have a photo of it, but Kevin enjoyed a brief run with a kangaroo pacing him
at Exmouth.  It will probably be his only chance to run with a kangaroo.

And just to end with something pretty, I added a photo of a blossom at the motel.

Perth, Our Welcome to Western Australia

Perth was founded in 1829, primarily because the British were afraid that France would set up a colony in Western Australia, which explains its relative isolation from other major population centers. But while I was there, the image of the map of Australia--and its place in the world--was firmly in my mind. It felt remote to me.  "Here we are down at the bottom of the world," I thought, as though top and bottom make any sense on a globe, but then that's how we conventionally think about it, isn't it?

We enjoyed a few nights' stay at an Airbnb apartment in Perth, and although we usually choose to have an entire house or apartment to ourselves, in Perth we chose to stay with a host. We had our own private bathroom and access to the rest of the apartment, where we were able to relax. The owner, Anna, who works at the University of Western Australia, welcomed us in spite of an injury that had laid her up. The views from her balcony were spectacular!

One night, we even saw fireworks across the Swan River. The river, which we overlooked, eventually opens up to the Indian Ocean at Freemantle. Anna kindly gave us a ride to Freemantle when she was feeling better, and we enjoyed exploring the port town.

While relaxing in Freemantle, we met Erika Roper, a researcher who studies black cockatoos. (There are three species in Western Australia, and I have forgotten which species she studies.) However, it was a great pleasure to meet someone who has devoted her life to this research and who cares so much about these beautiful, threatened birds.

Kevin with Erika Roper.

I had wanted to visit Rottenest Island, which is off the coast of Freemantle, but sadly, we had to forego that trip. When you are traveling long-term, you have to weigh every excursion and sight, because if you do everything you'd like to do, you'd quickly run out of money--and we had months to go! 

Rottenest Island got its name from sailors who mistook the quokkas, the small marsupials that overrun the island, for rats. Quokkas are adorable, and I wanted to see them on the island, where they are known to be relatively tame. However, the roundtrip ferry ride to Rottenest was expensive, and there isn't a lot to do there, except swim, snorkel, and bicycle. Since Kevin doesn't like to swim and won't snorkel, and my knee won't let me cycle, we decided to spend about $12 and see quokkas in the Perth Zoo instead.

Quokkas are cute! (Image from Dreamtime.com)

I have mixed feelings about zoos. I recognize that zoos do valuable work in saving some endangered species. But I think that the animals should have adequate space and consideration and large, social mammals like whales and elephants do not belong in zoos or aquariums. So I was saddened to see that the Perth Zoo still has an elephant.

The zoo grows eucalyptus just for the koalas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We saw the koalas in the zoo. While there are places in Australia that actually let you hold koalas, the experts frown on that, because humans can pass diseases to koalas. So we were content just to see them. There was no option to hold them at the zoo, anyway.

The kangaroos and wallabies at the zoo seemed to have a lot of freedom and a fairly spacious area. 

While we were there, one mother tried to hurry her dawdling children along: "Come along now. We can see kangaroos at Nanas."
I smiled. The only kangaroos I ever saw at my nana's house were ceramic ones.

Because the animals have free-run of the enclosure, signs ask you to be careful when leaving. We were careful and although I would have liked to bring one home, I realized that was hardly practical!

We were shown around the zoo by John, a local resident and docent who is 80 years old. He so obviously loves the animals and his volunteer job. We were lucky to have  a private tour, because no one else showed up on time at the tour point. He was a delightful guide, and he told us he has flocks of parrots and cockatoos in his back garden every morning.

Perth's Art Gallery of Western Australia provided an interesting diversion, featuring a wide diversity of artists. Sadly, we had just missed a larger exhibit of aboriginal art, though we enjoyed the stunning works. One was a grouping of an artist and a model, and I had to look closely to make sure they were sculptures.

 

With its natural beauty, comfortable city, warm people, and enjoyable art and architecture, Perth offered a pleasant welcome to Western Australia, and we could hardly wait to see what more this region would deliver for us.

Katoomba and The Three Sisters

Leaving the Kangaroo Valley on our way to Katoomba, we stopped at Fitzroy Falls. My photos don't do justice to this lovely landmark, with its jaw-dropping views from the top.

Because we were heading to the Blue Mountains and the Three Sisters rock formation, at a higher elevation, we expected we were going to a remote area. But we found both going out and on our return to Sydney that suburbs meld into small towns all the way there. However, once you get to Katoomba and the viewpoint to the Three Sisters, the landscape is breathtaking. We hiked along the rim of the canyon and down to the Three Sisters to take in the view.

 We clambered down to an overlook, even though I am afraid of heights. Along the way, many of the rocks were so colorful they looked as though they had been painted.

Katoomba is also the home of the Waradah Aboriginal Centre, which is run by the local Dharug and Gundungurra tribes. It features performances, exhibits, and an art gallery.

The canvas in the front depicts the Australian Aboriginal flag, one of the official flags of Australia.

The toilets at the visitor center show how to use them.

Should you go to Katoomba, don't make the mistake that one visitor did. She asked the information desk, "Where are the Blue Mountains?" She was expecting the mountains to literally be blue. But Australia's Blue Mountains, like our own forested lands in the Pacific Northwest, only appear blue in the distance, because of how different wavelengths of light scatter in the atmosphere.

We only spent a couple nights at Katoomba. While there, we explored some forest trails and walked along a peaceful lake. Soon, we were headed back to Sydney.