Yesterday I treated myself to a haircut when
we called into the Northlands Shopping Centre at Papanui. Just Cuts here in New
Zealand are easier to deal with than their counterparts in Australia; there I
was always given the third degree about when I had last washed my hair, because
if it was not within the last twenty four hours, they refused to guarantee the
cut. Truth be told, how often does one go back to a hairdresser and ask for
either alteration or refund after surveying the result in one’s own mirror?
Anyway the queer with the diamond earring gave me an excellent cut and I am
feeling altogether better groomed and ready for the remote wilderness and more
rural areas of this southern island.
From there we hunted out the Academy Gold
Class Cinema in Sydenham where we saw the film Mr Turner, starring Timothy Spall, a brilliant actor not blessed
with good looks but talent in lieu. The film portrays this similarly brilliant
landscape artist who lived from 1775 through to 1851, through the last quarter
of his eccentric life. Often seen in television dramas, Spall is generally cast
as an unpleasant secondary or less unimportant character; here he is the star
if still unpleasant. Needless to say, we thoroughly enjoyed this movie.
We spent the half hour before the scheduled
film wandering about this vibrant and colourful village, finding on the fringes,
cafes located in container or shack like temporary accommodation, as we have
seen dotted about the city. We were reminded again of our conversation with the
laundry proprietor in Kaiapoi: her dilemma relates to the fact that her
temporary business location must go in the near future and yet she is unable to
find alternative accommodation. Leasable business venues seem to be even
scarcer than residential in this post-earthquake zone.
This morning we left our horticultural base,
pausing to fill our water tanks from the artesian well, an extremely tedious
procedure dealing with appalling water pressure. While we waited for the tank
to fill, we watched Russell, our host pass in his tractor and spray unit, pass
again up a second row, and then by the time he came to the end of the third,
the tractor was struggling with a near empty fuel tank. This charming man who
looks more like an academic than an orchardist, enjoys pottering about classic
cars and the like and probably fuels his hobby from the secondary produce of
this orchard. I shall say no more.
We made our way into the city, bumping and
rattling across the lumpy and partly patched roads of Christchurch, finding our
personal park in Hagley Park, that directed to by the diligent Australian
parking warden a day or so ago. He has brought his Health and Safety training
from the Northern Territory to Canterbury, stamping it on to his rule here in
the recovering city He lived through Cyclone Tracey in Darwin; there is merit
in such office bearers continuing their public service in yet another “disaster
torn” city, and much against it. His story was one of the many intriguing
stories we have heard here in Christchurch post-earthquake; full of hope and
courage, full of frustration and sorrow.
We wandered through the sun soaked Botanic Gardens,
pausing on a pedestrian bridge over the Avon River to feed half a bag of stale
bread to the resident ducks and opportunist seagulls. We proceeded to the
Museum which lies on the edge of the Gardens and despite being housed in old
buildings, seems to have been untouched by the earthquakes.
Further research discovered that only minimal
damage was sustained to the external fabric, several loose gable tops and
capping stones shaken loose and little else. Inside the museum, 99% of the
exhibitions and collections were safe, all good news for us as tourists. Unfortunately
the Christchurch gallery, a beautifully modern glass and steel structure
visited on our last trip, has taken the opportunity to repair $14 million worth
of insurance repairs at the same time as $20 million upgrades, and is closed to
the public for now. In the long term this has to be good for Canterbury but was
disappointing for us.
I seem to recall being impressed with the Christchurch museum on
previous visits but then perhaps our many trips to such excellent museums in
Australia has spoiled our expectations. Now I would take it off our “must-do”
list, but then the more often you visit a city, the shorter that list grows.
I was impressed with the small exhibition about Morioris on the Chatham
Islands. At the risk of exhibiting my own ignorance, I had been under the
impression that these people who were indeed the earlier settlors to New
Zealand, were of a different heritage to the Maoris who came later. Not so;
they were simply of the same origin but a split off group who chose a less
belligerent life to their cuzzi-bros as those who remained on the mainland (the
North and South islands). They managed to remain off the radar in the low lying
islands eight hundred and seventy kilometres east of New Zealand. They referred
to themselves as Tchakat Moriori, their dialect version of “tangata Maori”.
They developed a “level” society, almost devoid of distinctions between
aristocrat and commoner, unlike their mainland cousins who were highly
hieratical. Significantly Moriori also discarded warfare as a means of settling
disputes, substituting the practice of duel hand to hand combat which would
cease as soon as one partly drew blood. Moriori also developed their own
version of the Polynesian language. When the cool climate prevented cultivation
of root vegetables their ancestors had brought with them, Moriori responded by
developing a prosperous hunting, fishing and gathering economy, harvesting the
island’s rich marine and land resources.
Centuries of isolation ended in 1791 with the accidental rediscovery of
the islands by Lieutenant William Broughton in command of the ship Chatham. Misunderstandings during this
first encounter resulted in a Moriori man being shot dead. For Moriori, far
worse was to follow; within a decade sealing gangs arrived and quickly
decimated the seal population vital to the Moriori economy.
Further impacts of European contact followed, and the lack of immunity
to new diseases resulted in epidemics. The original population of about 2,000
began to decline. By the 1830s there were several Europeans and Maori living in
harmony with Moriori. That situation was to change. An invasion by a Maori
tribe from the mainland in 1835 resulted in the slaughter of approximately 200
Moriori, followed by enslavement and loss of land. By 1840 the Moriori
population had been reduced to fewer than 500. Although the Chatham Islands
were formally proclaimed part of New Zealand in 1842, Moriori were not formally
released from slavery until 1863.
A second wave of European settlement began during the 1860s when several
Europeans arrived to establish large pastoral farms.
The final ignominy that Moriori were to suffer was erroneous popular
belief, circulated from the 1930s onwards, that Moriori were extinct. Today,
nearly eighty years later, Moriori are “alive” and visible. Not because of a
miracle, but because Moriori descendants have proudly reclaimed their rights as
“tchakat henu”, indigenous people and
proper guardians of the mana of Rekohu (the Chatham Islands).
As I read the history of these people, albeit in such a nutshell, I
could draw parallels with the demise of the aboriginal people of Tasmania, although
the slaughter of the Moriori was by their own kinsmen rather than the “white
oppressors”.
There was also mention that history had convinced the masses that the
first settlors of the Chathams were inferior, “subhuman” in some way; this I
had never heard and did wonder at the veracity of such a statement. Perhaps it
was some Maori idea to rationalise their treatment of these small islanders?
The museum also has a Mummy with good interpretation, complete with
x-rays to prove their points. The bird hall is very good, encouraging to those
of us who despair at the paucity of avian life in this country compared to the
continent across the Ditch. But like so much taxidermy found in such
mausoleums, there is plenty of room for renovation. It was here in the bird
halls that Chris and I decided we were too hungry to stay longer so we headed
out into the Botanic Gardens, vibrant with colour, full of people and bathed in
sunshine, to enjoy our cut lunch. We decided not to bother returning to the
museum, a surprising decision for anyone who knows us or has read of our
exploits in Australia.
I had picked up a pamphlet in the Kaiapoi iSite titled “Avon River
Walks” which inspired our Plan B for the day. The map was appalling and the
attractions listed seemed well away from the river, so we decided to simply set
off along the river and do our own thing. Today, Saturday, there were a
surprising number of kayakers and canoeists on the river aside from the
official tourist punts; it was lovely to see the river being used in such a
way. We had not gone far when Chris’s cellphone rang; it was John from the
Trailite sales yard to tell us a motorhome had just some in that surely would
fit both our wish list and pocket. We turned back and walked an abbreviated
trail, around the edge of the Gardens back to our motorhome in the car park,
then set off south to see this Wonder.
It turned out quite unsuitable for a variety of reasons, which made me
question the salesman’s listening skills. However I recall my father saying
during his real estate selling stint that it is a rare customer who buys the
property they say they want in the first place, so I guess from a sales
perspective you have to put everything on the table in case you have just such
a fickle customer.
We had intended to come on south to this NZMCA park over property at
Weedons, so we had not been taken out of our way by this wild goose chase. We
pulled into the shopping centre at Hornby and shopped for the week ahead.
Again, as we have been since arriving in the South Island, we were disappointed
at the prices of fruit and vegetables, and we do shop in the cheapest
supermarkets, so there is no excuse.
There are about thirty five camping parties in here tonight and a
further dozen rigs in the storage section of the property. This, like that at Takanini,
must have proved itself a viable investment for the Association; we are pleased
to have the use of such places. There has been much development during our six
years absence, but it is still a wide open windy place, lacking the appeal of
our camping spot at Ouruhia. But then thirty five motorhomes and caravans could
not possible fit on one small chestnut orchard without the removal of the
trees, and then it would be just as bare and unattractive as this.
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