New Zealand. Part III

March 11–13, 2009

“Oh hey, is it true that New Zealand has magical skies, magnificent ocean views, and clean, fresh air?”

“Yes. Now let’s get back to the interesting stuff.”

Wellington

This is the capital of New Zealand. The trolleybuses here are interesting to observe from the back. From the front, they look like regular buses.

A sign indicating a pedestrian crosswalk (an interesting antithesis to Australia’s legs).

Wellington trash and recycling cans.

The city has one fairly densely built-up area, but this doesn’t go on for very long—literally just a couple of blocks.

Most people live up in the hills. Somehow this is all very reminiscent of Greenland: the same colorful roofs to bring cheer to the residents, the same calm austere beauty.

New Zealand consists of two islands: a north and south one. Shockingly, they’re called North Island and South Island. A ferry runs between the two from Wellington. The port has a sign warning you not to bring any bees to South Island.

Picton

This is where the ferry arrives; there’s absolutely nothing else to do here. The ship Edwin Fox, which brought some of the first settlers to New Zealand, is permanently dry-docked at the harbor. Not much of it remains, but these remains are highly cherished. The museum makes you ponder the longevity of wood.

Picton also has the obligatory monument to the fallen of World War I (compare this to his army buddy in Saddleworth, Australia).

The most popular motif for post boxes in rural areas is a little house. In order for a letter to reach the big house, it must be deposited in the little one.

The road along the coast is pretty.

It makes you want to stop and take in the views.

PSAs along the road address drivers on a variety of issues. The quality of execution boggles the mind.

A universal pictogram in a public toilet.

A traffic sign with a schematic representation of the main road, adjoining side roads, and a railroad crossing. Railroads on signs are always depicted as cartoon scars with stitches.

Christchurch

The Church of Christ.

A rather charming place that somewhat resembles towns in Germany.

Traffic light poles have illuminated signs attached to them (the only other place I saw this was Hamilton).

A sign obligingly illustrates the consequences of getting your bike wheel jammed in the tram tracks.

Timaru

My plan to spend the night in the town of Temuka fell through because people in New Zealand have a habit of leaving their workplace exactly on the dot. All hotel receptionists work until either 9 or 10 p.m., but not a minute later than the stated time. I had to drive to the next town, Timaru, where the hotel receptionist had promised to wait.

What I liked about Timaru is that its name is similar to that of the website you’re currently on.

Oamaru

I had been planning to bypass Oamaru entirely, but a neat concrete mixer caught my eye. It was perfect because I’d been looking for an example of something that says “kiwi” on it.

Here’s why: kiwi is the name of a flightless bird which, like the fern, is a national symbol of New Zealand. The word “kiwi” has also come to denote anything pertaining to New Zealand, including New Zealanders themselves.

The kiwi fruit was first exported to the United States under the name “Chinese gooseberry,” but this didn’t catch on with Americans. So in the 1950s, New Zealanders rechristened the Actinidia deliciosa “kiwifruit.” As a result, the entire world now calls the fruit simply kiwi, while in New Zealand it continues to be referred to as kiwifruit.

My pursuit of the concrete mixer took me into the center of Oamaru. And I didn’t regret it for a second.

This is one of the most beautiful cities in New Zealand. A few neighborhoods with buildings in the Neoclassical style have survived here.

I lost all sense of time. I was driving towards the penguin colony when, suddenly, a group of ladies in late-19th-century costumes stepped out of a tearoom. They didn’t look like tourists, nor did they resemble special actors hired to create atmosphere. They simply walked out of the tearoom, simply crossed the street, and simply went into a garage full of bicycles and two-wheeled carts. They were engaged in animated conversation and examined everything around them with unfeigned interest.

I left my car right on the street and rushed after them. No one paid me any attention. The ladies were listening to a story being told by the blacksmith; an old man wheeled one of the bicycles out into the street, got on it, and rode off.

The most intense feeling you can experience while still conscious is slipping into the past. Usually, the function of a time machine is performed by an old object or a certain corner of the city. You have to turn your attention away from all signs of modernity, mute the TV, forget about your cellphone, and then, perhaps, you’ll be able to slip back in time. But in Oamaru, there was no need to resort to imagination—the past suddenly became present.

There’s also a suuuper-boring penguin colony here. Every tourist considers it his duty to take a photo of the sign marking an alleged penguin crossing, which was put there specifically for tourists. Some old guy hung a rather kitschy stuffed caterpillar over the sign and proceeded to photograph it. Noticing me, he said, “Don’t be surprised.”

So I wasn’t surprised.

Dunedin

The city has its own sign banning the consumption of alcohol in the streets.

Round traffic signs have weird little decorative supports on the bottom.

The Dunedin trash can.

The city has its own special architectural style, which consists of long and elaborate fire escapes circling the buildings.