Staring out at fog and drizzle as the bus speeds along the highways between Queenstown and Christchurch, the weather reflects my mood. Everyone's very subdued today and for the first time on this trip I feel travel-sick, even the few stop-offs along the way don't provide much distraction. It's with a sigh of relief that we finally draw up to the hostel in the middle of Christchurch. I left the remainder of the group I was traveling with back down south, so I haul my luggage up in the rickety lift by myself and plan my first days alone since leaving Auckland.
Next morning, armed with a map, scarf and jacket I go exploring. Down the road is an old university, now converted into a cultural arts center. Large galleries are filled with an eclectic mix of paintings and beautiful craft by local artisans, but with moths fluttering out of my wallet I have to limit my purchasing glee. By a stroke of luck I'm here on a Saturday and the markets are in full swing outside the university building when I get there. Very craft oriented, it was usual to find the actual artist peddling their wares in the stalls. Christchurch denizens seem to still embrace the struggling, one-man craft industry with an enthusiasm untempered by cynical commercialism.
The whole small city has an alternative, arty feel to it, with old-english style buildings separated by wide, grassy parks and bisected with meandering brooks. Every street corner is decorated with some statue, be it modern or classical, and every alley reveals a small, intimate bar or cafe.Getting lost amongst such alleys proves a fantastic way to experience the city, but failing to mark the spot of an interesting shop or bar on my map means half an hour wandering aimlessly hoping to find it again.
-- H in Oz
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