Couchsurfing in Christchurch

I’m searching the arrivals lounge at Christchurch airport, looking for the third row of seats. Yep, there they are, now the tricky part is figuring out which person is Evan. I have only seen one picture of him, and who knows if it was up-to-date. I’m meant to be staying with him at his place in St. Albans. I met him a few weeks ago online. Am I crazy? No, I’m CouchSurfing! And I’m slightly nervous because it’s my first time. In brief, couchsurfing.com is an online networking organisation for travellers and people-loving-people. You simply create a profile, get verified (for security reasons) and start searching locations for people and couches. You may only meet as a travel companion or for coffee if that is what you desire or you might crash on their couch. Alternatively, if not travelling you might put your couch up for grabs. Coincidentally, today Evan has arrived from Wellington and landed at the same time as me, which fortunately means I have a ride to his place too! So far so good, eh?

Evan’s street leads straight into the centre of town and the distance is manageable on foot. His large and rather oddly shaped house - two stories resembling a small cube on the bottom with a rectangular prism stacked on top – is found as most early-twenty-something boys homes often are: messy, dirty dishes, not vacuumed, and plenty of empty pizza boxes stacked as kindling for the fireplace he says he doesn’t use anymore! However, there are three couches so I can’t complain. After an early night’s sleep on the comfiest choice I wake reasonably refreshed and ready to take on the city.

I decide to visit the sites by walking the entire tramline circuit. Why spend money on what Evan damns as the “tourist trap”, when my legs can take me everywhere I need to go for free? I start on New Regent Street, a colourful promenade of pastel Spanish mission style facades nestled together above cafes, jewellers and various boutiques. The word “kitsch” comes to mind, yet despite borderline tacky tourism it works. I stop for a quick lunch and coffee at ‘Stir’, a popular alfresco cafe, and enjoy a perfect cappuccino while admiring the architecture and watching the tram rattling by occasionally.

Along the tracks, I discover the Christchurch Cathedral and Cathedral Square, equipped with a tram restaurant and a selection of cart food vendors - for that special kind of dining experience. Crossing the River Avon - a common occurrence as she weaves her way delicately through this small city centre - I observe groups of teenagers and families spending time leisurely on her green banks having picnics together or lying back in the sweet grass to contemplate the weather or whatever. On Worcester Street (all English names for this most English city) I find the Arts Centre – a series of Victorian Gothic Revival buildings hosting an array of exhibitions, crafts, theatres and cafes. Exploring this hub I find all sorts of exquisite and old-fashioned English elements and the grounds are immaculate. I feel across the world from Australia, not simply across the sea. Chef’s bustle through the courtyards carrying pints of cream or fancy cakes, and students read on the benches beneath the trees, while friends mingle and converse over a bottle of red on the wine bar terrace. At the end of the block I arrive at the Grand Hall where recitals and lectures once took place when the grounds were still used as the University of Canterbury. Passing through the exit gates, I cross the road to visit the Botanic Gardens of Hagley Park, making a detour first to the Canterbury Museum which neighbours the gardens. The first exhibition brings alive the extinct Moa bird, and moving along I work my way through the history of New Zealand’s Maori and Victorian culture and heritage. There is also a special interactive exhibition on entitled ‘Body in Action’ where I test my brain, lungs and muscles (perfect results) and marvel at a bunch of scales that tell me the weight of my skeleton, organs and body fat. It’s just what I have always wanted to know.

Escaping into the gardens, I pass the brightly coloured ‘Peacock Fountain’ (named after John Peacock and not the birds signified) and the flower bed displays of daffodils and bluebells to follow the winding river, as it borders Hagley Park. Ducks chase each other, splashing and plunging into the shallow water to fish out food, while black swans are demure, and the occasional punters make their way gently downstream in long, flat wooden canoes, pushed along by their guide. There is a lot of life on the water, and on the bank couples seeking romance settle in between the wildflowers on a grassy knoll. It is peaceful and friendly and I find a spot to read a book and observe life around me.

Triumphantly I finish my tramline circuit, rewarding myself at the Belgian Beer Cafe. I walk home in the crisp, cool of evening wondering if Evan has cooked me dinner. It’s a fairly tame start to my “OS” adventure, but this city is relaxing, easily navigated, and a good place for beginnings.