Gondolas and Bikes, Or Lacks Thereof

Tonight I learned the answer to a question that’s been on my mind for quite some time now: I discovered the reasons behind my mom’s eagerness for Italian dinners. More on that later, though – I’ll give you some background to the day first.

This morning, I set out for the “Big Bike Auction” on campus to try to secure a bike. I’d like to be a bit more free to get around, considering the limits of my current modes of transportation – the metro and my feet. The bus goes some places, and infrequently. And my feet can only carry me so far. There’s a lot of Christchurch I haven’t seen yet, and I wanted to be able to explore. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived at the auction, people had already filled the area. It wasn’t just university students, though; it was real New Zealanders (although that is not the PC term – more on that later), and I didn’t have the courage to bid with, or against, them. So I left.

Later on, I met up with a few friends to head out to Lyttleton and the Port Hills to Christchurch’s gondola. I didn’t realize when we left that the others were all experienced trampers, but I figured that out soon enough. I thought we might actually ride the gondola, seeing as that was where we were heading. The group wanted to climb to the top, and then climb back down. As the only non-super-outdoors-person, I thought it would be nice to actually ride the gondola, at least one way. So, after spending about an hour on two buses to get to the site, we started to climb. The sign declared it was about an hour to the top. Despite frequent stops, the next hour and a half was rather challenging, due to the approximately 50-65% incline of the hill. Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but, after all, it’s Wonderland.

At the top, we took pictures, rested, refilled water bottles, thoroughly explored the gift shop, and parted ways. The one guy who at the beginning claimed he wanted to ride down with me decided to change his mind. No worries, though, I went down the mountain in my own private gondola. Then I rode the two buses back to Ilam Village and promptly took some Advil.

After that, I cooked. In my own kitchen – a first, because it has been so messy. I won’t elaborate, but to illustrate the depth of the griminess, I will say that the dish rack, which was white once upon a time, was most definitely not white. I cleaned it some this morning, so it’s at the least closer to its original shade of white than it was before. I chopped up some veggies and tofu, and mixed that with pasta I’d already made. It was delightful – probably just because I did all of the work myself, so I appreciated it more. But I realized that pasta—by definition straightforward, nutritious, and quick—was guaranteed to produce edible, if not highly satisfactory results. It even looks complicated, as if someone did something innovative or strenuous to create it. After all, how could anything with enough garlic not be good? And that is why my mom has a fondness for pasta. It’s all clear, now.

That’s the end of today’s news. I came away without a bike, but with a little bit of satisfaction at making it to the top of the gondola hill, even if I was the last one up. I’ll be posting some pictures from today’s tramp soon.

Two lessons of the day:

1. Everyone who comes to New Zealand has inside of him or her an endless and irritating desire to push all boundaries of normal physical exertion to a new extreme.
2. The joys of Italian cooking are also endless.

Kiwi Vocabulary:

1. tramping = hiking, walking, bushwacking, climbing, etc.

2. “top up” = add money to ___ (metro card, phone card, etc.); essential to continuing use of electronic devices

3. “New Zealander” = according to Mike, my RELS 307 lecturer, a conservative term that ignores the racial difficulties of the country by grouping all people together; NOT, an all-encompassing, collective term for the citizens of New Zealand (that term is still eluding me, and them, whoever they are, I fear)

4. Jandals = sandals; an item not required to enter classrooms, stores, etc.