New Brighton Beach - Night 114

Finally February. January was one of the longest and shortest months of my life. At times I forgot what day of the week it was and days passed by in seconds, other afternoons seemed to drag on for weeks. Unencumbered by duties and appointments, by meetings and deadlines, by any semblance of structure time begins to take on a novel dimension. Sometimes you wonder what you are doing, what you are accomplishing, but then you have to remember that you are living, learning and experiencing and, honestly, why shouldn’t that just be enough for awhile?

New Brighton Pier

The morning hinted at a beautiful day ahead so I put on my walking shoes and hiked it for 90 minutes out to the New Brighton Beach. Crossing through numerous small neighborhoods and subdivisions along the way I couldn’t help but be reminded of how young New Zealand is. Nearly all of the development here is post WWII, low density, ranch homes. Makes for a monotonous stroll, to say the least. The crowning achievement of New Brighton is the large pier that juts out in to the sea for many tens of meters. Attached to this (on land) is the public library and a bar…in the same building. Whoever the ingenious architect/planner of this multi-use structure was ought to be given a medal. Seriously, what a great combination. All in one place you can go fishing, check out a book, read the paper and order a stiff one at 9am on a Friday morning. It came as no surprise that this was one of the busiest public libraries I have ever seen.

The New Brighton neighborhood is a bit of a

New Brighton Beach

retirement area, holding homes of the wealthy ex-lawyers, doctors, and filthy real estate developers. You might think this would lend to an overall lack of excitement, but to the contrary, I find these septuagenarian zones quite humorous. Old men in electric chairs and funny hats beeping at old women trying futilely to parallel park along the boulevard. Dementia runs rampart, resulting in a rash of one sided conversations. Today’s winner was an old man in full Lederhosen outfit (plus a helmet) riding a bike down the pier (No Biking Allowed) balancing a fishing pole across the handlebars and smoking a cigarette. I can only hope I’ll have this much soul when I hit 70.

The Canterbury Art Gallery

Because I am an incredibly cultured individual (or maybe because entrance was free) I took to the halls of the Canterbury Art Gallery in the afternoon. Quite surprisingly, I wasn’t disappointed. A number of the themed rooms were actually interesting and the total volume of ridiculous modern art trash – like the pile of cardboard boxes that was supposed to represent someone’s repressed childhood – were kept to a minimum. Now if art weren’t so damned expensive as I actually found some pieces I wouldn’t mind hanging in my place…had a I place.

What I Learned Today: Having butter in a hostel kitchen is much like having a lighter at a party. Translation: it is good way to get girls to talk to you.

written by

exumenius on February 1, 2008 from Christchurch, New Zealand

from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

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