7.1 Canterbury earthquake

Well, it looks very much like I was preparing it... it did happen, last Saturday, 4 September at 4:35am.

I wake up in the darkness and feel that everything is shaking around in the bedroom. I immediately realize it is an earthquake, get up and call my husband, saying: "Liefke, il y a un tremblement de terre, les enfants !" My husband springs out of bed and runs into the hall towards the kids' bedroom. I immediately follow him. Power was cut and he tatters the wall looking for his way; there a lot of Pampers' boxes containing books aligned against the wall and they are all shaking.

We arrive at their bedroom: my husband reaches for the elder's bed (I do not how but he was still sleeping soundly) and I reach for the youngster's bed. B is sitting at his bed, far from the windows (as we had explained him to do in the event of a quake). I sit next to him. The room keeps shaking but we are all calm, our brains concentrated on what is happening and on the immediate action to be done, if any.

It lasts for about 40 seconds and then then shaking stops. My hsuband is going to look for the keys. There are boxes on his way in the hall but in the main living room, most of the furniture remained at its place.

We go outside and see a neighbour: he and his family are fine. Our neighbour, an Englishman who lives in New Zealand for over 50 years, says this is the first time he has experienced such a violent quake. Looking at absence of damage on the streets and at home, I wonder whether this had not been a 4. something earthquake... How wrong I was...

Earthquakes: be prepared

New Zealand lies in the earthquake-prone Pacific Rim zone and has two active faults: the Wellington–Mōhaka Fault on the North Island and the Alpine Fault on the South Island. According to Te Ara, the online encyclopedia about New Zealand, the Alpine fault "extends 650 km from Blenheim to Milford Sound". The fault follows the Southern Alps line (just follow the white line that is formed by the snow-capped mountains on the satellite photo above ) with the West Coast lying on The Australian plate and the Eastern Coast on the Pacific Plate.

It looks like Christchurch lies about 200km from the fault. Whilst no major earthquakes have happened for a while, New Zealand is a high risk zone and it is paramount to be prepared for any eventuality. Back in Belgium my husband woke up once in the middle of a night as he had felt the ground moving. I myself have never experienced one. The kids have never experienced one either so, taking advantage of the fact that they are still on holidays, my husband explained them what earthquakes and tsunamis are and what to do if they happen at home or at school.

For that he used the informative Earthquake Commission website. As its name suggests, New Zealand disposes of an institution that deals with natural disasters. The website simulates different Richter scales earthquakes and shows very well how the ground starts shaking and how furniture may start falling, etc.

When I came back home in the evening and asked about the stint session, the kids showed to me what they should do. Well done. However my younger son was quite afraid and could not sleep well. We tried to reassure him that he should not be afraid because he knew what he had to do in case an earthquake happened but it did not help much. This morning, however, he told me that during the night there was a light earthquake and he was not afraid of that. Fruitful imagination? Hmmmm. Well, if you take into account that thousands of - imperceptible - quakes below the MM 3 scale occur in New Zealand per year, that seems quite plausible and not that far fetched...







Photo credit: http://feww.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/alpine-fault.jpg

The bus experience

When I am not biking to work I take the bus in Christchurch. The Orbiter or, to be more precise, the avocado-green coloured bus that travels round Christchurch. It is reasonable to say that to take a bus in Christchurch can be an interesting and fairly nice experience with distinctive facets.

Politeness

A regular morning will go as follows: it is nearly 8 o’clock in the morning and I am walking down the beautifully trimmed tree-adorned Centaurus road. Christchurch prides itself in having a modern world-class bus system and justice be done, it is an efficient one. When I get to the bus stop, I can query the arrival time of my bus by pressing the thumb on the timetable device found at all bus stops.

The green light starts blinking and announces that my bus will arrive in two minutes. A few students and a young lady are waiting for the bus as well. The bus arrives and I am the only one to bother making a signal for the driver to stop. The bus stops, opens the door and the students wait for me to get in first. Why do they let me go first? Is it because I am a woman? Or do I look that old that people are letting me go in first? Sigh… It is a fact that young Kiwi people will usually react quite politely in such situations: more than once young Kiwi students have let me pass first. Also, if there are no seats left and a mother burdened by a stroller gets into the bus, a handful of students will promptly leave their seat to make place for the weary passenger and her child.

Still on the politeness vein, the bus experience goes on by greeting the driver “good morning” or just “morning” if it’s one of those Garfield Monday mornings. It is the same bus driver in the morning and the middle-aged man with square framed glasses and a wee bit saddened eyes will utter a barely audible “ta” with a frail, thin voice. He must have Garfield-morning syndrome as well and deep in my heart I sympathise with his economy of words.

Talking about economy of words and maybe contrary to a common belief, not all incoming passengers greet the bus driver “good morning” or “hi” in Christchurch and yet I have the impression that most of them appreciate the greetings. After all they have long working hours (9 hours per day, 6 days per week) and theirs is a solitary job. I recollect two other memorable reactions to my having said “good morning”. The first one was a very short and apparently common one: I got into the bus and said good morning to the driver. He mumbles some, at first, unintelligible words which sounded like "gauin" but a fraction of a second later, my brain was able to decode what he was saying: “how is it going?” I was actually proud that I was able, for one of the very few times, to decode what people mumble because, for my non-native English ear a lot of Cantabrians do just like that, they maunder and mutter along words and sentences.

Second greeting experience: this time I dealt with a talkative bus driver who would not wait for the passenger to greet him but would greet them first. “Gidday young lady!” , he would joyfully say to any lady that got into the bus. At the time, I had found a place to sit in front and this middle-aged driver initiated a conversation with me. In a few minutes I knew that he would “hit the big five O” next year, that he had five children and as many grandchildren, that some of his grandchildren lived with him, how many hours he worked – an awful lot, please see paragraph above - and how much he earned per hour and per month. Not bad for a 30-minuteish bus ride! When I got off he was so grateful that he thanked me for having talked to him.

Compassion/shunning the law

Many times I have been witness that bus drivers will not charge the bus fare to their passengers for different reasons: a lady will enter the bus with her children but only she will pay for the fare. The driver did not make her pay for the children. Another time was when he knew the people personally.

Violence
(coming)

Unpleasantness

Yes, that can happen too. Today, to be more exact. It was another one of those stressful days at work and I look forward to a resting ride in the Orbiter. How mistaken I was. The driver drives fast (that reminds me of the acronym to learn treble clef notes (Every Green Bus Drives Fast) and when you have to hang on the bar when he engaged a turn. But that was not all: a young lady finds it most interesting to share her idiosyncratic music taste – if we can call that musicless suite of percussion sounds melody – with us. And I was just next to her. After a few minutes I could not bear it any longer and asked her to lower down the volume. She did. A little. Fortunately she got off a few stops later. But then two kids started brawling while their mother (?) or accompanying adult was too busy roaring herself hoarse while talking to a friend. Il y a vraiment de ces jours où on aurait mieux fait de rester couché, we would have said in French for that was one of those days where you would rather have stayed in bed.

Photo credit: http://www.ecan.govt.nz/news-and-notices/news/PublishingImages/n-metro-orbiter.jpg

En nu... genieten (een beetje toch)

Another milestone has been jabbed: the writing up of my Dissertation project finished last 25 March, exactly nine months after I started the project. Yesterday, 26 March, I submitted the final version of the Dissertation. Phew! I can hardly believe it is over; those were stressful months although I must say I enjoyed the last phase of the project, namely the writing up of the Dissertation itself.

And now... take pleasure and relish the good things of life... which means listen to music, read a good book, cook an appetizing meal, spend time with the kids and start new projects: learn to play piano, start a new blog (cuisine.keuken.cucina), write a few more posts for this one, work on the garden and consider doing an IT certification (because in our field we cannot afford to stop learning), i.e., one of the secrets of a happy existence is, according to me, to keep diligently busy, facta non verba.

Cheers!



photo credit: http://www.treehugger.com/book-lending-2swap.jpg

No ordinary thing

One year. One year in Christchurch. One year in New Zealand. Though the idea of being here has progressively become less of a novelty thing (I wonder less and less "am I living on an island, Down Down Under, on the other side of the word, at the far end of everything?"), it is still much no ordinary thing.

My love, no ordinary thing. This is no ordinary thing.

This song (No Ordinary Thing), sung by Opshop, a group founded by Invercargill born and Christchurch bred Jason Kerrison, symbolizes very much this year: no ordinary thing.

The beautiful side of things: the kids. They did not know English and now they speak - and correct us - when we do not pronounce words in Kiwi English ("No Dad, it's not eleven, it's eliven."). It is amazing to see how quickly they have learnt it and it is so beautiful to hear them. They have integrated well and are doing well at school.

These are difficult times and the recession has hit us hard: my husband still has no job and our house in Belgium remains unsold. I work for a telco company, which was also a new area to me, but one which I appreciate as I have learnt a few things.

The language. This is indeed a big factor in terms of integration for a non-native English speaker. Although I thought I had a fairly good command of the English language, it is naturally something else to live the everyday life and work situation. Specially when most people "speak like a machine gun and talk in their moustaches" to use two French expressions for "they speak very fast and do not articulate". Add to that the different culture, in its subtleties and fine distinctions and one realizes that his year has been a whole process of learning and adjusting.

What else?... The nostalgia... still very strong (were I to follow my gut feelings I would be taking the next flight back to Europe) but I suppose this is part of the process and it takes time to adapt.

So... on to the next milestone.

Left home... and arrived home.

Left home, Belgium, old continental Europe a week ago to fly an endless 19.850 km to Christchurch. It is interesting to realize how far New Zealand is when you know that the circumference of the Earth totals 40.000 km. Down Under is far, very far, indeed...

Some brief highlights of this long journey:

- stopover in Hong Kong: arrived in Fragrant Harbour (or it appears that this is what Hong Kong means in Cantonese) after a short night on the plane. We were served a copious brunch and landed at warm Aberdeen Harbour (aka Hong Kong) in the afternoon, local time. We all get off the plane and only one hour later, at 5.30 pm, the sun, a big red ball of fire, sets down among the green Hong Kong hills. And it is time to board the plane again to Auckland.

- arrival in Auckland: it is curious how our memory usually associates present experiences with past ones. Landing in Auckland in a warm, sunny day, I have recollections of times when I was heading to Summer holidays in the South of France. Then I repeat to myself that no, no this is New Zealand and I have come here to start a new life, look for a job and a place to stay.

- arrival in Christchurch airport: it is early in the afternoon and the sun shines. Passengers get off the plane by going down a ladder. I step on the ground, stop and look around. It was a mild and fresh 19°C Friday afternoon. The airport buildings lie in front of me and on the left side I can see the snow-capped mountains of the Southern Alps on the horizon. I say to myself, "well, this is what home should now be", and the thought gives a warm feeling of hope.

On the practical side of things, I am lodging at a B&B, looking for a temporary fully furnished rental to welcome my husband and kids when they arrive on January 1st (the container will only arrive end February). Meanwhile bank accounts, IRD number have been sorted out and interviews for a job are lined up.

Christchurch is a beautiful and pleasant city and it deserves its Garden City alias. Kiwis are easygoing, relaxed people and most of all they are available to give you some attention and to politely answer a question. As a non-native English speaker I wondered whether I would have much difficulty in understanding the Kiwi accent. To my surprise, so far so good, although I do have to pay extra attention and be all ears when I talk to somebody who speaks either too fast or does not articulate very well. It does strike a note of strangeness though when you hear

- Ear New Zealand for Air New Zealand

- siven for seven

- are you feeeling bitter today for are you feeling better today?

but we are all creatures of habit and I might as well pick up the Kiwi accent in six months or in a year's time, who knows?

Mount Cook

A few days ago our youngest son came home from school with a wrinkled, painted and dried up cloth stuck to a piece of cardboard. From its shape and colour I guessed that it represented a rock or something similar. I was not completely off the mark: he explained that he and his classmates had each made a mountain. And his was not just any mountain: no, he had made Mount Cook.

Some time before he had asked me about mountains in New Zealand and I had told him that Mount Cook was the highest in the country. Together we looked at some photo's on the internet, and apparently that's where he took his idea.

Judge for yourself:

The original Mount Cook (Credits: Wikipedia)

The new Mount Cook