How to Get Raccoon-Eyes in Two Hours

I was feeling a bit down after my tour of post-quake Christchurch last Saturday (and after spending $40 -- $40!!!! -- on a pair of hiking socks), so I hopped on a bus out to the coast.  After living for a year literally on the water in Woods Hole, I find nothing so soul-restoring as the ocean.

Perhaps the easiest beach to access by public transportation from the heart of Christchurch (read as: The only beach Holly has yet accessed by public transportation from the heart of Christchurch; any tips Liz?) is out at New Brighton. 

The ride out to the coast is quite educational: That area was also hard-hit by the February quake, suffering particularly from liquefaction.  A technical description of the soil liquefaction process is beyond me (so I'll refer you, once again, to Wikipedia -- enjoy while it's not blacked out!), but basically the fine sands and soils in the New Brighton area got shaken so hard that they lost their structure and strength, and became liquidy-flows instead of stable ground.

In present-day New Brighton, you can see the effects of liquefaction everywhere, from streets that have been quickly resurfaced with loose gravel, to homes that look sunken into dusty lawns.  A few houses on every block look quite deserted; it's not uncommon to see large cracks or obvious structural damage from the bus window.  All-in-all, the area reminded me a bit of some parts of Barbados, of all places.  Can't put my finger on why, exactly.  Perhaps the size and color of the houses?  Or how everything, with all the dust still blowing in the wind when a quake of moderate strength hits, just looks slightly run down.

But just when you think that Christchurch will never finish the monumental task of restoring order to itself, you reach the coast.  And it is spectacular.

Looking down the shoreline of South Brighton, from the
New Brighton Pier.  The beach goes on forever -- or at least,
as long as any reasonable person might want to stroll for.
You can see a bunch of very colorful kites flying over the beach.

One of the best parts of visiting the coastline here is the New Brighton Pier.  Like the Pacifica Pier on the Peninsula back home, or any pier really, it affords you simultaneously a chance to view the coastline from a different perspective, see what the locals are catching, and mingle with the hustle and bustle of the shorefront community.

Top left: Fishermen and tourists populate the pier.  Bottom left: A
"different" perspective.  Right: The pier towers over the water below.

And bustling New Brighton was on Saturday, since it was the first annual sandcastle competition!

Competitive sandcastles.  Clockwise from top left: a sea turtle, traditional
dragon-castle arrangement, a surfacing mola-mola (my personal favorite),
two seals (which never were given facial expressions), and a tuatara.

But actually I think the best sand art wasn't part of the competition at all:

Sand art created with a rake and skill; the white spots along the bottom
edge are paua (abalone) shells.

After seeing quake devastation all day, this was the perfect piece of artwork to mark the day.  Perched just at the edge of the waves, it was already being washed away by the sea by the time I'd finished my walk along the pier.  In a way, it was a parallel to post-quake Christchurch: the artistry of humans is ephemeral, eroded gradually -- or rapidly, as the case may be -- by natural processes.  Although we feel sadness when works like the sand sculptures are washed away, we feel joy and awe in the presence of the ocean.  We can't have one without the other.  We can't freeze the earth in place to preserve our efforts -- and if we did, we'd be losing something vital to our happiness in the process.

After reflections like that, I wanted solitude, so I wandered down the beach, past the sculptors, their sculptures, and their sculptures' admirers.  Before long, I was the only person on the beach, casually beachcombing (discovering strange shells, lots of cool driftwood, one sand dollar, and the occasional baby man-o-war jellyfish).  It's a story best told in photos...

Kites flying over the beach.

Products of beachcombing.

Pied Oystercatcher. 

I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be able to stay between
these flags if I was swimming! 

Everyone knows my fascination with dead wood...

...especially artistically arranged.

It was a brisk day, though quite sunny, so I was grateful to get back on the bus and warm up a bit on my way home.  Much to my chagrin, though, when I looked in the mirror at home that evening I discovered really striking "raccoon eyes" staring back at me!  My sunglasses had acted as sunblock for a band around my face, and after so much sun exposure in New Zealand (where you're at particular risk of sunburn) browning the rest of my face, I looked exactly like a raccoon!  Or the inverse of one, I guess.  I'd also toasted the tops of my feet, and left interesting patterns on my chest (I was wearing a halter-top and sweater, so lots of triangles), much to my chagrin as I hadn't even thought to put on sunblock.  Lesson learned!