We arrived in Christchurch about six weeks after the earthquake hit, devastating the city. It actually felt as if more time had passed since the disasters in Tokyo had long since taken over the news headlines, and Christchurch was the last natural stop on the north end of the South Island before Abe and I headed up to our jobs on the North Island. Neither of us had seen the city before the earthquake even though we had both wanted to visit. I wanted to visit the Arts Centre, a castle-like structure full of theatre, shops, and cinema, the town’s center Cathedral Square, and the town’s many café stops which were said to rival Wellington’s reputation as being the most “wired” city. Abe had his own list of things he wanted to see.
I knew a lot of the city had been badly damaged in the earthquakes and after-shocks, so I expected most of our tourist destinations could no longer be seen. The cathedral has fallen, after all. But I also knew that the city was no longer discouraging people from visiting, and Abe and I reasoned that our visit would help their economy.
It wasn’t until I arrived that I realized, this was my first time witnessing the aftermath of a natural disaster or some kind of war zone—because they must look awfully similar—with my own eyes.
Walking through the streets to our hostel, we passed what I knew were buildings now piles of rubble and a house with its walls crumpled beside it brick by brick to reveal a grotesque life-size dollhouse. When we were one street away we reached a big blue tent surrounded by construction cones and wire fencing, and I realized I was seeing my first ever military checkpoint. We walked up and showed ID and explained that we were staying in a hostel down the street through the yellow zone—which not surprisingly, is what they called the buildings surrounded the completely blocked off red zone in the center of the city.
They eyed us for a few minutes before letting us through with a warning to not try to pass through without a letter of residency in the future. It struck me odd that they needed to survey us so carefully. I’m not sure what they were checking for? Are there really so many people trying to sneak into this area that they need it guarded? What would they sneak in to do? To loot? To enter their damaged houses to get their belongings so they can flee the city for good? Or to take pictures as we saw so many tourists and possibly citizens too do because really what else can you do when surrounded by so much awe-inspiring destruction?
We were greeted at the hostel by a smiling, blonde German girl who happily showed us around the warm, family-run place. But it too felt like a ghost town. There were three backpackers in the large kitchen, sitting drinking cider and talking quietly. We didn’t see any other guests that night. The German girl was talkative and helpful, showing us the spread of the hostel—which could clearly accommodate way more than 5 guests. Abe asked her if many people were coming to Christchurch lately. “No,” she said emphatically but quietly. “Christchurch used to be such a beautiful city. But there is nothing left.” She paused. “When people call to make a reservation with us at the hostel, and then we tell them about the cordone and passing through the military checkpoint, they never show up. Even though we have no damage here.”
It is hard doing business in a city ravaged by earthquakes.
As she showed us to our dorm room, (which turned out to be our private room since we were the only occupants) she told us there might be after-shocks. “We’re still getting them, but they’re not too bad. Don’t worry, this building is fine. The walls will move, but it is fine.”
The walls will move? I realized this was my first visit to an earthquake region too; I’ve never experienced any kind of natural disaster.
In my two days spent in Christchurch, I never did feel an earthquake, though it’s possible I slept through a small one. I tried to prepare by asking Abe what I should do if we felt one. I would hide under a bed, in a doorway, or if I was outside I’d find a clearing, he said.
Since I did not make it to Christchurch before the earthquake, I never saw its buildings when they were still standing. I missed out. Every place on my list to visit was closed, badly damaged, or at least partially blocked off for safety measures. Abe and I enjoyed a really nice day walking through Hagley Park, but even there on the corner of the city, we had to zigzag around cones and walk through blocks of crumbling buildings on our way home.
Visiting the city overwhelmed me with questions, and I think Abe had a similar reaction. Maybe you0 cannot see that kind of destruction and obvious change with your own eyes without wanting some answers.
Will Christchurch businesses be able to start back up again? Will people return to this city or decide to live somewhere they feel safer? Will Christchurch return to the city is once was? Will it be different? Better? Only time will tell, and our German hostess told us the red zone will not come down until “maybe December.” So only time will tell. The Christchurch I visited looked a lot like a ghost town.
The day before we left, a sign in the hostel said that the nearby Beat Street Café was open for business. Abe and I went and chatted with the friendly staff and ate delicious food and coffee. We played Dominoes in the outdoor patio of mismatched antique furniture and bumped along to the funk music playing from within. Other people came and went from the café as we sat there, smiling and enjoying their food. It left me with a good feeling about Christchurch. People there are living their lives, and slowly they will try to rebuild and reopen the places that were and maybe even make them better. Some people will leave—who can blame them? But there is still something special that is alive in that city. I hope I can visit again.
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