Blood & Two Sugars: RATTLED

What follows is an account of three days, encompassing what has become known as ‘The Blackest Day in New Zealand’s History’. It begins with a day that seems bizarrely normal, especially compared with what was to follow. I had gone up to Christchurch for the Amanda Palmer gig which I had been looking forward to for ages, but instead I got a nightmarish experience which I pray is never to be repeated. Luckily I kept this small journal of events. Here is a story of the Christchurch Earthquake, viewed from where I was standing…

~ GINGER IN THE CITY 21st FEB 2011 ~

Strawberry Assam Milk Tea. That has so far been the main feature of my sojourn in Christchurch, as after trying a little box of it last night, I can’t get enough of the stuff. I even bought it instead of Calpis today. That is saying something.

Apart from spending too much on drinks from the Asian markets, I have been spending largely on other things as well. Today I spent over $260 before lunchtime, but I’ll get to that later. For now, an observation, as I sit here in this little hostel surrounded by people.

I think I must be intimidating, but this is fine by me. I have discovered that the more intimidating you are, the more room you have. To elucidate, on the bus up here, the only people with no one sitting beside them were me and a monk. The same thing happened on my 35 hour bus trip from Romania to Italy, the last seat to be filled was the one beside me. Now that I am here in my hostel, no one seems to want to talk to me, but they all talk to eachother. This is also cool, since I’ve had quite enough of making small talk with foreigners lately. The key to having more room is to dress unusually and conduct yourself pompously. That’s what I’ve been doing at least. This can also have an adverse effect, however. Twice I’ve been asked for my picture already, sure this is always a nice compliment, but I still don’t like it, I had enough of that in Edinburgh thank you very much. One chap asked for my name and I told him it was Ginger without hesitation, and now I think I prefer it to Freyja. Normally I give my name, and the response is usually “What?”.

The hostel I’m staying at is all I can afford, and is very basic, but nice and generally all right. I’m sharing a room with three girls, two of whom snore, one like a man, and it’s like a little box with two bunk beds and nothing else. A bit like a prison cell that I’m allowed out of I suppose. A glistening, decent kitchen and all round pleasant atmosphere. There is even a cat which is really smoochy and has its tail curled right over its back.

Anyway, my expensive day. I began it with an evil, pounding headache. I had a wander around the shops, got some money out, and sought the piercing shop. I got my much awaited dermal anchors, four of them in my collarbones to replace the surface piercings which grew out. It wasn’t too painful, it didn’t take too long, but it bled like a neck on the guillotine. Well perhaps not quite as much as a neck on the guillotine, but I left the shop smeared with blood and with a smile on my face. I did my best not to notice the bloody sodden cotton buds passing infront of my face one after another. The anchors look stuck on, like children’s shiny stickers. That was what cost me $260, completely worth it though, I missed my collarbone piercings and these should last much longer. Throughout the day two of them continued to bleed, not entirely sure why, my blood usually coagulates more promptly than this, oh well.

So, Christchurch is a place you can’t help but impoverish yourself. If you’ve been living somewhere small and empty like Cromwell, as I have, the sudden presence of shops and restaurants is an explosion of choice and fun. You don’t quite know where to run first, it’s all a bit too exciting. Not knowing where to find a supermarket, since I don’t think there is one in the middle of town, I had french toast for breakfast at Subway, salmon nigiri at lunchtime, and souvlaki in Cathedral Square for supper, all punctuated with Calpis and of course, Strawberry Assam Milk Tea. Tomorrow I think I’ll go hungry to make up for it. More likely the sudden presence of shops and restaurants will get the better of me again.

My evening was unexpectedly lovely. Having had a thumping headache all morning and aching, blistered feet all afternoon, I spent a few hours half conscious on a couch in the tv room watching documentaries. I put my slightly too small but oh so stylish boots on again and took to the city once more. I walked along the Avon river, watching the trams go past, and was delighted when the bridges and fountains lit up. It makes a really pleasant walk, it would have been romantic had I not been by myself. In Victoria Square, which is my favourite part of Christchurch, I came upon a pipe band which seemed to be practicing. It was utterly wonderful to sit there in the dark with the illuminated statues and bridges around listening to the pipes and drums. The fountains there weren’t on, which was a shame, but it was lovely nevertheless. I was miffed about the fountains because there is one which looks like dandelions in seed. The first time I came here was with my Dad when I was seven. Of that trip I have two solid memories; getting lost in the hotel, and that fountain. I didn’t see it again for years and years, and thought I must have imagined it. Then lo, one day I walked out onto Armagh Street and there they were, the dandelions.

I meandered around for a long time reading plaques on pretty bridges and admiring the statues of James Cook and Queen Victoria. I returned to the hostel via the famous Manchester Street, where I tried to see how many prostitutes I could spot. Since then I’ve been sitting here writing this, and wishing I had more Strawberry Assam Milk Tea.

~ 22nd FEB 2011 - MORNING ~

As I sit here drinking a bottle of Strawberry Assam Milk Tea, I am frowning and rubbing an aching back. I have had an awful night because of the thoughtless, weird, stupid bitch sleeping under me. Nearly every time I’ve come into this room whatever time of the day, she’s been lying in bed. She’ll pretend to sleep, turn the light off, turn it on again, get up, read a book, turn the light off, pretend to sleep again, lights on and reading again and so on. Last night or rather this morning, her alarm went off at about 6am, and continued to go off every 10 minutes for the following hour. After a while I and the chap in the other bed started protesting, but it made no bloody difference. Sometimes, moments after it had gone off, I’d hear her deep growly man snores. Maybe she was able to fall asleep again but I could not. My back was already sore from the thin pillow and having to keep in one position, and it was hot. Four fresh, stingy piercings in one’s chest does not make it easy to doze off either. Falling asleep was a near miracle and I was ready to choke this bitch if she prevented it again. I almost said, “If I hear you snore again, I’m coming down there and removing your windpipe.” Or, “If you don’t get up now, I’ll see that you never do again.” We were not amused and we still are not. The city is noisy outside, it’s raining and there’s a school next door. The gig is tonight, I’d like to be awake for it. I would quite like to jump on the free bus today and see if it takes me near a supermarket, I would like to pay less than $7 - $10 for a small meal. Christ it really is raining, I do hope it stops, or we will be very unamused for the rest of the day. Now that I am sitting up, after my uncomfortable night, my every bone snaps loudly when I move it. I feel like a wooden doll.

~ 22nd FEB 2011 - LATER - THE CUP OF TEA I NEVER GOT ~

So it turns out fortuitous that I was kept awake last night. It wasn’t until 11.30am that I got out of bed, got dressed and such. I went down to the kitchen, made a cup of tea and then - it struck.

Perhaps the most devastating earthquake in our history. Only 6.3, but shallow.

It felt like the world was leaping around, rocking from side to side violently while shuddering at once. I’ve never felt anything like it, it was unbelievably violent. Feet away, a tree fell down where people had just been sitting having lunch. Everything in the kitchen went flying, I saw the oven shoot out, and all the dishes and cups smash over the floor. I grabbed someone, fell on someone, then leapt up and rescued my laptop. Very important of course! It lasted for perhaps a very wild 15 seconds.

At first we laughed a bit when it had stopped, and I thought my heart might leap from my - ooh there is another aftershock as I type - from my chest, and I was quivering, naturally. It was only on walking outside that the seriousness of the situation came into sharp relief.

A building across the street fell down, a chip shop that a fellow lodger had been at minutes before. Another down the street collapsed, crushing cars. Within a few minutes, pandemonium had ensued.

People, some with blood streaming down their faces, were running or biking down the street in a panic to find their children or to get home. Traffic quickly clogged up. Sirens blared from all around. A fire erupted a block or two away, and great thick columns of smoke rose into the sky. Perhaps three large fires could be seen nearby. Helicopters carrying monsoon buckets flew past one after the other. There were police and ambulances going past constantly with their sirens on, but not so many as the fire engines of which I saw dozens. They were even coming in from surrounding small towns and rural districts.

The owner of the hostel, Geri, returned and was fretting for her children. People trickled back, and others joined us from Stonehurst around the corner, of which the front wall collapsed. A chap returned from the CBD, his lip quivering, and said, “There are dead people everywhere.”

Scraps of news reached us, each bit more ghastly than the last.

We put chairs, blankets and bottles of water in the car park and sat there for hours, leaping into a fearful huddle whenever a violent aftershock came. When I say ‘us’ or ‘we’, I mean the ever changing group of strangers lodging at or hanging around the hostel. I grabbed my belongings and clung to them religiously all day. There was a general feeling of helplessness and uncertainty. We didn’t know if it was safe to stay where we were or to move on, but in which direction? No one knew what to do. We decided it was wisest to stay together and not leave the hostel, it seemed like a safe enough place. Phone reception went out and no one could contact anybody. I was able to get messages through to both my parents to let them know I was alright. Some children came over from the school next door, one of them couldn’t get ahold of her parents, and another was crying. Two lost dogs came by, one stayed with us all day. An elderly Danish couple who only just arrived here joined us for the day, unfortunately this was their first impression of New Zealand, as it was for many tourists. I and those around me spent hours breathing through cloths; the wind brought the smoke of the too close for comfort fires to us. The air was thick, smoky, and acrid.

This was not how I had planned to spend my day. I had been planning to jump on the free bus, cruise to Riccarton, have a shop, visit friends, buy some food, then get ready for the gig. The Amanda Palmer gig I was so looking forward to, and the reason for my trip here.

I can’t help but realise that, had I got up earlier and gone into town as I had planned, got brunch before jumping on the bus etc… I could be injured, or among the numerous dead. Many, many people are. I truly believe I’ve had some sort of protective spirit with me. I thank the girl who kept me awake in the early hours. I would have been in the CBD, at the centre of the disaster, where hundreds are still missing under the rubble.

The beautiful Cathedral I admired yesterday is destroyed. The Avon river I meandered by last night is overflowing and full of muck. The centre of town is a scene of chaos and horror. Even though I am literally around the corner from the worst of the action, this is a good place to be. To think, my biggest concern this morning was that the weather promised to be unpleasant today.

I have no food, as I was planning on buying some today. Gosh, no more Strawberry Assam Milk Tea, alas! We have no water in the hostel, and have been rationing out the few bottles of it between everybody. 3 or 4 small bottles between 30 - 40 people.

There was another aftershock just now, I wish they would stop, it’s very scary. It’s raining outside now, so there’s no sitting outside with a blanket ‘just in case’ as I was going to do. I don’t want to go up to my bed, which is upstairs. The whole of Christ - oh hell there was another big tremour - Christchurch is chaos. So much has fallen down, I really can’t look at it and believe what I see. It’s a complete disaster! I want to get out of here, but my bus tomorrow has been cancelled. Not sure at this stage how I’m getting home. I’ve had enough of this!

Right now, I am supposed to be at the Amanda Palmer gig. I know a lot of people are having a far worse day than I am, but I am still very miffed about the show being cancelled. I should be having a completely awesome night with my friends, finally getting to see Amanda, dressing up and on my official ‘comeback’ into society after being ‘in hiding’. Oh, another little tremour. How many have there been while I write this? I was so looking forward to this trip and the planned fun was replaced by sudden fear, horror, and tragedy. Not entirely sure how I’m supposed to sleep, don’t think I’ll bother trying. What an utterly hideous day. Another shake. I just want to go home, I don’t care how I get there.

Tomorrow, as I suppose I’ll have no choice, I’ll walk away from this hostel and see more of the devastation. More of the buildings I had walked past only yesterday, gone into, admired the facades of… can’t believe how so many of them might be gone now.

Right now I’m drinking tea made from boiled rain water, surrounded mostly by cheery Irish people. Also in the room is Barny Luck of Wales who has just been interviewed for the Daily Telegraph and a Welsh paper. The rain also turned out to be a blessing, we put pots outside and caught it. It’s the first cup of tea I’ve had all day seeing as I didn’t get my morning one, that one went flying!

~ 23 FEB - THE NIGHT & DAY AFTER ~

Last night was indeed an unpleasant one. It is difficult to sleep when there are little tremours every few minutes, a big one every hour or so, and you’re not certain whether the building you're in is going to crash down around you. Two nearby hostels had collapsed as well as a number of other buildings on Barbadoes Street. I didn’t want to go upstairs to my room, so I ‘slept’ in the computer room on a narrow couch. Not much actual sleeping was done, it simply wasn’t possible.

Most people went to bed for an hour and then got up again, having very promptly given up on the idea. After 20 minutes of snoozing, I was awoken by a big jolt, and then got about an hour’s sleep between 6 - 7am. There were a few other people around, nobody I knew, but most I spoke to. I chatted to the Dutchwoman Louisa who was on her own too. She ended up in a Dutch newspaper and was recorded for the Dutch news. We were kept company by the smoochy cat.

I spent a lot of time overnight on facebook and twitter letting people know what was going on, and got a supportive tweet from actress Fairuza Balk (Nancy from The Craft) which cheered me up a lot.

I checked the Intercity Bus website and found to my delight that the busses were going again, leaving from the corner of Bealey Ave and Columbo Street. So in the morning, I bid farewell to my fellow lodgers and began my walk across town. I did not go through the centre of the city, that would have been a mental thing to do - it was cordoned off, buildings were still collapsing, people both living and dead were being recovered. In the Cathedral Square, an impromptu mortuary had come into being, as corpses were lined up. I had only just been strolling through there in the sun the day before, watching jugglers, listening to musicians, and looking at stalls.

Astounding what a difference 15 seconds can make.

I walked instead along Barbadoes Street and down Bealey Ave, both of which were annihilated. Houses, shops and churches had been reduced to heaps of rubble, the streets were cracked open, trees and lamp posts were down, a bridge was buckled, and thick, silty liquefaction had swallowed cars. I had a long way to walk and the same views met my eyes all the way down. To me it looked like a giant had rampaged through the city, ripping off roofs, punching out walls and stamping across the ground. The X’s on doors made me shiver somehow, just knowing they had been inside looking for bodies. The whole place had an eerily dead feel to it, like a ghost city.

I spoke to a few military men, who were stationed with their army vehicles at every corner, and asked them where I might find Hagley Park. It wasn’t far, but I found the park resembling a jigsaw puzzle, all cracked up with silt oozing out of the cracks. By the time I had found the tent full of people, I was feeling sore and lightheaded from lack of food and water. I had had only two bits of fruit and a few mouthfuls of water in 30 odd hours. Immediately I was ushered into a queue, given a box of Up n’ Go, and before I knew it I had a plate of bread, bacon, scrambled eggs and tomato. I also got lemonade, bottled water, a healthy cookie, fruit leather, and more Up n’ Go. When I got a cup of tea and a biscuit, I was very content, and felt well looked after. I felt like a new person after having something to eat and drink.

I met a number of people from Canada, America, and Australia. An American woman, I forget her name but she was on TV as well, told me she had been inside the Cathedral when it collapsed and reckoned that other than herself, her husband, and perhaps one other, she hadn’t seen anyone else come out afterwards. They are saying on the news that everyone inside the Cathedral was killed; I believe I met one of the only survivors. More than twenty bodies are thought to be inside Christchurch Cathedral. I wonder if that woman realised how much of a miracle it was that she was still alive.

Three times I was recognised, as it turns out my picture was in the paper, The Press apparently. The Press building was also badly damaged, by the way. As usual when I find myself in the media, it is a stupid picture and makes me look like a muppet. In my defence, it was taken by some drive-by paparazzo when I was sitting with about 20 other people infront of the hostel, when it was cold, rainy, and the air was thick with smoke. The collapsed CTV building around the corner was on fire. Everyone was the same, wrapped in a blanket and breathing through it.

So anyway, after getting myself back to normal at Hagley Park, a woman gave me a lift to the bus stop. It was wonderful to sense the community spirit, and see how everyone came together. I was offered three lifts, and the conversational exchange of “Hey, are you ok?” “Yes, yourself?” was often heard between strangers. Everybody seemed very cheery, New Zealanders have this marvellous way of coping with things. If this had happened in another country, there might have been widespread panic and hysteria. But we who are known for being laid back and possess the ‘ok so this is bad, let’s cope with it’ attitude, are managing this terrible situation commendably.

At the bus stop I chatted to a chap named Warwick for a bit, who simply wanted to get away. That is really all anyone wants to do at the moment, escape. At last, a bus finally came and bore me away, it was a moment a long time coming.

Now, I am at home in bed, safe and warm, but I can’t get the sound of sirens out of my head, and every tiny jolt or rumbling sound makes me jump. However, my experience has been nothing compared to others’. There have been limb amputations on site to free people from wreckage. People have been stranded on rooftops, or clinging for their lives. People have lost family members, and children have been orphaned. Hundreds are still missing, there are still people trapped under collapsed buildings. Rescuers have been risking their own lives to save others. It is indescribable, unbelievable, surreal, and unspeakably terrible. And it all happened so quickly. Christchurch is ruined. The garden city which is normally so lovely and vibrant suddenly resembles a war zone.

I would like to point out that what has been covered on the news so far is only a fraction of the damage. The destruction is everywhere throughout town, absolutely everywhere. The death toll is ever rising, hundreds are still missing, and most places haven’t even been searched yet.

I don’t know what else to say. I am exceedingly thankful to fate that I and all my friends in Christchurch are unharmed. It has been a unique experience hopefully never to be repeated, and definitely a dark mark on New Zealand’s history. I can’t quite express the magnitude of this in words. We are a country of only 4 million, this is our 9/11, this is a great disaster affecting the whole nation. I do hope that beautiful Christchurch will someday recover from near total obliteration, and wish all the very best to those who have suffered loss, and those who are part of rescue and recovery teams.

Help Christchurch by donating to the Red Cross .

For more detailed news on the quake, visit Stuff .co.nz

~ SOME IMAGES ~

From 3 News. The gem of the city, Christchurch Cathedral before and after...