Where do you start to rebuild a city? That’s the question I asked the tram driver as we made our way through the streets of Christchurch, on New Zealand’s South Island. The tour commentary was a who’s who or rather what was what of a city which must have been beautiful. It’s interesting how a place, an atmosphere, can affect you. I felt sadness for the people and for the history lost when the earthquake struck in 2011, causing untold damage and human loss. A city down on its luck but with hope.
Simple solutions
As the journey continued we passed a shopping complex made from shipping containers. Coming from London, it wasn’t a shock, but this wasn’t some hipster revolution – although the city certainly now has that creative, edgy feel – it was because they were cheap, easily transported and practical. As the redevelopment of the centre continues, albeit at a snail’s pace to an outsider, there is strong support to keep these temporary structures as permanent fixtures of the city.
Hints of the past
I jumped off the tram and walked by the remnants of the cathedral, its tower and stained glass gone but the arched nave still holding firm, offering a glimpse of its former grandeur and life. A turn of the corner and I’m in a beautiful row of 30s shops, the New Regent Street Precinct. I stop for a coffee and cake in a café and watch as people go about their lives and tourists take snaps of the shop fronts and sift through bins of woollen souvenirs.
Best of both
I want to see more of the emerging new Christchurch so head for New City Barbers – I need a trim and this place has been recommended. I struggle to find it and after walking up and down the street where Google Maps assures me it is, I head into a shop to ask. “Of course” says the friendly assistant, “Go through the back of our shop and turn right. It’ll be straight in front of you.”
The back of the shop is yet another of Christchurch’s new car parks – rough rubble brownfield sites where buildings once stood. Ahead of me as I make the turn right, looking as though it could collapse at any minute, is the barbers. It’s hipster. It’s housed in a half fallen down building. It’s vibrant and refreshing and the outlook from my bearded barber is positive. And friendly – they can’t take my bank card so point me the way to a cash machine even though they have no assurance that I’ll return with payment.
I wish I’d visited before the quake, but I cannot wait to revisit in even five years to see how it as a city has risen from the rubble.
