Joshua the turtle
Christchurch Travel Blog› entry 3 of 3 › view all entries
The turtle is an interesting metaphor for the traveller. When you wander around with all your worldly possessions stuck to your back you learn very quickly what is valuable and what is not. You proudly display the national flag and other assorted drawings you inscribed onto the rain ‘shell’ of your backpack. Your propensity to bump into things as you turn corners has increased tenfold and, at times, your behind feels reminiscent of Aunt Fanny from “Robots”. You soon realize that your desire to keep an eye on that growing girth as you explore new restaurants did not warrant bringing your deluxe bathroom scales along and that candelabra you could just not part from is building a callous the size of Mt Olympus on your back. Perhaps you should also have considered your reading material for that 36 hour plane trip a little longer. You could have taken “Animal Farm” rather than the hardcover special edition of “Lord of the Rings” with its extensive movie making walkthrough and photo gallery.
Anyway, this will be the final entry from
I arrived at
Sure, the above paragraphs sound rather dire, especially once you consider my previous espousals on
The next thing worth mentioning ismy experience of the public transport system. I wandered out of the toilet and noticed a sign through the sliding doors to my left. Exiting the airport through these doors I headed in the direction to which the “city bus” sign was pointing. Within the minute I noticed another sign with a similar message - “bus to the city” - which pointed in the opposite direction. Choosing to ignore the latter on account of the fact that I had already begun walking in one direction and could not find the enthusiasm to change direction (and the cold south wind was holding an icicle to my back), I headed towards the bus in the distance. As I approached, I realized that what I had previously identified as a “red bus” was in fact a “prison bus” which had recently been painted red and given a snazzy new name. Perhaps this is excusable due to the fact that tourists may be interested in what it is like to be incarcerated here in GE free
I guess the moral of the above story and the previous threads combined is that you never really know a place (or can appreciate a place) until you’ve lived there. A snapshot is normally just as bad as a book cover.
Pardon the lack of pictures. As they say, if a picture is a thousand words then these thousand words should adequately accommodate you picture lovers out there.