Strange Weather In Room 24

After Rene left Christchurch, under the balmy fragrance of his own vomit, I opted to move my luggage (my backpack on wheels: Roller Pig) down the hall and checked myself into Room 24 where Anthony, Kansas-Caroline, Stoke-On-Trent-Helen and New Hampshire-Kate were residing. My sole purpose in truth was to re-inject Anthony with some male company as I was beginning to fear that his Y chromosome was in the midst of decomposing, having been wrapped in the floral blush of too much female company in recent weeks. I just about managed to find a few gaps in the carpet, under the train wreck shambles that was the state of the room, to reach my bed and tuck myself in the corner bottom bunk, clutching tightly onto my most prized possessions ( my PSP and blanky i-Pod), uncertain of what additional carnage was in store.

People actually live in this

I survived the first night, after the girls showcased their chorus of singing and dancing in synchronicity to the Wicked soundtrack, fresh from Broadway. Disturbingly, Anthony appeared to be immune to their warblings and Miley Cyrus routines as he tapped his feet in time along to the harmonies whilst browsing another one of his epic sci-fi novels the size of a loaf of wholemeal bread in the sanctuary of his bed.


Caroline, Helen and weiner devouring A-Bomb

For breakfast, we gathered for a team coffee outing to the plaza's Escarto Cafe where Anthony declared boisterously to 'let's make today a weiner day'. Only after the dust of confusion and terror had settled were we aware that he was simply referring to his compulsion towards the nearby Alpine hot dog stand, Fritz's Weiners. I decided not to respond to his erratic dietary demands and instead furrowed my brow further into the testing Woman's Own magazine crossword.



I had heard many great things about one of the chief tourist attractions here in Christchurch. The Antarctic Centre, voted twice as New Zealand's tourist destination of the year and also proudly the leading Antarctic Museum in the world (yes, it's one of two, the other being located in St Petersburg, Western Russia, which believes that it is the leading museum on polar exploration in the world). The trip, organised by the animated Stoke-on-Trent-Helen and joined by New Hampshire-Kate, initially led us on to risible transportation in Cathedral Square: A navy blue bus which weaved in and out of the vacant roads, undetected by the local pedestrians, even with the subtle cluster of moulded penguins on the roof of the shuttle to advertise the destination.


Kate and Helen fight the blizzard

On arrival, we immediately adorned a thick jacket and flimsy rubber overshoes in order to fend off the torrent of chinook-esque winds within the Blizzard Room, where we were able to shelter in an igloo type cave and also slide down an ice slope (and obtaining an instant hit of frostbite on the thighs). Soon after, the wind chill machine kicked in, reaching a blistering -18 degrees Celsius in a matter of minutes, causing torment for the marrow in my bones. The brochure promised that I'd be ultimately left 'exchillarated' by this experience. Well, it was certainly a factor in the rapid onset of ague.



It was as if I was reliving the infamous New York blizzard of 2005, but without the worry of skating on the ice from Herald Square to 33rd/5th Avenue, just for another day of tedium processing a worthless residency visa for a Nigerian Physician. I fondly recall sleeping through the night of the storm in my drafty apartment with four layers of sweatshirts, my skiing socks and my maroon Banana Republic woolen hat as my roommate emitted a heinous Guinness based fumes from deep within his body, and still feeling the ache of cold.



After watching the blue penguins getting fed silver sardines at the enclosure (many of which could not feed themselves due to physical disabilities that had left them defenceless to the quiet siege of predators), we were finally treated to a ride on a Hagglund - the Antarctica all terrain vehicle, like a moon buggy for glaciers. Apparently this was the only ride of its type in the world and we were showcased its demanding amphibious capabilities as the tank like tyres tore through a mud lake as well as up and over a 35 degree gravel crevasse on the adventure course behind the visitors centre. I'm not convinced that Leonardo da Vinci's initial conception of armoured wagons designed for trench warfare had this type of tourist excursion in mind.

As the kids had displayed such good behaviour throughout the trip, and demonstrated a satisfactory propensity for learning, I treated them both to a 10 cent blue lollipop, which the lady at the counter described as having the flavour 'of the Antarctic' - which in this case, was mostly that of sugar.


Ring of Fire

Friday night was spent playing the game of heroes, Ring of Fire / Kings, amidst the dirty laundry and scattered Tupperware of the dormitory floor. As you would by now fully expect, the fall guy of the card game was to be Anthony, who raced through his allocation of copper tinted Tui's within twenty minutes thanks to the congregation's necessity to reward his distinct lack of 'Busta Rhyme' skills with the gregarious punishment of four fingers of express liquor inhalation.



We made our way to 'Boogie Nights', a run down shard of a discotheque a short walk from The Coachman, where the Jackson 5-era retro dance floor lit up simultaneously with our faltering jitterbug beneath our dancing shoes, giving the impression that we were dodging the outpouring of numerous packets of M&M's. I have to admit, the Back to the Future Enchantment Under-the-Sea dance air guitar on the knees may have made yet another appearance.


Christchurch Song of the Day: Marvin Gaye - I'll Be Doggone

As I was carefully making a classic dinner of spicy tuna, tomato sauce and penne pasta (thank you Chef A-bomb for that fiery creation) in the hostel kitchen, an upbeat gem from the 60's managed to Motown its way through the communal radio. However, as I closed my eyes and shouted out the chorus, a Brazilian man, who looked much like Luiz Felipe Scolari and smiled generously like David Letterman, ruined the ambiance of my methodical stirring by informing me in detail of his father's bloody death during World War II in Italy.

Doesn't Marvin look young here, live at the Shindig:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rx8HqhsB9Es

i-Pod Song of the Day: The Cribs - Men's Needs
I'm not convinced that the Jarman brothers from Wakefield can actually sing properly. This shimmering sensation was voted in the Rolling Stone magazine Top 100 songs of 2007 though, which is not really praise but an interesting enough statistic. This is taken from the sprightly 'Men's Needs, Girls Needs, Whatever' album. They are sounding a touch more polished now that the legendary Johnny Marr (he of The Smiths jangling guitar fame) has joined the band.

Check out the video where a model irons and also chops a capsicum:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCNTYi9fHuo