May 31st and June 1st - Akaroa

It was fitting that we were able to watch The Return of the King on our last night in Dunedin, completing the trilogy and signifying that our own journey of epic proportions is coming to a close. Albeit a bit late, a chance encounter at the Speight’s bar has led to one final resolution for our trip that I will continue to see enacted long after Kelsey has gone home. In a dusty, old visitors log we found that some cheeky bugger had filled in his name as Bilbo Baggins and his address as The Shire, Middle Earth. It astounded the both of us that we had, as of that point, never written a joke name into the endless number of visitor logs at the endless number of hostels we’ve stayed at. I rectified this error immediately upon reaching Chez la Mer in Akaroa and will continue to do so for as long as I am a backpacker. I have made it my quest, much like Frodo with the ring, to journey to the furthest corners of the map and see to it that Bilbo Baggins leaves evidence of his presence there. If I can get one person to react like I did at the Speight’s bar then I will consider the endeavour a resounding success. Anyways, Akaroa is a French influenced town in the Banks Peninsula, a hilly wart jutting off the face of Canterbury. Thus we are officially in earthquake country, passing within a few kilometers of Lyttleton, the epicenter of the February disaster on our way over here. Just when I thought we’d been passed all the breathtaking vistas the South Island had to offer we reached the top of the hill overlooking Akaroa and were immediately flabbergasted. Look up the word ‘quaint’ in the dictionary and you’ll get a precise definition; look up the word ‘quaint’ in the recesses of my brain and you’ll conjure up that first image of Akaroa. It seems that the French ventured here sometime long ago with the idea of turning it into an idyllic little slice of the motherland only to find its borders had already been soiled by an English presence. Most said ‘au revoir’ to this village on the bay but the street names remain ‘en Francais’ as well as the affinity for culture and high class. The twin room in which we’ve been staying for the past two days has pink sheets, pink duvets, and light purple walls. It couldn’t be fruitier if it tried. Everything about this town screams prettiness and we were content to merely bask in its beauty, eat sweets and sleep in. We did set aside some time today for healthy activity but I sit here writing this on my 3rd glass of Pinot Rose after having demolished a proper batch of fish and kumara chips, not to mention the Kapiti Ice cream, Irish Crème fudge, and charity cookies I ate earlier in the day. All that eating makes one tired so we retreated to the boutique cinema for a matinee. We convinced some girls we’d met to join us in seeing a kiwi Rom-Com. Admittedly we didn’t have high expectations but apparently they did as they walked out within 15 minutes. The only ones left in the theatre, Kelsey and I saw it through to the end and left indifferent. I wish all movie theatres were like small town New Zealand movie theatres; the seats give ample room for my gargantuan physique, they allow you to bring in food and alcoholic beverages, and they show rare flicks at peak times that dial back the fartsy in favour of the artsy. In fact, I wish more of the world was like small town New Zealand. We almost ran over an elderly man with a limp on our bikes today, and his response? ‘Welcome to Akaroa’ accompanied by a smile. What a gentleman! I guess it’s hard to find things to be upset about when you live in a country this pretty that has food and drink this good. Tomorrow we head to Christchurch and it will be interesting to see if the kiwi spirit has persevered through the utter devastation.