This weekend was just dandy. We made it to Christchurch and cooked late-night Sour-Cream-Chicken-Noodles, my favorite meal ever to come from a best friend from France, and had a great time catching up with Emma, Grace, and Robin (our Christchurch posse who stuck us up over Mid-Semester Break). We hit up the supposedly ‘scenic‘ drive to Banks Peninsula on saturday, which I drunkenly described later as ‘kinda like a cauliflower stamped into dirt, you know, from above’. Arakoa is where the French settled in NZ, only to give it later to the British, and then only to be embarrassed when a real frenchie comes around and starts speaking french to anyone and everyone. When he didn’t pass off the supposed ‘Chocolate Croissant’ as utter shit, we then decided to beat up crabs, skip stones, and rock juggle for a good part of the afternoon. This was mucho fulfilling.
With good intentions, fire in our hearts, and wits in our brains, we drove upwards to Summit Road and Heritage Park to see the sun dappling like ‘woah’. We drove back to CHCH to fill our bellies with caesar salad and frozen pizzas before a wild night on Chch Proper. The Crusader victory, however, was not really big–the voluminous bar so fascinated with the game practically golf-clapped the killer victory of the City and the Country. We hit the Strip, the main aisle of bars packed with christchurch kids of legal age, with so much force that even the five-dollar bus ride back was eventful.
The early-morning ‘mini’ Christchurch Ultimate Frisbee tournament was so much fun. I represented Dunedin with Nebraska, a newbie to ultimate, and we played just great. Got to play with Kim van Berkel, the NZ ‘Best Male Player’ of 2004 (check out his bids here and here), who was the co-captain of our ‘team b’ team. He’s mightily impressive. Check out this gallery, search hard, and you’ll find a picture of my gut, rear, and a ’sky’ over a Chch woman. The tourney was great: Polly was an awesome captain and handler enough to allow the two Dunedinites to play, I got to guard against wily Sammy’s famous hucks, and play with a great local 16-year old handler named Byron. Froody Times.
The drive back was uneventful besides from the four solid hours that we spent telling stories and insulting jokes. Afterwards, we were very impressed at how the short the trip became.
chch-weekend photo set [flickr]
