Like I said: if it’s going to take 12 hours to get home anyway, I’d rather be moving for that time instead of sitting around in an airport terminal, with the uncertainty of whether we’d even get a flight.
We caught the morning ferry from Wellington to Picton. The children were excited to be going on board such a “big” boat. They could explore the different areas, watch the boat leaving the harbour, then downstairs to play in the playground in the bottom deck. (I didn’t encourage them to stay there too long – I still get a little bit claustrophobic when I’m in a windowless place). Then a “family” lounge where the Disney channel was playing, and I could sit near the window and watch the scenery.
There’s something about the stillness of Queen Charlotte Sound that just lifts all the tension you didn’t know you had left. It will always be one of my favourite places in New Zealand. I could feel myself still down and relax just by being there.
Even the five hour bus ride was less stressful that I expected. The hypnotic white noise and steady pace of the bus lulled each of the children to sleep.
We finally pulled into Bealey Ave. I pulled back the curtain to the sight of a port-a-loo on the corner. You know you’re back in Christchurch when…
And why do the aftershocks always know just when I’ve tried to go to bed before they hit?