4 Days in Christchurch (part 3)

Wandering the Pretty

After spending an enjoyable morning writing up/posting the night before, I went out to wander the empty landscape and blank blue skies. It is unbelievably beautiful. Yes, there are old facades held up by containers and steel beams awaiting their future. Oceans of empty lots are filled with grey river stones and wire fences.

But there is a trove of art amongst it all. So much I can’t keep my camera(s) in my pocket. This is the land of the unexpected mural. Sides of buildings, yes. But also the unexpectedly exposed arses that haven’t seen daylight in decades. Until the neighbor came down. I love the humorous murals tucked into crannies you may not notice unless you look. I can’t stop smiling.

I had breakfast in an old remodeled building which is now called Supreme, or Supreme Supreme, or Coffee Supreme (all three are used throughout). It has a great style and feel. Kind of retro modern. A good range on the menu. I chose the pulled corned beef hash. When may sound heavy on a hot day but it was full of fresh herbs and flavour. Perfect after last night’s liquid dinner. I couldn’t help but post a photo on Facebook. I know haters hate, but I have been taking photos of meals forever. Nevertheless, when my waitress sprung me doing it I could only feel like a tool. A saddo sharing a solo moment with no one in particular. But that’s not my reality. Is it? I shan’t look too deep. I am writing a blog about next to nothing.

Getting sprung meant I decided not to ask the waitress about her intriguing haircut. It’s always tricky commenting on the appearance of younger women. It’s taken me years to be casual and confident about it at work. To not worry if it comes across as sleazy. Or gay (not that I care). The waitress had a short, smart bob but the fringe wasn’t cut straight, it went down at 45 degrees to a point in the middle. I had a flatmate who did that in the ‘90s. It was ‘70s retro back then (in itself an echo of whacky ‘50s, maybe?) Was it just ‘asymmetric’ or did the style have a name? I didn’t ask. I had already indicated I may be a dick.

After a second macchiato (at what a friend commented on my post was the coolest café in Chch) I set off to wander the pretty.