The Morning After

This is the effect you get when, bleary-eyed, you attempt to photograph the dawn through trees and a gap in the fence, without removing the 10x magnifying filter left on from taking a macro of a centipede the day before.


Today I went to Christchurch. It was my normal grocery run, but a week late. The part of the city where I do my shopping was not badly affected by the earthquake. There was little evidence of it, apart from a certificate on a shop door saying that it was safe to enter.

But then I set out to visit my daughter, FirehorseMia. It took about 40 minutes to make a journey that would normally take 10 minutes. The streets were cleared of rubble and made safe. The hold-up was caused by the large number of cars using routes that skirt the closed CBD. It was bumper to bumper, moving in short bursts and stopping. I'm not used to those conditions and had to give it my full attention.

Before I saw any earthquake damage I smelt the dust, a strange, unfamiliar smell. I caught a glimpse of the footpath next to the road. It had long jagged cracks about 6 inches wide. Then I saw the Knox Presbyterian Church through a space between vehicles. The brick facade had gone. Below the three tall gables were great cavernous holes under the window arches. No chance for a second glance as the traffic moved on.

Later I left the clogged route to head out towards the eastern suburbs. A broad street I usually take to go to my daughter's house was greatly changed. It used to be flat, but now it has low hills and hollows, with many sudden lumps and holes. The manholes along the centre popped up with the September earthquake, but now the metal boxing below the caps stand well above the surface. Although it is tar sealed driving on the street is like driving over a rough riverbed.

My daughter's house is at the start of the bad area. Her little garden is now boggy and the liquefaction silt covers everything. Across the road in the next block the people are without services. They share a portable toilet that was delivered only yesterday.

It is two weeks since the earthquake, though the aftershocks continue. Much has been done since then. I did not go to the really bad places- they don't need sightseers, so I didn't see how dreadful it actually is, but what I saw was very disturbing. The damaged houses, the piles of silt, the layers of dust. And hidden from sight is the frustration, the privation, the desperation, and the continual fear of unrelenting aftershocks.

As I set off homewards I had to turn off from my usual route. The street was barricaded and had a checkpoint which was manned by the Army. A woman had driven up to it and was out of her car waving a sheet of paper, asking to be let through. It was surreal.

I have come home with the smell of Christchurch dust in my nose. I can't get rid of it.