Aftershocks, Coffee Shops and Christchurch's Fattest Sparrows

Three weeks ago, most Christchurch residents were left saying "Oh no, not again!" I had literally sat back down at my desk and logged back in when the whole room shook violently. I simply picked up my bag and walked out, holding the door for a moment or two for the next person to come out. Once everyone was assembled outside, it became apparent that work was over for the day and unless you had a pressing reason for going back in, you should go home. Then two hours later, an even bigger shake struck. It felt like some giant being had grabbed hold of the house and was trying to shake it off the foundations. Power went out and so out came the battery powered radio. The kids entertained themselves with the iPod, while still sitting in the doorway to the study. As before power was soon restored and I could watch what was happening on TV.

Because the bigger of the two aftershocks was classified as 6.0 on the Richter Scale, most people the next day tried to go about their normal business as much as possible. With schools closed this was a bit tricky, but I did manage to treat my children to lunch at Pizza Carto which is their favourite eating place while still logging into my work PC. Wednesday, however, most schools were back and so was work.

In and around the Art Gallery, there is not too many places where coffee can be found - and one of them was closed for the week. This meant there was a choice between the only indoor one left or the outdoor one. This choice was further rendered academic when the only indoor one's espresso machine broke down leaving a morning coffee session outside in the middle of a Christchurch winter. Still we did have a lot of company in the form of some of the most well-fed sparrows I've seen in a while. In the last few months, I suppose sparrows have had rich pickings of left-over food in hastily abandoned cafes. The disadvantage for many of these obese sparrows is it they no longer resemble sparrows but characters in Angry Birds. They didn't look too worried though.

The following day my grandmother died in Wellington and all of a sudden what was a stressful week for the nerves became a stressful week for the emotions and it was still only Thursday. I kept mostly to myself that day and spent time in the garage working on a CD/DVD tower. Keeping busy was best.

Once Friday rolled around, the never-ending week was finally coming to an end. And mother nature had another say. At 4:20 a 4.5 shake rattled the Art Gallery. At that point, and I wasn't the only one, I shut down, picked up my bag and said "That's it - I've had enough this week!"

A Word About Aftershocks

The 4th of September 2010 at 4:35 am turned many people in Canterbury's lives around. It's epicentre was very near a place called Charing Cross, which unlike its London namesake, is hardly a bustling centre of activity, even though it's an intersection of six roads. The nearest towns are Darfield, Kirwee and West Melton. It's roughly halfway between Darfield and Burnham Military Camp. It's roughly 40 km's from where I live in Christchurch and unusually for New Zealand, the road distance is not much longer than the distance a harrier might fly to get there.

When we were all awoken that morning, Canterbury residents got a crash course on what it's like to live in a quake zone. Pretty soon the reason why so many Canterbury residents struggled to get a good nights sleep for the next few weeks made its presence felt. Aftershocks. There were several big ones following the main quake. All were preceded by the ominous rumble. Something that worried us all was the geologists saying there is always a large aftershock one magnitude unit less than the main quake.

The Wednesday following the earthquake there was a particularly nasty aftershock. It had us running for the door frames. After it finished, I breathed a sigh of relief. "There's our big aftershock", I told the family. But no. It was 5.1 on the Richter Scale. That was a lesson in proximity and depth of an earthquake.

As the months went past, so did the threat of a large aftershock. We were told to expect a magnitude 5 or more aftershock every four or five weeks. While we were in Auckland, Christchurch had a 5.1 aftershock. About five weeks after that, we had the deadly 6.3 aftershock. It started its own aftershock cycle. Only 15 minutes afterwards, a 5.7 aftershock hit the city. This one on its own was bigger than any of the aftershocks following the September earthquake. Mid afternoon, another one struck, this time 5.5 but very frightening.

The September earthquake and the February aftershock have been frightening enough, but for the hours, days, months afterwards, peoples anxiety levels are high. Some people outwardly are quite relaxed about aftershocks whereas others find them difficult to cope with. When I say difficult, I mean they can be absolutely hysterical when they strike.

I probably fall into the relaxed category with aftershocks, but that doesn't mean that I'm not anxious over them. After six months, my heart pounds and I hold my breath when I hear the familiar rumble. As I write, a 3.7 aftershock struck and even though it's relatively small, it was quite sharp. Half an hour later, I've finally calmed down.

There's been about 5000 aftershocks since September. Don't know for how long they are going to go on for.

Another Day We Won't Forget

When Cyclone Yasi struck Northern Queensland, much of the discussion around Christchurch was, "What would be worse? A cyclone or an earthquake?". Almost overwhelmingly the answer was a cyclone. The relentless force of a cyclone. The lethal force of flooding. Until today.

Today Christchurch residents were given a sharp reminder from 4 September. The suddenness, the ferocity and the sheer unpredictable nature of earthquakes.

I was in the work lunchroom on the fifth floor of the Christchurch City Council Civic building when the quake struck. That familiar deafening roar and shake. I dived under a table and wore a hot chocolate on the way down. There were some screams and people dropping to the ground where they stood. I held on under the table alongside a man I'm sure I saw at the Leonard Cohen concert. The shake was not as long as the 4 September shake, but far more intense. Once safe, everyone emerged.

The first thing I heard was someone saying "Look at our city!" And it was a sickening sight. Clouds of dust were rising up from the streets in a grid pattern, obscuring the lower buildings and surrounding the taller buildings. Never seen anything like it before - on TV or in person. From there the evacuation alarm went off and like most people, I went straight for the stairwell, ignoring my cell phone on my desk. I passed one person tending to a cut on her leg as she walked down due to the windows at the front smashing. We all sidestepped the sheets of Gib that had fallen off the walls. It seemed to take an age to get out of the building. Once out it became apparent that we couldn't stay on Hereford Street, I walked around the block and caught up with Mat from the Tech team. I tried to use his phone to call home but couldn't get an answer. We walked around to Cashel Street with others. I said I should go and try and find my mother who works across the river. I saw a scene that will haunt me forever - a small girl, about the age of my daughter Sasha, being carried by some men towards the hospital. She had a similar school uniform to Sasha.

The damage was far worse than the 4 September earthquake. Huge cracks and creases in the road. Parts where the footpaths and the grass verges and separated. I tried to find my mother but couldn't see her. Significantly for me, I also couldn't find any of her workmates.

I caught up with Mat again and we started walking towards Victoria Square. I straight away noticed the Scott statue had toppled. It was half buried in the ground. As it was a grey, cold day, fortunately there was nobody having lunch underneath. As we walked on, I saw down Worcester Street that our lovely cathedral had lost its spire. Cafe Roma building was badly damaged as was a number of taller buildings in the immediate vicinity. The Provincial Chambers which had been damaged on 4 September, was now completely collapsed. Many of the bridges had large creases where they joined the road.

Mat went off towards the east of the city at Victoria Square and I carried on towards Hagley Park. I walked down the middle of the street to avoid any further damage and turned down Durham Street. The Methodist Church which was badly damaged previously, was now a pile of rubble. A workman was being lead out - obviously in shock and injured.

The liquefaction was everywhere. Silt volcanoes bubbling up from under the streets and in the parks. It was becoming hard to navigate through the flooding and piles of silt. I helped a wee boy step over a large pool of water so he could catch up with his mum.

I walked through Hagley Park and talked to a guy with the White Ferns (the womens' cricket team?) I cut across after being diverted by a sewerage leak and once past the park, noticed the damage was much less. There were small pockets of liquefaction and some cracks in the road. The path and grass verge in Deans Bush had separated. I briefed the staff at Riccarton House about what had happened in town. Five minutes later, I was home. No damage as before. Very grateful for that.

As I write, the aftershocks are coming at 20 minute intervals. Some are small, some aren't. But all put us on edge. And at this stage 65 people have lost their lives. A lot of the heritage of the city is also gone. I spoke to a neighbour and he believed he wouldn't live to see Christchurch recover fully from this. He was also waiting to hear from some former work colleagues at the Press. He's waiting, like many people in Christchurch.