Holiday Park Paranoia

One thing I’ve learned while living the transient lifestyle is that you never pass up an opportunity to live cheap. I recently left Wanaka, my New Zealand winter ski destination, and have relocated to Christchurch. A sprawling Kiwi metropolis of 360,000 people. This decision was based on money and how to save more of it. Living in Christchurch is a lot cheaper than living in the resort town of Wanaka. The best way to save money is to pay as little rent as possible. And what cheaper way to live than out of your car and sleep in a pup tent. We found a small city holiday park in which we set up residence for three weeks. A holiday park is like a campground where you can stay in RVs, campervans, or a tent. My first day here was similar to my first day in any new environment; cautious and paranoid. I noticed that most of the people I saw walking around the park were much older than me. Maybe not such a big deal, but then I noticed that most of them weren’t here on holiday, they seemed to be living here. After this my paranoid delusions sunk me further into suspicion as I caught a glimpse of the other residents. Check that guy over there out. Mid-fifties, overweight, pale skin, sad sunken face, lives alone in a camper: pedophile. Or this guy over here. Young, doesn’t talk much, avoids eye contact, tries to blend in. Probably a serial killer. And that old ass dude over there? He just seems like a raving derelict.

Many of you may be thinking, “You’re just twisting things from reality into a skewed paranoid view.”

Probably, yes. But if you had seen these people, you’d have thought the same thing. It’s pretty much like a trailer park, except I camp there sort of. More like I live out of my car there. So, I guess it’s nicer than a lot of other trailer parks I have wandered into in America. Instead of young poor people, this one is old poor people. There are a lot of old people in Christchurch. In my neighborhood so far I have counted 5 or 6 retirement villages. So there are old people all over the place. Some people try to tell me that Christchurch can be a dangerous city. That there are muggings and not to go out alone at night. So far most of the people I see out at night are hobbling home with the aid of a cane. If you are a mugger who preys on the elderly, you should be in Christchurch, ‘cause there’s a shit load of old people walking around the city at all hours of the day. I find it strange. My grandparents live in Detroit and I’m pretty sure they never leave the house once the sun goes down.

Anyways, since there is really nothing to do at our campsite, I have spent my time spying on my neighbors, trying to convince myself that they are probably not as crazy as they look. But I’m pretty sure they couldn’t be sadder to talk to. Most of them are so starved for conversation that they will talk to you about anything. So usually during breakfast I have to listen to some old guy ramble on in his barely comprehensible Kiwi English about how he feeds a stray cat every night. On another sad note, I barely see anyone else cook in the communal kitchen and when I do, I get a window into each resident’s depressing lifestyle. One old guy regularly dines on boiled eggs and burnt toast. Another guy makes himself some sort of a hot drink and says with a faint half smile, “That’s all for my dinner.” A sad statement for which there is no correct response. “Yeah, whatever gets you through the day, pal.”

It really isn’t that bad though, it’s quiet, green, and there is plenty of space. It may be a little depressing, but hey, life in general is pretty depressing…if you think about it.