The Day That Wasn't

Morning routine—except there was no morning. International Date Line crossing. Christchurch arrival. Beer and bureaucracy. Nelson flight. Johnny Trousers. Cathedral gardens. Oysters at Sprig & Fern. Whiskey discoveries at Kismet.

From Pacific Northwest to South Pacific, Minus a Monday

Events and activities that occurred on Tuesday, February 24, 2026

The peculiarity of crossing the International Date Line is that Monday simply ceased to exist. One moment it was Sunday evening departing from the Pacific Northwest, and the next moment it was Tuesday morning descending into Christchurch. The automation systems back home dutifully recorded that February 23rd contained no emails worth summarizing and no Claude conversations to track—technically accurate, since that day never happened for me at all. The machines captured an absence that was literally true.

The wing through "closed" electronic
shades

The flight itself offered a first: Boeing 787 with electronic window shades. The aircraft was comfortable enough for the long haul, but the dimming technology created a disorienting puzzle. Hours into what should have been daylight, the cabin remained dark, and it took longer than I'd like to admit to realize the windows weren't showing actual conditions outside—the shades had been centrally dimmed by the crew. We could override the settings individually, but that discovery came well after the confusion had set in.

New Zealand greets visitors with considerable bureaucratic enthusiasm. The entry process involved more paperwork than most countries I've visited, a thorough vetting that perhaps explains why the country maintains its reputation for pristine environments and biosecurity. Joey and I celebrated completing the gauntlet with beer and food in the Christchurch airport before our connecting flight to Nelson.

The flight itself was mercifully uneventful, with a pleasant surprise: our carry-on luggage actually fit in the overhead bins of the smaller regional aircraft. Such minor victories accumulate into the texture of travel days. Our cab driver to the hotel introduced himself as Johnny Trousers—a name that demands no further explanation and invites no questions, simply accepted as the kind of character one meets when arriving somewhere new.

After settling into The Hotel Nelson and showering off the accumulated hours of transit, we walked into downtown Nelson proper. The route revealed an unexpected botanical richness—interesting trees and plants lining the streets, the kind of casual abundance that suggests a climate hospitable to growing things. The cathedral gardens proved stunning, the sort of carefully tended space that rewards wandering without agenda.

The evening unfolded through a progression of establishments. Sprig & Fern offered exceptionally well-made beers and oysters—the latter prepared with a craft that justified the stop entirely. From there, we wandered to Kismet for whiskey, where we met Trevor and sampled a couple of notable pours. He mentioned Whiskey Galore as the best spot in Christchurch for future reference, and recommended I look for Black Maple Hill back in Oregon. The evening concluded with pizza back at Sprig & Fern before the walk to the hotel.

First full day in New Zealand complete, with the strange satisfaction of having skipped an entire Monday to get here.