It has no insulation, flaking paint, questionable pipes and all my old furniture and artwork. At the auction, bidding was competitive. 

Embarrassingly, my algorithm knows that I like to browse real estate listings online. The ones I like best are old and tatty, places where the cabinetry in the kitchen hasn’t been touched since the 50s and the carpet smells like cat piss. Some are tiny and near the beach where computers don’t work. Others need so much tender love and care you’d simply have to quit your job. The algorithm has learned that if it puts an old shitter in front of me, I will click.

The week before last, the shitter was very, very familiar. In the photo, a heap of old wood held itself together with flakes of paint in between two Grey Lynn grey renovated villas. The sash window of the front bedroom was propped open with a block and that funky tree (weed?) growing in the 10cm between the house and the garage (not in service due to the roller door not rolling) was reaching for the gutters. A wiggly line of old bricks, laid by my very own hands, tried to keep the grass out of a parsley and flower bed. When I moved in here in 2018 the latest crisis was that numerous keys had been lost through the holes left by rotted planks of the front porch. We fished them out with wire coat hangers and placed scraps of plywood over the holes. When I moved out in 2021, I thought houses that didn’t have mould were so flash. 

“This classic 1907 villa might not have aged like a fine whisky,” read the listing. I snorted from my new house five blocks away. “Unlike old whisky, this home can easily be restored”. I thought about the time that the neighbour came knocking because clumps of toilet paper and some other stuff was travelling from underneath our house nearer and nearer to his garden. Unbeknownst to us, a pipe had blocked, the toilet had disconnected and had been flushing straight down onto the ground. When the plumber came, he jimmied out the pipe, but told us it was so tiny that it was only a matter of time before it blocked up again. I would venture to say that restoration will not be easy. 

Also in the listing, the Phoenix palms in the backyard are described as “established trees”. In my time, they were infested with rats and we were afraid of moving their fallen fronds as they have sharp, toxin-carrying spines which are known to cause infections. We asked the landlord to trim or remove them, but he said it was too expensive. 

Ah, the landlord. We only met him in person once. He came wearing full motorbike leathers and told us he liked surfing. My flatmate may or may not have answered the door in undies because we weren’t expecting him on a Saturday morning. He said he might re-paint the exterior of the house, but then it never happened. He was surprisingly handsome and very cordial via email, though not willing to spend on maintenance. He never raised the rent and let us do what we liked to the house and to the garden. Was it legal? We were never convinced, though there were some Healthy Homes checklists he’d scrawled on added to the back of the lease.

The thing about this house is that it’s in Grey Lynn. It’s a suburb that is synonymous with gentrification. Its rows of colonial cottages and villas are due to the fact it was settled early, as part of the first 3000-acre block of land given to the British by Ngāti Whātua Ōrākei in 1840. For a long time, the area was an affordable working class neighbourhood. In the 1950s and 1960s the houses were run-down and many immigrants, particularly from Pacific Islands, settled there. Then the 1970s saw a renewed interest in Victorian properties and inner city suburbs. People with more means bought and renovated first in Ponsonby and then Grey Lynn. A growing group of young, socially liberal, tertiary-educated Pākehā wanted to live in this area (I mean… I’m guilty). House prices and rents increased at the same time that Pacific people faced discrimination from Police and landlords. 

Now, Grey Lynn is synonymous with trendy cafes, activewear and yo-pros. Unrenovated houses are like hens’ teeth. Where we saw a house big enough to share with friends and close enough to walk or cycle to university, property investors saw an opportunity to add value. As the listing put it, “it’s a prime opportunity for renovators or investors to transform it into a stunning, quintessential Grey Lynn jewel.” 

I sent the link to my old flatmate. “Wow wow wow. Wonder how long till it’s bulldozed,” she replied, armed with an architecture degree and knowledge of the house as intimate as mine. Together from our now separate homes, we noseyed through the listing’s photos. The room I’d painted a dark sage green was just how I’d left it, with two patches left unpainted that I still think make it look somewhat Parisian. Another room is a yellowish green that I warned our flatmate against when she had swatches lined up on the wall. Later I bit my tongue when I saw how well it matched her wooden furniture and big Kandinsky print. 

Most unsettling was the lounge. It looks exactly the same as when I moved out, despite the fact I couldn’t name a single person that lives there anymore. There is the table and chairs I sourced from a friend’s dispersing flat. There are the DIY built-in mouches (mattress-couch) that my flatmate and I had re-configured with a handsaw during a lockdown refresh. There are cushions I sewed up. There is the shelf I recused from the side of the road. On one wall a big screen printed banner I made at art school still hangs, on another wall is an artwork I bought to support a friend and in the hallway a printed poem another friend wrote. 

For the plot, and to pay our respects, we decided to go to the open home. When Sunday rolled around, my ex-flattie was struck by period cramps, so I went without her. The real estate agent was wearing a white T-shirt so clean it looked like it hadn’t been washed yet. I confessed straight away that I was not a potential buyer but a nosey ex-resident and then started pointing out all the stuff that was “ours”. It was charming, I think. My flatmate’s passport mugshot stuck up in the kitchen – ours. My lockdown drawings by the bathroom – ours. The weighted hula hoop abandoned in the garden – ours. That random circular hole in the floor – not ours. The fridge – new! I live-streamed my visit to my bloody old flattie through a series of photos. “Can’t believe it’s all there,” she replied, along with “Hahahhahahahaha – Dying – That’s so funny”.

There was hot interest in the property, said the clean agent, despite it being “not in a good state”. Someone had made a pre-auction offer of $1.8 million. From his giddy tone, I gathered that this was more than anyone expected. The owner had agreed to bring the auction forward straight away, cutting out two weeks of viewings and advertising.

The following Tuesday there was a bidding war. As most people who don’t have millions of dollars to spend on a dilapidated house have to do on a Tuesday, I was at work. In an email, the agent told me there was “competitive bidding” at the auction. The final price was $1,980,000. 

The house is so rundown it may need to be completely rebuilt, but the 400m2 of land it sits on is estimated to be worth $2,325,000. My landlord bought the whole thing, in much better condition, for $702,000 in 2007. 

There’s no doubt it sold “as is”, but I’d love to see the list of chattels. Does it include the oven that was dropped around as a surprise when the landlord upgraded his kitchen? Does it include the mouches? My art print? The mugshot? The black mold in the bathroom? The cute little field mice living in the kitchen cupboards? I have a feeling that if I walk past in a couple of months most of these things will be in a skip outside. The sound of an angle grinder will be ringing through the neighbourhood but no-one will have the grounds to complain, since their renovations were all just as loud.

Yes, it’s flat, but there’s another crucial reason why so many Christchurch residents ride – the city’s extensive network of cycle lanes.

Simon Kingham’s 9km commute, from Beckenham in south Christchurch to the University of Canterbury west of the CBD, is mostly on cycle lanes. “It’s only the first 400 metres on the road, then it’s cycle lanes the rest of the way.” The geography lecturer and former scientific adviser to the Ministry of Transport has always been a fan of cycling, but as Christchurch’s cycle lanes have become more popular, he’s been joined by others. “There’s still a bit of lycra and high-vis,” he says. “But I’m increasingly seeing people in cargo bikes with kids on the back and people wearing regular clothes.” 

Kingham, toting a branded bike helmet from a transport conference in Vancouver, is the kind of transport nerd (and middle-aged man) who’s most likely to be cycling. But the range of ages, abilities and types of bikes he sees is a sign that things have changed. So are the traffic jams. “I’ve talked to people who say sometimes it’s getting to the point where cyclists are missing traffic lights, there are so many people on some of the separated cycleways.” At peak hours, commuting routes like the Strickland Street lane, from the southern part of the city to the CBD, can have more than a dozen cyclists waiting at the lights, a rare sight in other cities.

Fox Bennetts has seen it too. The co-chair of advocacy group Spokes Canterbury has been riding in Christchurch since they moved here around the age of 10. They’re a competitive cyclist, ready to speed with aerodynamic handlebars and experience on cycling tracks, but it’s not just them riding around their suburbs in north Christchurch. “There are a lot of retirees out there on their e-bikes having a grand old time,  it’s just wonderful,” they say.

Christchurch certainly has a reputation as the New Zealand city that’s best for cyclists. That’s at least partially because of its geography. “It’s just so easy to bike, it’s so flat,” says Bennetts. Most of New Zealand’s other big cities have big proportions of their populations living on hills. The weather is good, too. “Wellington is windier, Auckland is wetter,” says Kingham. Christchurch, though colder in winter, has more average sunshine hours than either. 

But stable weather and the horizontal streets enabled by the Canterbury plains can only get so many people on bikes. What really helps is extensive cycle lanes. “In Christchurch’s case, the earthquake was an opportunity,” Kingham says. In the middle of destruction, the extensive rebuild “allowed us to rethink and invest a lot in infrastructure”, Kingham says. As Christchurch put itself back together, cycle lanes were added as the streets were repaired.  

Cycle advocates, at least, believe Christchurch deserves its reputation as the best city in the country for cycling. Cycle Action Network, a national coalition of bike advocacy organisations, hosted its annual meeting CAN-do in Christchurch last weekend, a group of perhaps 30 that surely represented New Zealand’s largest concentration of people likely to use the term “mode shift” in everyday conversation. Naturally, several hours on both days of the conference were dedicated to exploratory bike rides. 

“That’s not at all safe – watch for the roundabout exit,” called Stephen Wood, one of the ride leaders, as a group of six (myself included) followed the bike path beside QEII Drive in Christchurch’s northeast. He then turned into the red zone, a reminder of how many of these cycle lanes came to be built: through forces strong enough to require houses to be removed from hundreds of hectares beside the Avon River. 

Riders paused to take photos of shared pedestrian and cycle bridges and the timber foundations of the City to Sea shared path, which is in the process of being built (with the first section alone costing $7.6m as part of red zone renewal, Wellington clearly doesn’t have a monopoly on expensive infrastructure linking metropolis and ocean). On the parts that have been finished, there were already kids on skateboards and scooters, families walking and some older people whizzing past on their e-bikes. Phone calls and text updates came in from the other riding groups, who had gone to explore cycle networks to the south and east of the city, and there was a pause to debate the merits of a bike crossing light in the middle of a road, rather than at an intersection. 

So where does the city with all the cycle lanes go next? Cycle infrastructure is unevenly distributed; census data shows that while 20% of people in Beckenham, Kingham’s southern suburb, cycle to work, only 3.6% of people in northern suburb Harewood use two wheels to get to work or study. Despite these stark differences, Canterbury has far more cyclist commuters than any other region. In the 2023 census, more than 14,000 people in Canterbury said they were biking to work (compared to around 8,000 in Auckland and 7,000 in Wellington) and more than 12,000 people were biking to education (compared to around 3,000 in Wellington and 7,000 in Auckland). According to transport planning and delivery manager Jacob Bradbury, Christchurch City Council has consulted with local bodies around the country about the technical aspects of building bike lanes, like designing lights that won’t trigger if cyclists move before their green light illuminates. They’ve also used elements of designs from elsewhere to experiment with lower-cost cycle lanes.

In a 2023 city council survey, 34% of respondents said they travelled by bike at least once a month, and 30% of that group said they had increased how frequently they used their bikes. Most agreed that biking was easy. However, the majority of people who said they had been involved in a transport accident in the last 12 months said they were travelling by bike at the time – which is why despite extensive cycleways, there is still a feeling of danger for many when riding. Given that 95% of respondents said they regularly drove (although 21% of those were driving less frequently than 12 months before), it’s clear that having bikes as an option gives people more choices, rather than totally replacing cars.

“Where I live in the northwest, there are no cycleways,” says Bennetts. “Where there are cycleways, there are more people cycling. Where there are no cycleways, there are fewer people cycling – and those people are people like me, who are forced to cycle on busy roads. I’m brave enough to cycle on the road, because I’m a competitive cyclist, and I’m very careful.” 

Some of Christchurch’s arterial roads, like Colombo Street in the city, or the four avenues (Moorhouse, Bealey, Fitzgerald and Deans) that bracket the CBD, are busy roads with heaps of traffic. They’re unpleasant to cross on a bike, let alone turn on, if you want to access the big box stores or supermarkets on them. Other places, like Yaldhurst, are difficult to travel to without going on busy, fast roads.

With very little funding from the central government, and lots of other budget cuts putting pressure on councils, the money to connect existing cycle lanes may be wanted elsewhere. The anticipated “Wheels to Wings” cycleway through Papanui has had construction paused after changes to NZTA funding last year meant there wasn’t enough money for the $32m budgeted for its completion. Planned major cycleways and links to the university route and a cycleway through Heathcote also had government co-funding pulled. Bradbury says the council still has allocated funding in its 2024-2034 long-term plan for 13 major cycle routes, but central government funding will be a factor when deciding which ones to prioritise.

While many on the city council are supportive of cycle lanes, Aaron Keown, the councillor for the northern area of Harewood, is not one of them – and not shy about sharing his views on his Facebook page, where he has described people asking for cycleways as a “dictatorship”. Mayor Phil Mauger, meanwhile, has said that he wants to redesign a proposed cycle lane connection to make sure there are more on-street carparks, despite 500 new carparks being built for the new Christchurch pool and recreation centre nearby. The connection is important, says Bennetts. “It’s like with the Orbiter bus route – we have to be able to get from one bus route to the next, from one cycleway to the next, without having to go all the way into town.”

And improved cycle infrastructure has to go beyond just functionality. Kingham points out that for many people, riding a bike is associated with recreation, because it’s fun. “People go on holiday and ride a bike, then get back to the city and jump in a car to go to work,” he says. His favourite part of his commute is the cycle lanes through parks, the green space peaceful and pretty to look at. It’s the kind of experience that no amount of dry statistics about the health and social benefits of cycling can capture, and that routes like the winding, scenic City to Sea path will particularly promote. “People say [increasing cycling numbers] is all about feeling safe, but the next stop is actually enjoying it – because if you enjoy it, you do it.”