Monday, June 27, 2005
Sixteen hours in Queenstown
Soundtrack: “Dizzy Heights” by The Lightning Seeds
Wednesday 15th June. I left Franz Josef as the sun was rising. The coach journey covered some amazing scenery: rainforests; glacier-formed lakes; bright-blue flowing rivers; land eroded away by gold mining. The coach driver took great delight in telling us when we were crossing the 35th Parallel some kms north of Queenstown, which meant that we were now closer to the South Pole than the equator. You could tell. Out trip was frustratingly long, though, as borth of the drivers insisted on stopping every half-hour, either for refreshments, photos, or both. Never mind. I still enjoyed myself.
The coach arrived in Queenstown as the sun was setting, giving the Remarkables a golden brown as we drove into town. It’s very beautiful round there, but I did feel as if I wasn’t taking full advantage of the place because I’m not into skiing. Everybody in my hostel was proper posh (i.e. they were pretending to be common, but you can’t hide those public school accents). I suppose that you have to be in order to have been on as many skiing trips as these kids have. I was such an imposter, and was found out on numerous occasions because: a) I don’t have one of those Arctic fleece thingers and b) I sat at the dining table to compose my journal.
There was nothing to do in Queenstown at that time of day apart from go up the gondola, which was fun. I do enjoy the sensation of rising up above the minuscule world thoroughly. However, once I was at the top, the viewing deck was absolutely bloody freezing. I only lasted around 5-10 minutes, then I had to go back inside again. I was damn well getting my money’s worth, though, so I sat drinking beer (so so bad for me, but cheap) and watching the Lions play Wellington (a little dull). Then, once my beer allergy had kicked in and I was feeling slightly tipsy due to only having free (watery) soup for dinner, I went and stood on the viewing deck for ages, singing to the mountains, the valley and the lake.
Wednesday 15th June. I left Franz Josef as the sun was rising. The coach journey covered some amazing scenery: rainforests; glacier-formed lakes; bright-blue flowing rivers; land eroded away by gold mining. The coach driver took great delight in telling us when we were crossing the 35th Parallel some kms north of Queenstown, which meant that we were now closer to the South Pole than the equator. You could tell. Out trip was frustratingly long, though, as borth of the drivers insisted on stopping every half-hour, either for refreshments, photos, or both. Never mind. I still enjoyed myself.
The coach arrived in Queenstown as the sun was setting, giving the Remarkables a golden brown as we drove into town. It’s very beautiful round there, but I did feel as if I wasn’t taking full advantage of the place because I’m not into skiing. Everybody in my hostel was proper posh (i.e. they were pretending to be common, but you can’t hide those public school accents). I suppose that you have to be in order to have been on as many skiing trips as these kids have. I was such an imposter, and was found out on numerous occasions because: a) I don’t have one of those Arctic fleece thingers and b) I sat at the dining table to compose my journal.
There was nothing to do in Queenstown at that time of day apart from go up the gondola, which was fun. I do enjoy the sensation of rising up above the minuscule world thoroughly. However, once I was at the top, the viewing deck was absolutely bloody freezing. I only lasted around 5-10 minutes, then I had to go back inside again. I was damn well getting my money’s worth, though, so I sat drinking beer (so so bad for me, but cheap) and watching the Lions play Wellington (a little dull). Then, once my beer allergy had kicked in and I was feeling slightly tipsy due to only having free (watery) soup for dinner, I went and stood on the viewing deck for ages, singing to the mountains, the valley and the lake.
