Queenstown II

Bordering our own room was the dorm room, and through the walls, the sounds of hostel-urchins could be heard. As for the mattresses, they were new 27 years ago, and now should be given to charity. The shared bathrooms were also pretty grotey. The good news was, the view from the deck is of the Misty Mountains, of LOTR fame, and of a deep blue lake with an old steamboat on it that blasts its mighty steamhorn every few hours. The other bad news was, after we went in for the evening, another guy blew a steamhorn, meaning his nose. I think it was allergies, since scotchbroom’s in bloom. But it was… special. Had it been in a film, I would’ve thought, “No one would do that in real life”. But in his real life it was a double trombone blast every time, a two-second honk followed by a shorter, more powerful quack. I might’ve pitied the guy, but when it happens outside your window at 1AM, and the guy’s drunk and talking bullcrap, and you can’t sleep because you’re waiting for the next unbelievable round of nose evacuation, or vocal bullcrap, then Mr. Brass Nostrils, you’re no friend of mine. The next morning, though, more good news: Even grotey showers, when downstairs, have good pressure.

So, still not sure what to make of our place, we headed into town.

I tried hard not to like Queenstown. Wanaka, which we fell in love with, has more than a few people who worry it’ll become the “next Queenstown.” That was enough to know that Queenstown was baaaad neeews. On the bus ride in, a fair share of poorly developed and megalomaniacal hotel/condos came into view, and I thought, “HA! Disgusting!” Stepping out, there were so many stores and restaurants and cafes and unnecessary consumer options that I thought, “HA HA! Also disgusting!”

But the truth is, most of the town is a long, happy pedestrian zone. Also, the restaurants and cafes are really delicious AND full of character AND affordable. And finally, in the midst of Queenstown’s humongous and perfectly manicured English garden, they have an 18-hole frisbee golf course. And it’s free! It winds through pine trees, down “Windy Way” (lots of wind that day), and back up “Bead me Up.” I’m sure we’re not the first ones to have played it and thought, “ohmygod this is such a good idea why doesn’t anyone do this anywhere else!?!?” There are signs all over the place, though, about careful throwing. Because the truth is, when it comes to frisbees, people get hit in the face. And the result is a lifetime of frisbee-nose. (www.frisbeenose.org)

On one evening we went to “Cow,” which you might expect to be a lot of things except the Italian restaurant that it is. As we slid into our booth, the waitress explained that the restaurant did shared seating when the place got full. No problem. Ten minutes later a guy sat down with his seven-year-old daughter. As he helped her with the menu options, I tried to place his accent. Canadian? Maybe American, but most likely Canadian. Vancouver, probably. When I finally asked, he said, “I’m from Seattle. You?”

“It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears….”