Why are two elderly Asian women staring at me, and how did this blood get on my pillow? Who is that knocking on the door? ….
Imagine Keswick in the Lake District but on steroids and you’re halfway towards picturing Queenstown. Bordering the crystal blue shores of Lake Wakatipu and set against the backdrop of the Southern Alps, the views are straight from a postcard. Queenstown is dubbed as the adventure capital of the world with a wide array of thrill-seeking activities including Luging, Jet Boating and the highest Bungee jumps in the Southern Hemisphere.
During my first day of exploration to get bearings of the local area, I observe some Asian tourists marvelling at the clarity of the lake water. Naturally most people are impressed by this but I’m shocked when they start drinking it. One woman even whips out a bottle! They had neglected to notice the large gathering of ducks some 20 metres away, who are adding some stodgy bread poos to the water after being well fed by the many passers-by. I know Duck is big in Asian culture but this is quackers.
It’s a good time to be in Queenstown, multiple travel acquaintances have congregated in the town, lured by the promise of a night out and the famous Fergburger to fill stomachs that had seen nothing but instant noodles for the last 2 weeks. Queenstown proved to be the last chance to see the ever-present Matt and John before we all went our separate ways. Matt would stay to work in Queenstown and John was off to Mexico, life of Riley those lads. To mark the occasion, we jump on the cable cars and head to hills for some Luging. Luging is basically a real-life version of Mario Kart, start on top of a hill, push forward to go and pull back to brake.
To get to the top of the hill you jump on a ski lift with the karts attached to the back, roll down the hill and then repeat the process as many times as you can afford. Some genuine speed can be picked up in those things and with extra weight this further increases. With the bobbleheads of myself, Matt and John all we have to do is lean forward and we’re like Formula 1 drivers. Its great fun weaving in and out of each other, trying to cut inside on tight squeeze corners. Get it wrong and you’re in for a nasty wipe out but get it right and the satisfaction of leaving your pal in the dust is immeasurable.
Queenstown also provided the opportunity to hike up my biggest mountain to date. At 5735 feet, the Ben Lomond summit is another 4700 feet beyond the Luging track. There is an option to get the cable car for the first 1000 or so feet but me and Roxanne opt to save the Dollary Doos (and our pride) by walking. Steep start, got the lungs burning and the calves stretched. The track is pretty straightforward but goes on forever, kind of a bigger version of Skiddaw in the Lake District. Since the last chapter Roxanne has turned into a professional hiker under my guidance and I am safe from the Dutch Death Stare as a result! We have a great laugh all the way to the summit just constantly talking about anything and everything. She deserves a medal; most people would rather go to prison than listen to me talk absolute guff for 8 hours. It’s refreshing to talk normally instead of the usual traveller spiel such as “Where are you from?” and “You have to visit <<Insert place here>> man, it’s so totally sick”.
The views open up near the summit and it’s all snow-capped peaks and Lord of the Rings scenery. Going gets a little more tough with some rocky terrain to traverse and the weather becomes absolutely brassic which warrants the donning of the Berghaus. We bump into long time comrades Sam and Becky who are on the way down from the peak. Good on them for making it as they had been hostel bound through illness for at least a week, think they owe thanks to their friend Ian Modium.
After 4 hours we reach the summit. Good sense of achievement knowing that I can shut down anyone in the local boozer back home who doubts my hiking credentials and brags excessively about their one-time walk-up Scafell Pike as a youth. Absolutely broken man afterwards so me and Roxanne have a pint in Harry’s Bar at the bottom so I can warm my aching old timer joints.
Sledgehammer and Lucy B also happen to be in town which can only mean one thing, there’s a Lord of the Rings filming location nearby. Pete also tags along even though he’s not a fan of the films, promised him we were going to a pub.
Arrowtown is a short bus ride away and the town was formed during the Gold Rush. A famous scene took place in the Arrow River here where the Ringwraiths chase Arwen and Frodo. Watch the scene below if you ain’t seen it.
After some time and a bit of help from Google Maps, we find the exact spot. The water is icy from mountain snow melt and after multiple takes, we can’t feel our feet. Even Ben's Jesus sandals don’t allow him to walk on water. Shooting concludes with the final effort below.
A farewell to John and Matt concludes this trip to Queenstown. It begins at Harry’s bar with a spot of pool and a few pints of Tiger. Somewhere along the way Roxanne joins for a few sociable beverages and the impromptu bar crawl commences. Queenstown offers a Smorgasbord of bars all within a 10-minute walk of each other which can be a dangerous prospect for any Englishman. We hit most of them as you do and Roxanne is the first casualty of the night. She is refused service for being too drunk yet she seems perfectly fine to 2 drunk Englishmen and 1 Irishman. Matt had previously fallen down some stairs right behind a bouncer but had gotten away with it through a mixture of drunken charm and a cool head. With a pep talk from John on how to appear sober despite falling apart on the inside, she rallies and another bar is checked off.
At some point Muggins here takes a tumble and headbutts the floor. I awake to the site of a concerned Roxanne who has entered full on Nurse mode which is luckily her job back home in Amsterdam. Blood is everywhere including on poor Roxanne’s jeans. Attempts are made to explain that I’ll be fine through references to the great Terry Butcher but this is lost on a Dutch girl. John even backs this up with cries of “he’ll be right after another pint”. Roxanne patches me up and insists on stitches so it’s off to the hospital. Matt is dispatched to find a Taxi. Some 5 minutes later he returns with a bag. “What’s in the bag mate?” I ask, “Just some supplies since we’re going on a trip” is his proud response as he takes one of 6 mince pies from the bag and begins to consume it. Roxanne sends him back to also get a Taxi and this time his mission is a success. Never even offered me a pie while I waited, typical.
With my bonce repaired I wake up the next day to Roxanne at the door who comes to check on me, bless her, what a diamond. As my head is still bleeding slightly, we go to buy bandages which she expertly mummifies me in. On a serious note, without her it would have been a lot worse, I’m clueless about first aid and I was also in a pit of despair. As compensation for her bloody jeans, I treat her to a well-deserved breakfast by the lake and then go back to bed in shame.
For days I walked around looking like Harry Potter and there is now a bald patch in my otherwise flawless hairline. Should have kept the helmet on from the Luge. None of this would have ever happened.