Everything that Christchurch was (depressed, wet, at sea level), Queenstown is not. The self-styled Winter/Extreme Sports capital of New Zealand is a vibrant and buzzing party town in the mountains, with more bars per head than any other town in the country.
The drive in to Queenstown, using the excellent Intercity coach service complete with ongoing narration from our driver, took us past the stunning Lake Tekapo which featured one of the most breathtaking views I’d ever seen. So I made it my facebook profile photo; because that’s what we do in the 21st Century it seems.
Queenstown itself was able to offer up its own spectacular views, with the town on the edge of New Zealand’s longest lake and providing the backdrop of the South Alps mountain range. It’s not the worst sight in the world to wake up to.
The nightlife in Queenstown reminds me of a student town, on steroids and crack. The sheer volume of bars means you’re never short of somewhere to go, although there did seem to be a lack of places to go to listen to decent rock music, and organised bar crawls seem to be a money making endeavour across the town. The Wednesday night Ice Bar Crawl was actually very good value, providing entry to the $32 Ice Bar with 5 other pubs, a lot of free shots and all for only $35 a head.
Of course the hangover that resulted from a night of partying and ski shots (an actual full-length ski with holes in for shot glasses) made the White Water Rafting the next day even more challenging. Still, nothing like taking a massive couple of blasts of ice-cold water in the face to wake you up, and taking a dive off the side of the raft to float downstream was incredibly refreshing. Just a shame that at the end I felt like I was walking around with to goldfish bowls strapped to my feet where the water had got in to my wetsuit shoes.
Whilst dossing about we ventured to the top of the cable car route on the mountain overlooking the town. Sufficed to say it offered even more spectacular views and the opportunity to go land-luging. A word of advice for anyone contemplating land-luging; if you don’t shave off enough speed after a Vettel-like inside pass on your mate then you may end up beached on a hairpin shortly afterwards.
Also, I'd be no blogger if I didn't mention the awesomeness of Fergburger, the finest burger I've ever had and allegedly the best in the world. The simple Fergburger is good enough, but the sheer wealth of options available are staggering. My second trip to the Ferg resulted in a Chief Wiggum; pork belly, wholegrain mustard and a load of salad.
So onward to Dunedin, where I’ve already endured a night of far too much alcohol, and England!
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