Ice and Snow

So on Friday Sarah, Wenzel, and I hopped a bus to Queenstown after a frantic morning's worth of scheduling, packing, and class. It's been raining so hard here that the only road out of town (luckily) headed straight to QT, and we passed thousands of acres of fields that were completely submerged in brown water. Crazy. The dull, green terrain of Dunedin that I've grown used to over the past several weeks gradually gave way to gnarled trees, rocky cliffs, and (finally!) sheep-free environs. Sometime just after dark we pulled into downtown QT, and immediately I was struck by the resort-y, American feel of the place. Think of a cross between Aspen, Bend, and Whistler, and you've got the idea. Ultra-modern, glassy facades lined streets brimming with fountains, luxury sitting benches (yes, there are such things), and Joshua trees silhouetted by cool blue lighting from underground bulbs. Banners for skydiving agencies, bungee-jumping guides, shotover jets, canyone swings, hang-gliding tours, Lord of the Rings walks,  zero-G plane rides, and ski adventures hung everywhere, and the vibe of the place reminded me of the peer pressure that eventually induced my sole bungee-jumping experience in Interlaken, Switzerland. 

Needless to say, I was overwhelmed. Also rekindled was my enthusiasm for New Zealand, which had all but depleted to a dinky puddle of determined joy during my dreary time in Dunedin. QT was alive, dammit! We made our way up an incredibly steep hill to the hostel, threw everything down, and spent a night on the town. Highlights (after the $36, "reasonably  priced" italian dinner) included Minus 5, an ICE BAR on the wharf that cost $27 for a half hour visit and two cocktails. Parkas, gloves, and boots were included, and my inherent skepticism suffered a blow upon discovering that everything down to my drinking glass was, in fact, made of ice. Kickass!

 

Other bars included "Pog Mahoney's", a rowdy Irish place, "Surreal", which wasn't so much surreal as it was creepy (think groups of old men on a dance floor and the "Miller triplets," a trio of slutty NZ girls who were trying to get everyone to have a Miller. They didn't really understand that I left the US to NOT have to drink Miller for five months). That night was my first sleeping in a hostel for quite some time, and I'd forgotten all the etiquette required (not waking people up with drunkenly loud bedtime preparations, not snoring, not taking a dump where everyone you're trying to make a good impression for can smell it, etc).

Saturday dawned early, and the afternoon was topped with a trip to Verdburger, New Zealand's self-acclaimed best hamburger joint. My "Southern Swine" hamburger (without fries and a drink, mind you) cost $11, but for the thirty seconds it took me to shove the entire hulking ensemble into my mouth, I felt like I was home (or somewhere near it) again. At 3:00, Wenzel and I snagged a bus to Coronet Peak for some... NIGHT SKIING!!! I wasn't expecting much (to be honest, the thought of traversing any mountain other than Bachelor gives me the willies), but as the bus snaked higher and higher into the Remarkables (the mountain range surrounding Queenstown) I became less afraid of the commanding cliffside to my right and more amazed by the view.

Board rental and a night pass cost $81 total, but before I get into the action itself a brief description of Coronet Peak is necessary. Unlike Bachelor, which starts sloping gradually at 4,000 feet and has lodges built around its base, Coronet peak takes off from sea level, and snow doesn't even accumulate until well above its steep-ass halfway point. Accordingly, the base lodge is practically built on stilts to prevent it from falling off the side of the mountain, and the snow above is made more from machine than mother nature. Still, at any point above the snow line, the feeling of sitting on a white-capped mountain and looking out at THE MOST INCREDIBLE view of my life was so overwhelming that I could hardly concentrate on boarding until the sun went down. This is, honest to God, a FIFTH of what I could see:



Incredible, no? For more astounding photos a google image search will suffice. The lodge was pumping some trance-like Ministry of Sound across the mountain, and as the sun set over the scene I experienced a strange feeling of infinity, or something like it. Anyway, floodlilghts lit the two winding runs that stayed open after dark, and I got in 7 lifts before some low-hanging clouds blew in and made us abandon the slopes. We hit up a mexican restaurant called "Sombrero's" for dinner, and after a long bout of making fun of the menu for telling us how to pronounce words like "burrito" and "quesadilla," my $11.50 basket of chips and salsa arrived alongside my $24.50 chicken burrito. Both were laughable. The burrito was like 8 inches long, not very fat, and was stuffed with a tangle of ingredients that included broccoli (?!?), cauliflower (?!?), and carrots (?!?). In addition, the side of beans and rice that accompanies all actual mexican food was replaced instead by coleslaw. Seriously. None of our food had a single bean in it - black or refried. Very disappointing, to say the least.

That night was far less remarkable than the first, and now I'm back in Dunedin at the library. I know this is kind of a rushed conclusion, but I have to rewrite this whole thing (only in much greater detail) for my travel journal in a few hours, so give me a break. In summation, Queenstown = yay! Dunedin = glum and blah, Mexican food = a joke.