Queenstown

That bus ride alone was already worth a story.

The evening before, I had decided to head to Queenstown, or rather to ride there, and booked an InterCity more or less at the last minute. It was obvious that the comfortable departure time was no longer available, so it was an early start for me. I was at the station thirty minutes before departure. And sure enough, the bus arrived fifteen minutes early, exactly as announced online, and two minutes later I was in my seat. Off we went, right on time.

What I had not expected was the amount of chatter that followed. The driver talked nonstop over the microphone. Stories, commentary, random facts, everything. We stopped here, stopped there, rolled past Lake Tekapo, then Lake Pukaki, all the way up toward Mount Cook, which really is extremely photogenic. Then lunch break and change of driver. And if anyone thought the next guy might be quieter, oh no. He really turned the microphone on and seemed to know every single blade of grass by first name. What a ride. Stop here, stop there, then over Lindis Pass and onwards toward Queenstown and Lake Wakatipu. And if you thought that was the end of it, no. He even took us on an extra lap because he thought he still had to drop someone off at a hotel outside town. Only nobody got off. Must have got that one wrong, he said cheerfully, then drove us back into town and eventually threw us out there, handing everyone their luggage without once interrupting the flow of his speech. Hallelujah.

They really were beautiful ten hours though. The landscape is wonderful. And so I found myself standing in this postcard little town called Queenstown, founded sometime in the eighteen hundred and something by a Mr Rees, who apparently built a hut there. Then came the gold rush in 1866. All those nuggets in the creeks and sandbanks were quickly picked clean by the tens of thousands who suddenly descended on the place like a brief invasion of Mordor. After that things quietened down again until tourism eventually took off.

It really is lovely here, and there is plenty to do. Hiking, skiing, mountaineering, boating, cycling, there is something for everyone. Queenstown itself, though, feels a bit like an outdoor shopping mall. Outdoor gear? You can get it here, easily. You can book things everywhere. Helicopters, paragliding, canoeing, quite a lot of activities involving height, and anyone who has followed this blog knows exactly how I feel about heights. The gondola ride up to Bob’s Peak was already almost enough for me today. Up on my own, with my back very deliberately turned toward the view. I turned around a few times, it was actually fine. As a child I used to go skiing, and back then none of this was a problem. The ride back down was much the same, back turned nicely toward the panorama.

On the way down I ended up talking to a few older ladies, and I have to say, they did not stop talking to me after the first sentence just because I was not from around here. What a novelty. I was genuinely surprised. I am not used to that anymore. Even when I made a mistake in English, no problem. They laughed when I told them I do not like heights, and the oldest of them, I think she must have been around eighty, told me about her tandem paragliding jump. And as we passed the bungy platform, which was clearly empty, they smiled and said that the sport had probably gone a bit out of fashion by now. They laughed and told me I should go boating instead, that it was lovely, and that there was also a rose garden. Those old ladies sat there cheerfully making fun of me and my slight fear of heights, and it felt good to laugh with them. I had not done that in a year.

Once you spend a little time moving around Queenstown, you notice immediately that there are a lot of Japanese tourists here. Yes, Japanese, they give themselves away. You only have to hint at a little bow and off it goes, it is so deeply ingrained. And sometimes they behave like little children, which is genuinely delightful to watch. When the grandmother, who must be I have no idea how old, orders an ice cream as the fourth or fifth person in the group and then orders exactly the same thing as the person before her. The way they photograph themselves and post it straight away. The way they scan the menu with their phones to translate it. The way they all consult each other about what to do next. And when one of them orders something slightly extravagant, some chocolate dome on top of the ice cream. Like little children, with this mischievous joy in doing something for the first time. It is so good to see. So freeing. Firsts in life matter so much, especially here in this postcard atmosphere.

In the evening, after the bus ride, I first moved into my hotel. A small room with a huge bed and a panoramic window facing the lake, a small shower, a small kitchen, and a beautiful view. After that I was busy putting together a little tour for myself. You have to book the huts in advance on most of the routes, and many of them are already full. Then there is the whole logistical issue of travelling without a car, which takes a while to sort out. But I have now put together a small four day introductory tour, just to get into it and see how I cope with the weight on my back. Nothing spectacular.

I thought to myself that I do not need to repeat what I did last time, cycling from Stuttgart to Rome in May, without navigation, without proper equipment, with snow in the Alps and thirty five degrees at Villa Aurelia. This time there is no option to simply buy something on the way or recharge somewhere. This has to work. So better to start with something easier. With a lot of luggage that you also cannot just get rid of along the way. You even have to carry your rubbish with you. Even the toilet paper, apparently, is supposed to come back out with you. That is how it works here.

I am curious to see how this will feel, twenty two kilometres a day with almost thirty kilograms on my back. I am looking forward to it and hoping I will find my limits. If I really have packed too much, I suppose the first thing to sacrifice will be the milk, and that should lighten me by a few kilos straight away. Overall I calculated that I should consume around twenty one to twenty four thousand kilocalories over four days, and that is roughly what I packed. Bars, muesli, cheese and bread. No bananas, because I would have to carry the peels out again, but a few apples. A couple of emergency gels as well. Muesli works with water if necessary. I know ready made products are much lighter, but I have my familiar problems with those and have already had one allergic shock in the past.

The trigger is still not entirely clear to me, although it is much better again by now. If I had to guess, I would say it was a photoallergic reaction, not a simple sun allergy. If it had just been a sun allergy, I ought to have had that much earlier in life. My eyes are still sensitive to light. If it had been a simple contact allergy, I would probably have had the rash all over my body. At least my ears are no longer itching, and my face no longer looks quite so much like a stop sign. I even asked the guy at Kathmandu whether I should wash the clothes before wearing them. No, he said, no need. I could probably only prove it by repeating the experiment, and I would rather pass on that. Still, I can now proudly say that I do not tolerate kiwiberries. They look like tiny kiwis and taste like some strange cross between gooseberry and kiwi. They gave me the usual itching, even despite antihistamines. Funny, but tasty.

Ah well, I am a little uninspired in my writing today. I am sure that will come back after my four day tour, during which I probably will not have any reception at all. So, until then.