Never is an awfully long time."
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Everything about Queenstown feels like a sort of tourists retreat, a magical world in which everything is in existence purely for your pleasure, and there is absolutely nothing more important than having fun.
So when I say I didn't really like it all that much, you will think me mad.
The trouble was, in a trip in which the main aim has been to try to keep things as 'real' as possible (within the bounds of practicality) and feel as though we lived in that place rather than travelled through it, New Zealand is a sort of pleasant anomaly, but Queenstown is an abheration. No-one, it seems, actually lives here. The 'locals' work for the tourists, and half the staff appear to be tourists, earning some money to fund their Never Never Land lifestyle. I don't hear a single New Zealand accent in the two days we are there.
It has its place of course, Never Never Land. It bursts with fun. As we stroll through the city on our first night, it echoes with laughter, with people ordering more drinks, with people talking about their bungee jump, their sky dive, their canyoning, their actual genuine kayak over a waterfall, their helicopter ride, their rock slide from thousands of metres up, their waterskiing, their gun shooting, or how many pints they knocked back in four seconds. Everywhere is eye wateringly expensive, and we struggle to find somewhere we can afford to eat, having decided to have a nice civilised meal out. We wonder how everyone is affording to sky dive. Later we realise, you either splash out on a really ridiculously expensive meal, and giggle about it. Or you frequent the cheaper burger joints. Normally the latter, because this is Never Never Land. And you can get a loan for the expensive meal, which you don't have to think yet about paying off, and you can eat junk food with relish because, in Never Never Land, no one gets fat, the bungee ropes are sturdy, and anyway it's fun to eat the stuff your mum told you not to.
Now if I am making this sound 1) like its a horrible place 2) like it's a great place and I am an old fuddy duddy, I'm sorry. I think the truth is somewhere in between. The fact is there is a lot about this kind of atmosphere that is hugely attractive, and I suspect that coming here directly, as it were, from your stifling responsibilities, might be a wonderful release. The huge emphasis on thrill seeking, on fun activities which involve a little life risk, makes a lot of sense, it's like a sort of physical throwing caution to the wind.
But the lack of roots, the deliberate throwing away of any kind of 'grounding' feels also, just a little tinny to me. It sort of echoes a bit. Even in the campsite, we go to use the kitchen to find, rather fittingly for Never Never Land, a sign on the wall to the effect that the cleaning fairy is off work due to stress and so could everyone clear up after themselves after cooking. It (without the fairy reference) is fairly standard fare for campsites.
The kitchen is smeared thick in every work top. Pasta and sauce appears to have been the dinner of choice for just about everyone, and the remnants of it stand mouldering on the tops, clog the sinks, and pots and pans are piled sky high everywhere. If you open the fridge a smell hits you in the face and then you realise it is the furry green creatures that appear to inhabit every shelf and every crevice, accompanied by various lumps of now unidentifiable 'once food'. It really has the feel of the 'Lost Boys' country. I'm not a big clean freak, my attitude to it is mostly to not bother unless someone is coming round. I've done my fair share of letting the washing up pile up for the length of time, say, that M is away, and then quickly do it all in the last half an hour before he gets back. He knows I do this. I'm not kidding anyone. I don't do it because he'll be angry, I do it to welcome him home. Cleaning is so low on my list of priorities that it becomes a sort of special treat for him. But this kitchen fascinates me in its sheer abandon. There are various people of various ages staying on this site. But to a man no body is washing anything up. Two people come in to cook while we are there. They grab a pan from the pile, run it vaguely under the tap, plonk it down on the pasta encrusted worktop, and proceed to cook. Is everyone dying of ecoli? No. It's Never Never Land. We cook gingerly. We use our own pan and clean the work top and the fact that we do that makes us feel old.
"It is not in doing what you like, but in liking what you do that is the secret of happiness."
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Queenstown having slightly disappointed us, we make plans to get out. We book a bus to Central Otago, where you van bike or walk your way through beautiful countryside, sampling wines at numerous vineyards along the way. We actually both need a day to ourselves, with a meet up at the end (refer back to my previous blog about rattling about in a van getting crotchety), so we kiss each other gently goodbye and I set off in foot and he on a hired bike. We both have a fantastic time. Walking on the paths, looking out into canyons and bright blue rushing water, I listen to the silence, enjoy that the only living soul in sight is me, and get changed from trousers into shorts in a deserted field because the sun has come out. At one point I have a romantic moment with what I think is M, when I walk out to stand on a rocky viewpoint, look down to my left, and see a small figure with a bike, looking out at the same view. We meet eyes, romantically and I wave affectionately. Shortly after I actually bump into M.
"Hello!" I say exuberantly, "isn't this beautiful! I loved seeing you on that rocky outcrop just now. Looking out at the same view. You see? We are soulmates."
M accepts my kiss with some confusion,
"When did I see you?" He asks, "what rocky outcrop?"
Oh.
Oh well. We agree to meet up at the next vineyard for wine. We haven't actually been apart for linger than about four hours. We would have been capable of being, but we didn't need the whole day. We just needed some countryside and a little bit of quiet. We meet up. We gorge on wine and cheese. We roll home to Never Never Land on a bus full of drunk people.
We move on from Queenstown in the morning. Neither of us really mind. The best fun we've had was outside it. Perhaps we just don't need it enough. We are living our own Never Never existence.
Even so, we pay homage to the Queenstown spirit, by stopping first to eat a 'FergBurger' (and wow, what a burger! Bursting with tofu and sauces and jalapeño and pickles.)
We eat it in a parking slot that says 'five minutes only'. And we eat it for breakfast.
Yeah. Take that, world. Who says we're not crazy, cooky kidz......?
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