After a few days in vineyard work in Cromwell, there was nothing left to do but wait for the grapes to ripen. Sitting in small town with fuck all to do, I was left with a choice… stay in Cromwell for a few days and die of boredom or drive back to Wanaka and be just as bored there. The other option was to head to Queenstown where Jake and Ruby were staying for a week, but I wasn’t planning on heading there until Saturday. Then I remembered… Charles? Plan? What’s that?
Civilization!
Paragliders floating into the city are typical sight in Queenstown. Paragliding, skydiving, whitewater rafting, jet boating, bungy jumping, skiing… if it’s adrenaline pumping, this is the place to do it, the adventure capital of the world.
One of the shopping streets in town. It’s nice to see a town that’s not comprised of one main drag then bugger all else.
The original plan was to come down on Saturday to watch Ruby do a bungy jump and canyon swing to celebrate her birthday. We learned later that it actually costs money to go onto the viewing platform. Ridiculous. This town is going to bleed my account dry. Instead we did a lot of eating, drinking, and playing Monopoly. After I told Jake of my failed plan to take pictures of all the streets in the NZ edition of Monopoly, we decided that one day, we’ll head to London to take pictures of all the streets in the London version - a little bit easier hopping around a city than a country.
There are a many of high speed jet boating operations in town. I’m not sure what the appeal is though. It doesn’t seem like something worth $100.
It’s depressing how short the days are getting. It’s even worse in Queenstown since it lies in mountain shadow by late afternoon.
Pub poker Queenstown style complete with fireplace and luxurious velvet tables. I got out early on a bad read. A cash game started in the corner of the pub, but I don’t got the balls for that yet. There’s pub poker almost every day of the week somewhere in Queenstown though, so I’ll get my confidence level up soon enough.
Dave was always raving about Fergburger… comparing it every freakin’ burger we came across. How good could it possibly be? One bite later, I was a believer. One burger later, I was full, something I haven’t felt in days, and something I’ve never gotten out of a burger in NZ. Burgerfuel’s got nothing on the almighty Fergburger.
While in Queenstown, I applied for jobs online, but most weren’t hiring until the ski season was in full swing. One position I applied for was a sales associate at Noel Leeming, a home electronics store that has annoying adverts with Erin Brockovich as a spokesperson. Showed up the very next day for an interview only to learn that they wanted a 6 month commitment, because supposedly it takes a month to train someone in that position (right… maybe they should hire better trainers… ain’t fuckin rocket science to work a register). Anyway, that job was out of the question, but the manager offered me another position as a driver/installer which only required a 3 month commitment. This one I had to think long and hard about. It would fun to spend the day driving around on someone else’s petrol money, and I DO want to spend a few months in Otago… but doing one job? That’s how distorted my perception of time has become; to feel like 3 months is too long to spend in one place. How can I ever return to reality after this? He told me to sleep on it and give him a call the next day.
By the way, how weird is it to find a shopping center in front of a Lord of the Rings setting?
Next day I woke up back in Cromwell for some more vineyard work fun.
Chris, Ash (the dog), and I down in Alexandra, where he manages another orchard, to pick up buckets for grape harvesting.
After putting out buckets for half an hour, all I could think was… how easy would it be to get kids to do this for free. What 6 year old can possibly resist colorful buckets?
Some of the local Central Otago wine labels.
I’m falling in love with this land.
Waking up to mountains dusted with a coating of snow.
Other workers arriving to pick grapes. Harvesting only lasted a few days so there wasn’t much of a chance to bond with them.
Such easy work compared to apple picking.
I didn’t do much picking though, instead rode around on the trailer with Larry, Chris’ pommy mate, picking up the buckets to fill the bins. Great fun… especially turning the sharp corners on the hills and trying to keep the grapes from spilling all over.
Lunchtime courtesy of Chris… he’s undoubtedly the coolest person to work for ever. Granted they were saveloy sausages… another question mark in Kiwi culinary tastes… but since when is Charles picky about food? I had 2.
I would’ve had more except that Chris also brought us a gorgeous rabbit stew he made from rabbits he shot. This region is swarming with them!
Jumping on the quad for a quick shot. The owner of the vineyard is some American prick… probably would’ve gone into a conniption if he saw me on the bike.
Oh, the Bannockburn Hotel… where I spent a fair share of nights and had a fair share of beers while hanging out with Chris and Larry. It’s the kind of place where you get funny looks if you’re not a local, but once they know you, you feel like family, where they lock the door and let you have a smoke ’cause hell with the law, where folks come to unwind after a hard day at work… dirty boots and all, where the owner just hands you free drinks at the end of the night and is drinkin’ with you as well. It’s the kind of place that makes me wonder why some tourists spend their entire time in New Zealand having their nights out at places like x-base backpackers bars thinking they’re having an authentic kiwi experience. I would’ve never had the fortune of knowing this place had I not had such awesome mates. I love this bar (and the tasty burgers).
Larry lives in a home that doesn’t have any power so he heats the room with an oven and reads by candlelight. How rustic.
Sunset
Sunrise
I learned that wineries don’t wash the grapes collected from vineyards. So next time you’re enjoying a full-bodied pinot noir with fragrant aromas of red berry and plum fruit with licorice and dark spice notes, remember… there are crushed spiders in there.
Back to Bannockburn my farewell night #1 (yes, there were more than one)
Mocha, one of the residents of Bannockburn Hotel. The owner’s wife showed me how she like her chest rubbed (the cat, not the wife) and paws massaged, and from that moment she became putty in my hands.
Rugby ball.
Work was finished the day before and I was planning on heading back to Queenstown the next morning. Chris mentioned he was gonna go fishing… I must’ve looked fuckin’ keen because he mentioned I should just stick around another day and go fishing . Hell yeah.
This is didymo… say no to didymo.
Cast that line! Luckily I remembered some of Louisville Alex’s lessons and didn’t embarrass myself. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter how good or bad my technique was because there were no fish to be caught in the river. Good thing fishing is not about catching fish.
Stranded trout in a pond don’t count.
How awesome would it have been to reel that in.
“Fucked up Thursday” because grapes don’t care what day of the week it is and there was harvesting to be done Saturday. Besides, I was planning on leaving the next morning, so I had to have a going away night #2.
Okay… wasn’t gonna leave that morning either. We all were substantially fucked and Larry drove us (I know, not a great idea) back to his place nearby in Bannockburn. It may not be a 5 star accommodations, but it’s still a step up from sleeping in my car.
Back yard cricket. Wow, I’m a lousy wicket keeper, horrible bowler, and miserable batsman. At least I have an excuse (not ever doing any of those my whole life). But I don’t know what Larry’s excuse was when both he and I tried to get Chris out for almost an hour and couldn’t get it done. All still wicked good fun though.
Back at Bannockburn Hotel for Fucked up Friday… I guess it doesn’t matter if there’s work to be done the next day, though this time we played it safe and I was the sober driver. Already had enough piss that week for an entire month and the gingerbeers suited me just fine.
This girl antagonized Larry the whole night, which was funny since he’s old enough to be her father. She sure doesn’t act like a 13 year old though… especially when she’s behind the bar pouring us drinks.
Poor lady wanted to close, but we just lingered and drank and fiddled with the stereo til 2:30 in the morning. Fuckin’ good times.
The ginger dude is one of Chris’ flatmates, Fabian. The house is always full of his French speaking friends. I don’t know how he stands it.
Old Cromwell. Not very exciting on a cold Saturday morning, but walking around in that dreariness gave me a chance to reflect on my time there. Who knew when I responded to the ad for vineyard work a few weeks ago in Wanaka that my time in Cromwell would be so much more valuable than the few bucks I earned. Its strange how one’s impression of a place can change when you get to know the people.
After finally saying goodbye to Cromwell, I headed back toward Queenstown, but stopped in Arrowtown on the way to check out the Autumn Festival that Fabian mentioned.
Some Maori performers doing a Haka and other traditional dances and songs.
Oh snap! Check out the pasta pieces in mid-air.
That’s just wrong.
Blazing beautiful foliage in the hills.
Ran into the Frenchies at the festival. They invited me to have a beer with them at their car but spent the whole time speaking French amongst themselves. I abandoned them soon after that.
It’s like small town America without the overzealous patriotism and the superfluity of religion. Just good wholesome fun.
Classic cars on show.
That’s fuckin’ manipulative, that’s what that is.
