The majority of this trip was about the journey. Queenstown was about the destination. I can't remember why we never scoped it out prior to making New Zealand our home. Probably because even in summer, it's pretty cold. Also, way too many Americans.
After a laundry ordeal that put me into full caffeine withdrawal, I finally sit down to the best flat white I've ever had. I was looking for somewhere that served corned beef hash, which I thought would be popular, since you can buy it at Costco in Hawaii. I settle for corn potato hash, something or other.
I scour the town looking for a bicycle jersey. I've cycled over 1100 km. I am due. Most of the bike shops are rental outfits only. Each directs me to a different shop. Nobody rides road bikes in Queenstown. I find a silver fern in a women's extra small.
I sit on the shore and convince myself to paraglide.
Instead, I decide on the seemingly safer jetboating. I ask the operator how much training driving a jet boat takes. 120 hours he replies. I do not ask if this is in addition to any other boating experience. A six pack captain's license in the US requires 360 days on the water.
I survive and wander into a pretzel bar. I am warned it will take 25 minutes to bake.
I then find myself in a biker bar. These are the first road cyclists I've met on this trip. Someday we'll ride together in Christchurch.
I walk around the town and the lake front for hours. It's beautiful everywhere.