Towns, Dead and Alive
Day 3 – Mount Cook to Gleorchy
After a night in which sleep was no longer a theory, but a reality, Tory and I got an early start, heading for Queenstown. After packing up our stuff, we went in search of breakfast, but found that for some strange reason the two Cafes in the area were both closed. Why a place that sells coffee wouldn’t open until 10, especially considering that 90 percent of backpackers wake up before 8, is anyone’s guess. At any rate, with empty stomachs we journeyed fourth, but made a quick stop near Mount Cook before we had gotten far. We took another quick hike up a large hill to get a view of one of the glaciers below. It was not surprising that this glacier was also receding, and next to it was in fact a lake. We took the typical pictures and the proceeded on. After about an hour we came to the small town of Tizel. I have never seen a town so dead. It was like something from X-Files or Children of the Corn. The town clearly revolved around the ski industry and being as there was no snow in sight, the town seemed to have effectively shut down. Fortunately a few stores were open and we were able to satiate our rumbling stomachs which by this time were quite unhappy. We both spent some money on groceries so that we wouldn’t find ourselves dependent on finding a restaurant every time we were hungry. After escaping the small and eerie town, we continued southward towards Queenstown. Somewhere along the way we decided that Queenstown was not, in fact, where we wanted to stay, so that when we arrived there, we drove on through towards Glenorchy, a small town of about 150 people that sat at the end of the road. Glenorchy was more or less the last sign of civilization before you journeyed out into the country behind Lake Wakatipu. We stopped to arrange our hostel for the night, as well as some jet boating, which we had decided to do. The hostel we stayed in was little more than a shack containing a light bulb and two beds. Most remarkable of its sad features was the “walk-in” closet, which hosted a few hooks for hanging coats. On the advice of the manager of the hostel, we continued on the road past Glenorchy to where it ended somewhere out near the Routeburn Track. There we took a walk through a sparsely forested woods towards Lake Sylvan. The walk was enjoyable and the forest had an appearance unlike anything I had ever seen. There was little groundcover except for the remains of branches and tree trunks, which had been cut long ago. The trail was nice and mostly flat, yet we found ourselves getting periodically mixed up with our directions because there were several avenues that one could take. After wandering along one trail for a while, we reached the lake. There was nothing particularly special about the lake so, after a few pictures, we walked back to the car. On returning Glenorchy, we stopped in a restaurant for some food, but it was closing (at five o’clock, mind you), and we had to get our food takeaway. Feeling full and unexpectedly tired, I flopped down for a nap after we returned. Tory, meanwhile, read Flaubert’s Parrot, a book from my English modernism class that I let him borrow. Whether from interest or desperation for something to read, he actually continued reading it beyond the first chapter. After my nap, I made some more food to snack on. Tory and I sat down to watch Snatch, after which we called it an early night. At least that night I had no sound to worry about besides his snoring, the like of which I could tolerate after the painfully loud snoring of the first night.
Tags: Driving, Glenorchy, New Zealand, Queenstown, Travel
gregbilsland
Leave a Reply