So, next day, Thursday to be exact.
Get all ready to wander out to my flight.
Have a walk around the city one last time.
Get in the shuttle to the airport.
Get to the airport an hour a head of time.
There are about 300 people waiting in line. A whiteboard notice says “all flights for the Queenstown airport are suspended until further notice”.
WTF? Why? It was a bit foggy, but not really. Was there a terror alert? Did they have those here?
Oh well, I figured. As long as I got back to Wellington in time to catch my bus on Sunday night, I didn’t really care.
Now, when I booked my flight to Queenstown, I went to the city’s website to see what was on. I was suprised to see that it was “Gay Ski Week”. Mostly when they say “Gay” they mean men. Fair enough. So, I thought I would end up being a fag hag for the duration of my trip in Queenstown. Turns out, they were staying up more near the Remarkables mountains, and because I’m all “low-class student” and they were all “high-class spenders” I didn’t run into any gay men when I was in Queenstown.
But the guy sitting beside me at the airport did.
We were talking about how bizarre it was that they couldn’t land any planes in Queenstown. I piped in with my theory that it was to milk tourists for more money – because clearly the flights could get into the valley, because it wasn’t foggy at all. Then this guy says that he was staying in a hotel and it was like “Gay Pride in there or something, I mean, I’m all for the gays, but that was a bit much”. This guy was American, and I guess was expected a straight-forward heterosexual ski weekend. I just chuckled, because I could picture the main concourse draped in feather boas and rainbows, and this uber-straight uptight guy walking in with his back to the wall. Maybe someone like Chevy Chase in a National Lampoon’s Vacation or something.
As it was, my flight from Wellington was the first one to make it into Queenstown and the first one to leave. When I heard the announcement that my flight would be the first to leave, I actually said outloud “Fucking Rights” and only some teenagers beside me heard me, and they laughed at me a little.
The flight was, again, completely uneventful, as was the bus ride back to the hostel. I checked in to the new room, and then went for a walk in search of bubble bath as it was going to be my goal to have a proper bubble bath that night (they had a really nice bath tub in the hostel). So, I did some shopping, wandered back to the hostel later in the evening, and got my stuff ready for my bath. I couldn’t find my adaptor for my hairdryer (which I was absolutely certain I had), so I borrowed one off of one of my Canadian roommates, and got ready and went to bed early. Luckily my volume wasn’t up too loud on my headphones, because we were woken up at 4:30am by a firealarm. I thought at first it was someone’s cell phone, so didn’t move a muscle until one of the girls switched on the light and said we had to leave.