I managed to lose absolutely everyone before the start of the pub crawl. Apparently they've been thrown out of Nomads Hostel for drinking in the rooms and must have taken residence in a nearby pub.
I show up at Bar Cowboy dressed as a hipster golfer in preparation for 'pub golf' - I say hipster golfer because the best I can do out of my backpack in knee high stripy socks, baggy pants, a shirt and a cardigan.
I rock up to the bar alone and order a rum and coke. I start chatting to Liam, an Aussie guy in Queenstown for a skiing holiday, who obviously hasn't noticed that I'm dressed like a complete goon, and within 10 minutes a group of raving drunk mental Kiwi experience patrons tumble through the door cheering and chanting. The barman shakes his head.
After they top up with a few litres of beer the group stampedes into the bar next door and I'm pleased to see my good chums Amy and Jenny having an up until that point quiet beer. We've also found Hamish, Jonas, Michael and Thibaud. Within ten minutes a hearty cheer signals that it's time for the next pub, and the group piles out of the door with golf clubs raised.
Amy has just bought a pint and refuses to down it in order to follow. I've also just bought a glass of rather nice Mount Gay and am in no hurry to see it off. Like a cartoon we see the group stampede in and out of Bar Up (we later learned that this was due to $10 pints being offered) and manage to skip a pub before entering the Boiler room.
As the night progresses my brain becomes more rum clouded. I remember declaring to Hamish (a wee bairn of 19) with my glass of rum raised that this night shall be his University preparation in drinking. I remember screeching 'Wonderwall' at a most likely quite talented live act. Hamish got us thrown out of the -5 ice bar for nicking a shot and then a bunch of us lost the main group. Jenny, Amy, Hamish and I followed a debris trail of broken golf paraphernalia in order to find everyone, to no avail. At some point Amy wisely ducked out and I ended up dancing on a table in a different club to music that I usually despise with a passion.
I woke up for my morning bus to Christchurch still drunk and managed a hilarious slurred Skypecall to Pete.
The dramatic mountains and beautiful lake surrounding Queenstown were sadly lost on me as I tried to avert my bloodshot eyes from the daylight.
I show up at Bar Cowboy dressed as a hipster golfer in preparation for 'pub golf' - I say hipster golfer because the best I can do out of my backpack in knee high stripy socks, baggy pants, a shirt and a cardigan.
I rock up to the bar alone and order a rum and coke. I start chatting to Liam, an Aussie guy in Queenstown for a skiing holiday, who obviously hasn't noticed that I'm dressed like a complete goon, and within 10 minutes a group of raving drunk mental Kiwi experience patrons tumble through the door cheering and chanting. The barman shakes his head.
After they top up with a few litres of beer the group stampedes into the bar next door and I'm pleased to see my good chums Amy and Jenny having an up until that point quiet beer. We've also found Hamish, Jonas, Michael and Thibaud. Within ten minutes a hearty cheer signals that it's time for the next pub, and the group piles out of the door with golf clubs raised.
Amy has just bought a pint and refuses to down it in order to follow. I've also just bought a glass of rather nice Mount Gay and am in no hurry to see it off. Like a cartoon we see the group stampede in and out of Bar Up (we later learned that this was due to $10 pints being offered) and manage to skip a pub before entering the Boiler room.
As the night progresses my brain becomes more rum clouded. I remember declaring to Hamish (a wee bairn of 19) with my glass of rum raised that this night shall be his University preparation in drinking. I remember screeching 'Wonderwall' at a most likely quite talented live act. Hamish got us thrown out of the -5 ice bar for nicking a shot and then a bunch of us lost the main group. Jenny, Amy, Hamish and I followed a debris trail of broken golf paraphernalia in order to find everyone, to no avail. At some point Amy wisely ducked out and I ended up dancing on a table in a different club to music that I usually despise with a passion.
I woke up for my morning bus to Christchurch still drunk and managed a hilarious slurred Skypecall to Pete.
The dramatic mountains and beautiful lake surrounding Queenstown were sadly lost on me as I tried to avert my bloodshot eyes from the daylight.
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