No Room at the Inn

Engaging 'rant mode'.

Ggggrrrr! There are selfish idiots around the world. Even in New Zealand. Whilst we were given some warnings about the boisterous nature of New Year in Queenstown we we're not prepared for the 'celebrations' last night.

The omens were bad when at 3pm the singing started from the balcony directly above our room - and getting louder by the bottle. Apparently it's good sport to stand on the balcony of the hostel and shout obscenities at passers by. Even better if you get a reaction. If you didn't get a reaction then you just have to try harder; louder singing and more robust chants. I don't know how women were able to resist their amorous approaches. I really don't. Romeo should be ashamed of himself.

We went out. But there is only so long that you can spend wandering around aimlessly so eventually we had to return to our accommodation. The situation hadn't improved any in our absence. In fact it was worse. Vomiting had been added to their stunning repartee. It was like living next to a gang of drunken monkeys. Not that I have of course but you can use your imagination. Actually, I'm being unfair, that might be doing monkeys a disservice. 

The night wore on and our patience wore thin. Midnight came and went and the singing continued only this time they had moved to their room.....which happened to be next to ours. 

Then 1am, 3am..... until the Police arrived. But far too late at it was getting light and we were getting no sleep. 

Picking our way through the debris in the hallway on the way to reception was a challenge - bottle and cans were strewn everywhere, takeaway food cartons littered the stairwell and crisps had been crushed into the carpet. Aren't you supposed to eat crisps rather than use them as a home furnishing martial?

Rather than endure another night of this we checked out early and headed for Fjordland, having made an online booking for a room at a B&B. This day was taking an unexpected turn but we were coping. That's what we do. We're copers.

After a short three hour drive, by NZ standards anyway, we were in Te Anau and the gateway to the fjords. 

Te Anau was the polar opposite from Queenstown; cosy, a little quirky but above all quiet and distinctly lacking in drunken youths. 

After spending an hour or so meandering around the shops, grabbing some lunch we decided to go and check in to our accommodation. It was going to be great; a quiet bath and a lovely cup of tea before sampling the delights of Te Anau. 

Except there was a slight hiccup. Or burp. The room had been triple booked and we were out of luck. No room at the inn. Well it was the festive season so it seemed appropriate. The owner, who seemed rather nonplussed by HIS mistake rang a few fellow B&B owning friends but nothing was doing. Oh dear. Do we head back to Queenstown and try and find a room there? We could wander the streets and hope to find a room but it had started raining and it was getting late. I jokingly mentioned sleeping in the car but I got the impression from my travelling companion that this was not really an option. Not if I wanted to keep my testicles in the vicinity of each other.

It was now really raining. Like Lake District on a Bank Holiday rain. Yes, that bad. Our only option was to try the i-Site, NZ's tourist information network, and beg for mercy. 

The assistants face, when we asked them if their was any chance of finding a room at short notice, was not confidence building. Being Kiwis they didn't scoff or guffaw but instead started to ring round. The thought of spending the night in the car was slowly becoming a reality. That would not be good. I got a sudden reign and surreptitiously patted my trousers.

"What price range are you looking at?", asked the assistant

"At this stage we don't care", came the response. Well we didn't. What price would you put on a room that didn't have cup holders and wind down windows?

Thankfully a motel had a spare room. The last one in town. Disaster averted. There was room at the inn after all.

Ahh but there was one final disaster to avert. With a day so full of events to divert my attention I'd not realised that've was running out of undies, under crackers, or if you prefer duds. To avoid having to resort to the front inside, front outside, back inside and back outside model of under garments wearing it was time to hit the shops. Success and $20 later some new pants were secured for the reminder of the trip!

Phew. New under crackers, a room to sleep in and both testicles where they should be. Things were looking up.....