| Queenstown's initial feature is that people are forever stopping and
backtracking.
Everybody seems perpetually vague and befuddled. Never mind that although surrounded by breathtaking natural beauty the town itself has all the charm, charisma and soul of an airport terminal. The prevalent fashion here is off the peg casual. Everybody's clothes are less than 24 hours old. Every day is the day after Christmas. So the overview is that of overpriced yet tastelessly dressed people walking with distinct lack of purpose in small circles while taking photographs. Insipid reflections of their own inflated self worth. I fear that without their disposable incomes these temporary residents of Queenstown would become the motiveless shells they thought they left at home. Queenstown is the husk of a dead dream. A town in it's second and most crassest gold rush. Gold used to be found here, now its just flushed through the place. If Queenstown were to be an animal it would be that French goose thats force feed for weeks then gutted for its liver. Already the goose suspects its fate but its only concern at this stage is that it gets to eat well. © MARTIN EWEN 1998 |