In Which I’m Schooled on Excitement by a Man on Medicare

It’s occurred to me that I’ve forgotten to post a map of where, exactly, Arrowtown is. And that I have just enough time left on today’s internet usage to rectify that situation. So, without further ado:

*Actual size

Today, as I was standing behind the espresso machine steaming milk and trying to to scald myself with flying foam (yes, I’m a barista now – more on that another time), an octogenarian man leaned over the counter and motioned me towards him.

“Is there an… Old Arrowtown?” he asked me.

“Excuse me?” Arrowtown could be millennia old or have been zapped onto this earth by aliens the day before I arrived, for all I know.

“Well, we’ve just come in on the bus from Queenstown for the day,” the old man explained, “and… well… I mean, is there more to do here? Or is it pretty much ‘what you see is what you get’?”

I had to laugh and tell him the latter was correct. I’ve officially moved from the world’s most exciting city to a small village of 2,000 people where 80-year-olds ask me if it’s possible to shake things up a little around here.

But, no matter. In a few minutes I’m off for the kind of mountain run that makes me feel as if I should have brought a sherpa along. Tomorrow, on my day off, I’ll contemplate heading into Queenstown to try out the luge if the weather’s nice, or lay in bed reading and listening to the sound of rain on the caravan roof if it’s not. Maybe I’ll go for a hike, or pretend I’m in fourth grade again and try out the tourist-trap gold mining operation they have in town.

And then – who’m I kidding here? – I’ll head for the nearest wifi hotspot.

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