Queenstown – the self-proclaimed adrenaline capital of the world. A place that gave humankind the bungy, made jetboats to navigate ankle-deep water and taught England rugby player Mike Tindall to think twice about where he rests his head.

Its one of the planets biggest party spots, a place where you can dance until dawn before taking a gondola to the top of a mountain for one of the most incredible views in the southern hemisphere. You can jump out of a plane in the morning, jump from a bridge in the afternoon and fall into one of the best burgers on the planet at Fergburger in the evening.

And when you’re fed up with adrenaline pumping through your veins, within a few hours you can find yourself serenely sailing through the fjords and valleys of Milford Sound, taking in snow-capped mountains, dolphins that leap from the depths, gushing waterfalls and bright rainbows created by the pure water spray that hangs as a mist

The whole town bubbles with excitement, the ski-resort feel of the place filled with people looking to push themselves, their fears and their wallets to the absolute limit.

I had seven days in Queenstown, and arriving at the town’s Base hostel I noticed a poster on the wall. It seemed quite apt for me – having spent eight months making my way around the world, writing about everything from the effects of war and genocide through to China’s love of spicy tripe, Queenstown was not the place for me to come and wimp out.

Do something worth writing home about. Go hard or go home. Phrases that people live by in this cold, southern New Zealand town set on the shores of the beautiful Lake Wakatipu. It’s almost as if the town won’t let you leave unless you’ve done at least something to get the nerves going. I had seven days to fill – I’ll have no excuses.

My introduction to Queenstown came courtesy of Soap, my Magic Bus tour guide, who had promised us a night of all nights when we arrive. After the late arrival into Wanaka, and watching his beloved All Blacks just scrape a victory against Ireland, he was probably in need of a glass of wine, but first there was something else to put a smile on his face.

We’d stopped off at Arrowtown, not far from Queenstown, where we were supposed to go and take in the sights of the old Chinese settlement. It was bitterly cold though, and instead of walking around to look at the tin shacks, we headed straight to a pie shop for some late breakfast. In the meantime, a bright red London bus had pulled up near our Magic Bus, providing Soap with the opportunity to take the wheel, if only for a momentary photograph.

We took in our first views of Queenstown through the windows of our bus, a perfectly clear, sunny day with blue skies providing the perfect way to catch our first glimpse of the Remarkables mountain range and the lake that forms the backdrop for the town.

Our instructions for Soap’s big night out were to meet in Altitude bar wearing something black (again, his love of the All Blacks) at 8.30pm. Aside from the fact the bar gained notoriety as the place where Mssrs Tindall and co enjoyed their night a little too much during the Rugby World Cup last year, promptly hitting all the national papers back home, it is also the bar that comes as part of my hostel complex so it was easy enough for me to find.

There was one condition attached to joining Soap on his Magic night out however – everyone had to wear some ‘krazy kat’ sunglasses. So we’d all spent time raiding the dollar shops in the main Shotover Street, trying to find the daftest we could find. Sadly, I missed the fancy dress section and settled for some thick rimmed, colourful affair for $5 (£2.50). They were good, but no match for Becky’s alien-inspired attire, or Kate’s oversized love heart shades which were about twice the size of her head.

It was great to meet up in the bar, with everyone gradually turning up with all manner of weird and wonderful sunglasses on, ready for the night. It started well, with Soap securing a VIP area in the bar – yes, that’s right, a VIP area in a backpacker bar – where

we’d down various shots, ask Soap if there was any alcohol in them, and then down a few more, the only rule being you had to be wearing your sunglasses while drinking.

With rivals from the other tour buses arriving by the minute, we made sure we lorded it up in our private, sectioned-off section. The busload of Kiwi Experience guys and girls, all dressed up as geeks for the night, could only look on in envy as we even secured the services of our own bouncer to keep us safe from the crowds.

The DJ would put a shout out for Kiwi, then rival tour group Stray, only to get a subdued ‘whoop’ from the dancefloor. Spurred on by Soap, when the call came for Magic to give the bar a cheer, we managed to drown out the rest by cheering at the tops of our voices.

There might only have been nine of us, but we made it sound like there was 99.. The drinks continued to flow, in part thanks to a great two for one offer, and everyone was having a brilliant night. And then the Irish rugby team turned up.

Now, with two Irish girls in our group, and with the rest of us having watched them play the All Blacks on television only a couple of nights ago, it was quite something to have their company in the bar. After obligatory photographs with them all round, everyone let them get on with their night out – but then the players began hanging around with us.

Not being the greatest rugby fan, I didn’t know any of them, but I recognised a few from watching them play on the television. I got talking to one, a tall, fair-haired guy, who asked me who I was in Queenstown with. I told him we were all on the Magic Bus and had been travelling around both islands for the past few weeks, before explaining about the three main different tour buses.

“You lot sound like a great group,” he laughed, before introducing himself as Chris and shaking my hand.

It was Chris Henry, an Irish back rower, and a really nice bloke. We continued talking for a while, just like meeting anyone else in the bar. And the same could be said for everyone else in the Magic group – we began having a good laugh and spending time with the Irish lads as if they were old mates.

There’s a tap on my back.

“Mate, can you give me a hand with this drink,”

It was one of the other players, wearing a bright red hoody and struggling to get hold of a pint glass on the bar thanks to a pretty badly messed up arm that had been strapped and bandaged.

“Just wedge it under my arm mate, that’ll be grand,”

I took the glass and stuck it up under his armpit, and he shuffled off to meet the others.

The night continued well into the early hours, and included a stop off at a bar that served quite possibly the nicest drink I have ever tasted. Called the Money Shot, it’s a secret mix of four ingredients that produces something more akin to a Banoffee Pie dessert than an alcoholic drink.

With stops at Winnies bar and World Bar, there was more fun and games with the Irish rugby team later in the night at Buffalo bar before somehow we all managed to make our way home, via a detour to the famous Fergburger where I shared my attempt to ward-off a hangover with Mel and Kate, the latter almost managing to bite off my finger while taking a giant bite of the bun.

Unsurprisingly, half of the group managed to miss the bus to Milford Sound the following morning, while the other half managed to catch it in various states. I, however, had a phonecall offering me the chance to do a bungy jump from one of the highest leap platforms in the world. You can read about that here.

The beauty of Queenstown is that there is so much stunning scenery and landscape to see, and the Milford Sound trip is a favourite among visitors. It’s a long drive – a 10 hour round trip on a bus for a two hour cruise in the fjords – but it is worth it.

It provides a welcome relief from the full-on activities that take up so much time in QT, and even the bus ride is part of the sightseeing. Here, the journeys don’t just get you from A to B, they show you everything else in between too, with stops to check out magnificent mountains, and even a glacial stream with water that flows so pure, you can drink it straight from the river.

Again, we were blessed with the weather, although some argue that Milford Sound is actually better when visited in heavy rain because of how dramatic the waterfalls can be. Either way, the sight of mountains rising straight up from deep under the dark blue icy water of the fjords is quite special, the dusting of snow at the top forming the picture perfect views shown on all the advertising leaflets and photos.

I was on the trip with Becky and Liam, two of my group from the Magic Bus who managed to sleep through their alarm the day previous thanks to the small matter of Soap’s night out, and we had a great day together sailing around the sound. It was a welcome relaxing day out, with lashings of free coffee and tea thrown in for good measure.

Back in Queenstown, it was time to meet up with a good mate who I’ve not seen for 10 years since we met during my time working at Camp Na Sho Pa with Camp America in 2002. His name is Matt, although he’s always been known as Titty, and he moved to New Zealand shortly after finishing his time in the States. He’s now settled here and calls it home, and part of me can see why he fell for the place when he first set eyes on it.

Titty is in charge of stock for Outside Sports, one of the main outdoor clothing stores and ski and board rental outlets in Queenstown, so it was easy for us to meet up for a beer and catch up on old times, filling each other in with stories from the past 10 years and talking about people we know back home, what they are up to and sharing memories of camp. There was also a bit of chat about our respective teams – Rushden and Diamonds and Grimsby Town – both of whom have had some pretty spectacular falls since the last time we chatted about football together.

It was great to see each other again, and I joined a growing list of people who had passed through Queenstown on their travels since working together in upstate New York all those years ago. One of them, Barney, is apparently working in the area. More on that in a bit.

My week continued with a skydive, a heart-stopping jump out of a plane at 15,000ft above the mountains. I’ll never forget the feeling of leaving the aircraft and falling through the icy cold upper atmosphere, reaching terminal velocity and admiring the view of the Remarkables as we floated back down to the ground. And after all the nerves and adrenaline built up a raging hunger, where else to celebrate my achievement than with a Fergburger.

Now, Fergburger is something of an institution in Queenstown. Even before I arrived, three separate people back home had told me that I just *had* to have a Fergburger while in the area. I began to wonder what all the fuss was about. And then I tried one.

The fuss isn’t about nothing. Even the smallest burgers on the menus are veritable giants, but as a celebration, and with the blog in mind, I decided to step it up a gear. I went for Mr Big Stuff.

Two huge burgers, bacon, cheese, barbecue sauce, lashings of salad – it is one whopper of a mouthful, and a mouthful that people flock to this little outlet for. They might just be burgers, but they are done incredibly well. Don’t even think of ordering a side of chips, you’ll never have the room. And yet, despite the name, Mr Big Stuff has got an even bigger brother on the menu – the Big Al.

That comes with a load of beetroot and eggs on top of the half-pound of meat, bacon, cheese and everything else. Amid all the photographs on the walls of celebrities who have called in for their taste of the Ferg is a lone photo of a Big Al, complete with the world record time for consuming it. Somehow, someone has managed to put one away in just two minutes and 14 seconds. If an overdose of adrenaline doesn’t put you in an ambulance here, trying to stuff one of the Big Als inside you within two and a quarter minutes almost certainly would!

The fact is that nothing comes close to Fergburger for both the friendly, fun atmosphere inside – orders are called out by your first name, often with some chirpy remarks from those behind the counter – and for the quality of the food. And with hundreds of hungry skiers and boarders to contend with every day, its Queenstown’s hang out for a quick, meaty feed and a catch up over the days activities.

Speaking of which, with snow on the mountains, it was an opportunity to get another fix away from burgers – skiing. My journey over the European winter has seen me miss out on a couple of annual ski trips, for which I know I will get no sympathy. Skiers and boarders will know how it feels not to get your ‘fix’ of winter sport in the season though, and despite all the places I have been to, it was still quite hard to see my dad and brother go for their fun on the French pistes without me.

Still, here in New Zealand, while the British Summer is doing its worst back home, the snow has been falling and the ski resorts are open. Thanks to a bit of a discount on some skis and boots, courtesy of Titty and Outside Sports, I bought a day lift pass for Coronet Peak and headed to the slopes.

The first difference I noticed between southern hemisphere and northern hemisphere skiing is that the runs are called ‘trails’ instead of pistes, although the term ‘apres-ski’ is still alive and well in these parts. There’s also a huge difference in the number of lifts and ski runs – Coronet Peak has just three main lifts, compared to the gazillion you can find in the Three Valleys of France. Yet, incredibly, NZSki, who run the ski fields around Queenstown, charge more for a day pass than I would pay in France. $95 (around £48) for the day seemed a bit steep, but I had no option.

After a year and a half away from snow, it was good to be clipping my boots into the bindings of a pair of skis again, although I was slightly concerned I might have forgotten all my technique. I contemplated a visit to the beginner area, full of two green runs and a lot of unsteady-looking learners, before deciding to just head straight up to the top of the mountain.

It always amazes me how quickly skiing comes back to you, and peeling away from the chairlift, I stopped myself and tried to decide which way to go. It turns out, with some of the resort still closed due to a lack of snow, there’s only one main run from the top. And being a northerner back home, it did put a smile on my face that its called the M1.

The first run was a slow one, a chance to get my ski legs back on, work out the trail, get a feel for the skis and the snow, and work out if I could still stop properly. Thankfully, the M1 is a long, sweeping run with lots of wide areas for motorway skiing (although unlike back home, there was a distinct lack of bottlenecks, annoying BMWs up my rear end and no signs directing me anywhere near the M18 to Grimsby)

After a few good runs, gradually picking up speed and confidence, I was back in the skiing zone. It felt good. Combined with the spectacular views across to the lake and the Remarkables, it was a great place to ski despite the comparative lack of runs. But then something even more incredible happened.

I was making my way towards the gentler slopes when someone on a board clattered through a railing near the entry gate to the lift. I heard a laugh – a familiar laugh that sounded like Barney – yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on who it was for sure as they picked themselves up from the tangle of fence, board and legs.

I got on the lift and pondered about who it was. It sounded like Barney, who I last knew as an 18 year old at the same summer camp I worked at as Titty, but with a bobble hat, ski mask and winter clothes, it was hard to see what he looked like. Like a stalker, I hung around at the top of the lift waiting for whoever it was to come back up.

The boarder appeared, and I stared at him through my sunglasses in an attempt to work out if it was Barney. He looked back, saw me looking, and quickly looked away and sat down on the snow nearby. Maybe it wasn’t him.

Yet more stalker moves saw me shuffle nearby to hear his voice. He was definitely English, and it was a familiar voice from back in America, having not changed since 2002. I decided to ask him.

“Mate, are you Barney?”

He looked at me. “It is bro. Who’s that?”

I didn’t say anything, but just removed my hat and sunglasses and smiled as he realised it was a long-lost friend from years back.

“Phillip Norton, what on earth are you doing here?” he laughed, before getting up, shaking my hand and giving me a manly hug.

We both laughed about the chances of bumping into each other like we had. It is one of those moments when the world feels very small, yet it was a brilliant coincidence – Barney is actually working for NZSki in the rental department for a season, but had the day off and so was with friends and fellow ski staff trying to improve his snowboarding skills.

We went on to spend the entire afternoon together on the slopes, catching up between runs while taking the lift back to the top of the mountain, and reflecting on the chances of bumping into each other like we had. Until starting work on the mountain, Barney had never done any skiing or boarding, and like me, he’s fallen in love with it from the moment he first tried it.

He admits he’s got a long way to go with his technique, but he wasn’t doing too badly – aside from the moment where he managed to jam the front edge of his board into a hole in the snow, spectacularly launching his feet over his head and sending him face-first into the white stuff. This, just minutes after hurting his thumb after clattering off the top of the lift, can damage confidence, but in the best way while on the mountain, he laughed it off and was ready for another run.

Barney is in New Zealand for the winter season, and I dare say he’ll be here for some time yet if he can get his visa extended. He’s always had a love of travel, and one of those people who thrives on being in far flung places, a little like me, and I’m quite envious of his ability to float around the world, finding work and making small parts of it home for a while.

There were more friends to meet in the evening, the start of the annual Winter Festival in Queenstown. With fireworks, live music and entertainment promised, I met up with Kelly and Graham, two of my Irish friends who I was on Fraser Island with in Australia. It was great to see them again, catching up over a pint and meeting two of their friends they have been travelling around parts of New Zealand with.

The only problem was the weather – with thousands of people gathered around the lake for the opening night of the festival, there was a great atmosphere as the fireworks lit up the sky, only for the heavens to open the moment the fireworks ended. It sent most people home early, and we dived back to Altitude bar where I supplied everyone with vouchers for a $5 pizza and beer deal, which if I’m honest, I’d been practically living on for a week with it being cheaper than cooking for yourself.

The night somehow turned into another classic Queenstown night out. I ended up meeting with Clare and Louise, the two girls from Franz Josef that I’d met in a hostel while they were celebrating Louise’s birthday. With a group of us on the dancefloor, it turned into a great night – after somehow talking me into climbing on a pole following Clare’s demonstration of how to perform on it upside down, we braved the rain to move to Buffalo bar once again where it got slightly messy.

With tequila being poured from the bar into everyone’s mouths below, a surfboard being given away, and free t-shirts being launched into the crowd every half an hour, I had moved towards the end of my time in Queenstown in pretty much the way I started it.

Due to ski the Cardrona resort the following day, my two hours sleep didn’t leave me feeling great. Yet despite packing my bags at 6.30am – in doing so waking my dorm – and checking out ahead of a room change at the hostel in the afternoon, I was given the news that the mountain had been closed because of the weather. I went straight back to bed.

And so on my last day, I carried on the tradition of having at least one activity under my belt, and it was the turn of the jet boat. The bright yellow Kawarau Jet is a familiar sight as it makes its way to and from the jetty in the town centre.

It was a high speed affair, reaching some 50km/hr along water that you would assume to be too shallow for anything that floats other than a duck.

Somehow, thanks to the water inlet technology that sucks water in through the bottom of the boat and spits it out at high speed from directional jets at the back, it scoots along on the surface in much the same way as a jet ski. And the driver really knows how to get the best from it, dodging around obstacles in the water, almost scraping along the sides of canyons and performing shriek-inducing 360-degree turns on the surface of the river.

The only thing he couldn’t do was stop the oncoming weather front from dumping a load of rain on us as we made our way back to the jetty – and at the speed we were travelling and no windscreen, it felt like a sheet of needles hitting us all in the face.

Its not all high speed, high adrenaline in Queenstown, but it certainly helps if that’s your thing. The Skyline gondola was full of families enjoying the views from high up above the town, as well as the popular luge that runs along a purpose built mountainside track. Mind you, even that can get a bit hairy at times, particularly on the ‘advanced’ track.

There are quaint boat trips on the lake, as well as the high-octane version, and the town itself is a great place to just wander around, have a coffee and soak up the atmosphere.

A week in the QT passed me by so quickly, but left me drained. I had certainly taken the ‘go hard or go home’ message onboard, and with home just a few weeks away now, I certainly had to go hard here instead. A couple of weeks ago, I had a vow that I would never, ever make a bungy jump, a skydive was just something people back home do in the guise of raising money for charity, a Fergburger sounded like it was made of some weird animal, and the Irish rugby team were just a load of blokes who wear green and play rugby on the telly.

Oh Queenstown, you certainly gave me something worth writing home about.

Wouldn’t mind your own Magic Bus adventure? Visit their website at www.magicbus.co.nz

Like the look of Milford Sound? Kiwi Discovery run a day trip from Queenstown – www.kiwidiscovery.com

And you too can fly around the Queenstown lake and rivers with the Kawarau Jet – www.kjet.co.nz