Queenstown in New Zealand is a delightful lakefront resort town, a lively spot with bars, eateries and on the doorstep of the acclaimed wineries of Central Otago on its doorstep.
Queenstown in Tasmania is not. It is faded mining town with a scarred landscape, polluted rivers, gravel football pitch and aged shopfronts. It is barely hanging on thanks to the resilience of its residents.
So if you are booking a trip to Queenstown, make sure you choose the right one (or your travel agent does). My happy snaps, below, will illustrate why.
If not you could be confronted, as I was on Sunday, but a main street so deserted that no one would have been hurt had I fired a cannon.
There was one cafe open and a nice-looking old pub. Three young girls played hip-hop with vulgar lyrics at full volume.
The Wilderness Railway (highly recommended) does not operate on Sundays, apparently. Nor does much else.
A bleak place to grab a coffee and move on. Smartly.
Fortunately, I was en route to somewhere else. Anywhere else.