Daily Photo – Winton (1)

By the time I arrived in Winton, it was already early evening. The light was fading into that blue haze of half-light that comes at sunset. As I navigated the surrounding streets, I was surprised to find that Winton was larger than I’d been expecting. While still on the small side, it was considerably larger than anything I’d seen for some time, so I happily drove around for a bit, taking in the sights and looking for a place to stay.

The town of Winton sprang to life as miners seeking the riches of the central Otago goldfields plodded across the plains from Invercargill to the goldfields of Wakatipu. The steady stream of travellers became so great that a railway was constructed, and Winton quickly became one of the main transit points for local farmers along with those travelling to and from the goldfields. While the town has grown, as I drove around I couldn’t help but feel it kept some of its transient origins. I liked this.

I took a room at the Railway Hotel, a handsome two-storeyed Edwardian-style building that would’ve been a grand place at the time of its reopening in 1910 (the original building having opened in 1861 before being destroyed by fire). I was given a smallish room, spent several minutes exploring it, opening cupboards, testing the water pressure, and trying to turn on the TV, before presenting myself at the downstairs bar, ready for a pint and something to eat.

I stood at the bar for several minutes before a gravelly voice from behind me said, “You’ve got to ring the bell if you want something.”
I looked around to see a man with a long grey beard in a John Deere tractor cap looking at me with a crooked smile. His name was Jim, I was to discover later, and he must not have been a day younger than 150.
“Pardon me?” I replied.
“The bell, you’ve got to ring it if you want service. They’ll be in the other room setting up for the quiz night,” he continued.

A quiz night, I thought to myself? Now this was a stroke of good fortune. I could just see myself enjoying a nice meal before joining a team who might be down a member. It just so happened that I had recently been part of a champion-winning quiz team, and feeling in a somewhat confident mood, I inquired if anyone could join in. My mind whirled in thought, maybe I could enter on my own. I’d go down in local folklore as that stranger from out of town who whistled in on the breeze, won the local quiz night, and disappeared as quickly as he arrived. However, my daydream was shattered when I was told by a lady behind the bar, “All the teams are full. We’re expecting quite a turnout tonight.”

With this, I slunk to a table, menu in hand, and set about ordering some dinner.
“Besides, the questions are probably all about farming and not nearly as challenging as the local Kindy fundraiser that I’d been part of the winning team in,” I muttered to myself as I surveyed a menu that was about five pages long and had dishes from every major continent on it. For a moment I considered ordering a Greek kebab with a side order of pork bao buns and margherita pizza, just to give the night a truly international flavour. However, I decided to go with a steak and order another beer.

I finished my meal and ordered another pint, with the pleasant sounds of poker machines whittling away in the background. Occasionally Jim, my new best friend, would come over and we’d engage in short conversation before he too became lost to the dazzling lights and sounds of the pokie machines. Eventually, I looked at my watch. It wasn’t late, but I was tired. It had been a long day and my eyes were beginning to droop.

I went outside and looked at the town of Winton under the night sky. The trucks were still bowling past; they had been all day. I retired to my room, read a few pages of my book, and listened to the soothing sounds of laughter coming from the quiz. I bet the questions suck, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep.