The Hidden Peril of Buscot Station : Canterbury Plains, New Zealand

Buscot Station Lodge is the love child of a cozy retreat for backpackers and the aspiring set of a horror film.

Check it:

• An isolated homestead packed with stuffy furniture covered in doilies, a collection of fragile china tea cups, thick oriental rugs and a lot of tiny blood-sucking insects.
  
• The proprietor, a deep-voiced sixty-something slow talker heavily into monotoning 24/7 political discourses and snapping at his house boy.
  
• The house boy, a skinny Jewish (but not from Israel) high-pitched switch-hitter twinkling about in short short shorts and dark sunglasses asking all the girls what games they played as children and surreptitiously taking time-lapse pictures of his favorite ladies while they ate dinner.
• People taking really long showers.
• Rusted scythes and heavy farm machinery strewn around a decrepit garage.
• The midnight drone of immense harvesters tirelessly circling the farm house.
  
• A dormitory above the garage overflowing with pubescent teenage boys in their perpetually damp rowing team uniforms.
• All the hikers sleeping in a tent city
• A sheep named "Rabbit."
  

Do I get a commission if the place gets discovered and agents up?

(But it was really really nice to be able to use the washing machine, use a bathroom with flushing toilets and adequate lighting, and charge up our cell phones.)