Bungy jumping is a rite of passage for today’s travellers. The height of the bungy jump, is effectively your travel penis: Mine’s bigger than yours. Mine was more beautiful. Mine went wrong. Mine splashed me. However, such mighty adventure sports can come at extremely high prices, and bruise even the tightest budget. Take your phallus in hand, and discover where the cheapest bungy jump in the world is.
Tag Archive for 'Australia'
‘You’re an idiot’, scorned the umbrella. ‘Twice — twice you’ve done this!’ it squawked. I stood still, watching rain spiral through my curly hair while taking sadistic comfort from the sky’s cold grip on my shoulders. Continue reading ‘This Small and Lonely Planet’
Some stories just shouldn’t be told. Perhaps this is one. You be the judge. It was in Western Australia; 180km south of Perth, in June 2009. My girlfriend, Reb and I were jerking along beaded speed limits, which lament the type of housing estates where everyone drives the same car, and everything else is just-so. Continue reading ‘The Blue Noose’
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The Ocean’s Roaming Gypsies
Thirteen years ago, I was stood on the deck of a boat in an Egyptian bay. I was fourteen years old, sopping wet from scuba diving and torn between the scourge of seasickness, and a seemingly endless feast spread upon a paper tablecloth. Then came a splash, followed by an endless split-second-silence. “Shark!” hollered one of the crew. Seconds later the surface of the Red Sea became stained with white froth. Everyone was gone. Continue reading ‘Swimming With Australia’s Whale Shark’
I stare at the newspaper. It wasn’t me. I gawp at the television. It wasn’t me. I trawl through the internet. It wasn’t me! I listen to the radio, podcasts, and conversations on the bus. It WASN’T me! At least — I hope it wasn’t me? Continue reading ‘Trails of the Unexpected’
The beach was pale and despite being daubed with colourful swimwear, it was lacking and hollow. It was everything a beach should be; sparse and coated in sun like treacle smothers toast.
Reb and I reached a mutual agreement to leave, without the need for fall away words. We’d replaced a blown-out tyre, filled the food box, scrubbed and vacuumed the ute, filled the tank, and then just sat there. Stuck in treacle, watching skinny bums and rippled torsos while infant waves lolloped on the shore. Continue reading ‘A Stroll Along Australia’s West Coast’
