Bloukrans
It’s ten o’clock on a Monday morning and I’m threatening a man with a haunting. As there’s no concrete proof of an afterlife, Enrique, my bungee-jump guide, laughs out loud as he continues to secure my harness. Experts say if someone is fastening the ropes that will ensure your continued existence after you jump 216 […] The post Bloukrans appeared first on The Namibian .
It’s ten o’clock on a Monday morning and I’m threatening a man with a haunting.
As there’s no concrete proof of an afterlife, Enrique, my bungee-jump guide, laughs out loud as he continues to secure my harness.
Experts say if someone is fastening the ropes that will ensure your continued existence after you jump 216 metres off the Bloukrans Bridge, you’d do well to be delightful.
Me? I ask questions. I threaten ancestral revenge, and I tease a total abortion of mission, because what the hell am I doing anyway?
Internally, I’m hearing Biff Tannen say “What’s wrong, McFly? Chicken?”, as my unruly subconscious vomits a ‘Back to the Future’ loop from hell. Marty McFly’s “Nobody … calls me … chicken” is a given and it’s what has me being strapped in by Enrique, who assures me Bloukrans Bridge is not where I die.
Externally and for the past few days, I’ve been defending my honour among travel writers, influencers and radio personalities.
Africa’s Travel Indaba has just wrapped in Durban, and South African Tourism has flown the gang of us out to the beautiful, forest-fringed Tsitsikamma so we can dive into some adventure travel and preferably live to tell the tale.
In the shuttles that spirit us from the indaba and around the Tsitsikamma, the question is always the same: “Are you gonna do it? Are you gonna jump?”
