Originally posted October 8,2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand:
The Spanish was beginning to grow louder now as the bus climbed the final incline of the long, dirt road. The bus began to kick until it finally reached the top, revealing a very dry, remote landscape with a large ravine running through the middle.
I was alone on a bus full of teenage Spanish exchange students sitting quietly enjoying the feeling of my stomach turning, contemplating whether or not I made the right decision. This is something that I had so effortless discussed my entire trip, and never second-guessed, but today, right now, it was about to happen. . . . potentially.
"Alright, Everyone. Listen up! And Welcome! Do any of you have to use the bathroom?"
"Yes/Ci."
Laughing, already knowing the answer "Alright, when you go inside the bathrooms are on your right. Once you are finished grab a locker and make sure you dont have any loose items in your pockets. Make sure to keep a jumper though, because it is really windy and cold out there on the platform. Once you are done with that, then head over to Cindy at the front desk and she will sort you out with a harness, OK?"
I head to the bathroom. Use it; then head towards the lockers. Maybe a second use is in order? Use it again and then stuff my wallet and a handful of lint into my locker.
Cindy sorts me out with a harness.
"OK, give these a pull for me." I do. She stops me, before I cut off the circulation in my legs. "No, they dont need to be that tight."
"Are you sure?" I loosen them only slightly.
"Have you ever done this before?"
HA! "No." As if she cant tell.
I head through another door and am now outback, standing before the viewing platform. In front of me, suspended by three steal cables, is the Nevis Bungy Jump jumping platform. The Nevis Bungy Jump is the 2nd highest bungy jump in the world sitting 134 metres, 442 feet over this rocky ravine. And in my eyes, it looks twice that and I have already bought my ticket.
A small figure can be seen ambling towards the edge and then silently being thrown from the platform.
I should have used the toilet three times.
By now the rest of the bus has caught up with me. They all stand next to me trying to take it in. Everyone's face either registers fear, excitement, or nothing.
That jump you paid for 20 miles away in that comfortable booking office with the smiling travel agent just became a reality. A very sweaty reality.
Our driver comes up behind us unnoticed. Everyone is focused on the jump.
"OK, the order for the jump has been predetermined based on weight. So Matthias is first, then Felipe is second,
ha, You poor Amigos! I think that ideal spot would be to go somewhere in the middle. You know, once you know the cord isnt made of tissue paper, but still well before the cord snaps. There are about 20 of us so . . . . about 10th . . yeah, 10th would be good.
", third is Doug, . . ."
Oh, Shit! I shouldnt have eaten that pie!
"OK, so the first six head onto the cart and the rest of you will be over shortly."
We pile into the cart with the metal, see through bottom and a waist bar that barely reaches my groin, and make our way towards the platform.
"Make sure to spread out or the cart will start to swing and you will get stuck!"
The Spanish guys ignore him, begin singing and dancing in the cart.
Toilet, por favor!
As, I stare past my feet through the grated floor, you can clearly see the ground level moving further and further away, until it reaches the full 442 feet, where it meets the water. Believe me, 442 feet is a long way!
The cart clinks and we are at the platform. The platform is a room maybe 15 foot by 15 foot with big windows and two doors. We came in the side door and will jumping out the front. Half of it is the blocked off jumping area and the other half is the waiting bit. There are 3 staff members already in it with four customers who've already gone.
"It's awesome man! You'll love it!" His teeth chattering.
I just sit down and try and calm myself.
"OK, Matthias come on buddy, you're up!" Already!
Everyone in the pod watches him get the leg straps tied around his ankles and sat in what looks like a dentist chair as they begin to attach the cord to his feet. Once, they are done they help him up, lead him towards the edge. Count. He jumps. Everyone rushes to the transparent tile in the middle of the platform floor.
Oh, shit that is a long way!!
Everyone laughs at what he just did, but stops short when they realize they arent far behind.
He is reeled back in upside down.
"Felipe, let's go!"
Geez, this is going quick!
I try and take some photos of the drop and the others on the platform but my hand is shaking to much, blurring each shot.
Phil rises out of the chair. And then is gone. Holy shit, this is happening!
Phil reappears in front of the platform, also upside down.
"Doug, you're next!"
(swallow) Without thinking I move forward. The waist high gate opens, and I am sat down in the dentist chair. The introductions are short. He begins giving me directions as he stands face down over my legs, already attaching the giant cord.
"Alright, So we are going to count down from three, then you are going to jump away from the platform. Once you have finished your second bounce you will pull the cord on your left leg."
OMG! Was he just saying something to me. "Which cord?"
"That one."
He shows me, again, but I am still too focused on the edge to have it register.
He helps me out of the chair and I shuffle to the plank, just two foot wide and jutting out a good two feet away from the rest of the platform.
"Further." He yells.
I take another small step.
"Further."
One more.
"Good."
Now, when I decided to do this. I knew there is no chance I would back out. In my mind, there is just no way I could see that happening. A) I thought I had the balls to do it. B) Even if I didnt, I am too stubborn and prideful, to go back and tell everyone I had to come down code 'P.' But once, I got out there on that plank and you see the huge gap in front of you. And you feel the emptiness between you and the rest of the Earth. All that confidence and certainty is gone.
"Alright, 3."
My stomach is completely upside down.
"2."
Am I really about to do this?
"1."
OMG! Did I tie my shoes tight enough?
"Go!"
I clench my bladder, jut my arms out, and scream like a girl as I jump. My heart skips a beat. Holy Shit!
Even though, I made sure to keep my eyes open the entire time, to the point of where my eyes were tearing (from the wind you jerk!), so much of the jump was a blur and still escapes me. But I do remember being terrified and amazed at the same time.
The ground rushes towards you as the cord begins to straighten.
At the bottom, I was expecting an extreme jerk, but that really wasnt the case. I think I was more relieved to know something was holding me to the platform as I neared the water.
I begin to go back up. I know I have to pull a cord on my left leg, but trying to find the right cord when you are upside down and disoriented proved to be difficult. Not knowing what would happen if I didnt pull it and assuming the worst if I pulled the wrong one I began to panic, gently pulling all cords I could reach, until I found the right one. My feet drop down and I am now right side up. I was the only person of the first three to go that were pulled back up head first, not upside down like a fish.
When I got back onto the platform the staff had to stop me from walking off with the cord still attached to my legs. Dazed and shaking, I grope my way to the back of the room, past the next joker about to go suck wind, and sat next to a Spanish girl crying, who just realized her expensive mistake. I began to collect my thoughts.
"That was AWESOME!"
Sample II
Originally posted July 30, 2009 from Kununurra, Australia:
Within 10 k of leaving Broome with my new English crew, the difference between driving with Woman and Men was more then apparent.
With the girls, the car was kept reasonably tidy; there was a designated garbage bag for trash. The windows were up, air conditioning flows. Music was playing but at a tolerable level, so reading and light conversation were possible. And the car just seems to glide to its destination at an effortless pace(save the flat).
With the guys, the car is taring down the road fluctuating between 10 and 30k over the speed limit, the tumble bar is frequently heard as the car slips off the side of the road as the driver stuffs his hand into a bag to grab the last of the potato chips. The windows are open, the music is blaring, conversation is impossible. As you reach down under the seat to try and find some more chips, you tare the old snickers wrapper off your leg that you cant remember eating. We stop only to pee or buy food.
When I was with the girls, we woke up every morning had oats for breakfast with some sort of fruit and a cup of tea. For the two of the last three nights for dinner we had a vegetable curry prepared over our cooking stove.
With the guys, breakfast is usual forgone because you slept in and lunch is whatever you can buy at a gas station, a sandwich, a sausage roll, potato chips, or a candy bar. For dinner, you have the choice of sausage tomato sauce and pasta or tuna tomato sauce and pasta. Indigestion and flatulence are inevitable!
. . . . .
After leaving Broome, our first stop was Derby the last town to get supplies to get supplies at before you take on the Gibbs River Road. The Gibbs River Road is one of the roads you can take between Broome and Darwin to get through the Kimberleys. If you were to look at a map of Western Australia and find the Northern Most highway just at the eastern edge of the state, Route 1, the Gibbs River Road is the dashed line that runs parallel just above it. They say it was a road created by truckers and miners to be able to move whatever to wherever quicker. Dont be mistaken. IT IS NOT A ROAD. It is a mechanics wet dream.
That . . . . that thing is just ridiculous. They say you need a 4 wheel drive. We had that! They say you need extra gasoline. We had 20 L on top of our existing 60 L gas tank. They say you need two spare tires. We had one. They say you need all of the usual outback supplies, lots of water, extra engine oil, sun screen . . . we left with that but our faulty roof rack decided to toss most of our supplies into the bush arbitrarily. By the end of the trip we had lost two pairs of shoes, a water bottle, 20 L of water, the engine oil, a sleeping bag mat, and even our other tent. By the end 3 of us were sleeping in our three man tent and the fourth was left to sleep across the seats in the truck.
But even with the supplies we managed to retain we still werent prepared for that damn thing. On the third day, after we were 160 ks from the last road house and just 40 ks of the next camp ground we got a flat. We took all of the crap out of our car to get to the jack, jacked up the car, changed the car (I took the lead due to me recent experience) put all of the crap back in the boot, tied down the old wheel and kept on. Not within 400 m of the first (hand to God) we got a second flat. We have no second spare. We had to flag down a Swiss couple to give one of the English guys a ride to the next campsite to get our spare changed.
The remaining three of us sat on that road for 3 and a half hours, playing soccer or napping until he returned. Five cars passed in those 3 and a half hours.
The six was a bunch of French guys blaring Johnny Cash with Tony, the English guy, with the fixed spare on his lap. We thanked the Frogs for helping us, got the jack, changed the tire and then race towards the campsite before dusk to avoid the soon to be active Kangaroo, Dingo, and roaming cattle. On the way to the campsite we have no issues but begin to hear a sharp metal on metal sound from the front wheel and once in the campsite parking lot get a third flat.
The next morning, we had created a quite ambitious itinerary of seeing some hot springs and more gorges, but it was all destroyed by the mechanics diagnosis that we had a broken wheel barring and a new one would have to flown out from Perth (where I started from) and would take probably 3 or 4 days to get there. On top of that he was only able to fix one of our tires and didnt have a spare our size, so we had no spare. We asked the mechanic whether or not he thought wed been able to get to Kununurra if we just road on it real slow. He said he wouldnt move it. We had some thinking to do.
Now with the girls, when we came to a cross roads and a decision needed to be made, the options were talked about, considered, and a consensus was formed.
With the guys, the options were talked about, considered and then we decided what most men do, when they refuse to except the reality of situation and just give in to the irrational pack mentality:
"Fuck it, lets Go!"
We drove on that piece of crap wheel, some 130 k, to get to Kununurra, at an average speed of 25 miles an hour with our blinkers blazing to get here. The tire began to wobble but we kept going. The front brakes began to give, but we kept going. The metal screeching sound got unbearable, we turned the music up. We stopped twice to discuss whether or not it is possible for a wheel to actually fall off a car, but we kept going. And I have never seen so many crazy looks as we pulled into that garage. Some laughed and others just shook their heads, but Damn it, we made it!
. . . . . .
Right now, we are waiting on those parts from Perth they say two days, and a couple of hours to install, assuming no other damage, but who knows. But I am now back in Limbo, and I have to decide whether or not to keep going with the English blokes or to catch another ride onto Darwin. But as the Aussie's say 'No Worries!'
Within 10 k of leaving Broome with my new English crew, the difference between driving with Woman and Men was more then apparent.
With the girls, the car was kept reasonably tidy; there was a designated garbage bag for trash. The windows were up, air conditioning flows. Music was playing but at a tolerable level, so reading and light conversation were possible. And the car just seems to glide to its destination at an effortless pace(save the flat).
With the guys, the car is taring down the road fluctuating between 10 and 30k over the speed limit, the tumble bar is frequently heard as the car slips off the side of the road as the driver stuffs his hand into a bag to grab the last of the potato chips. The windows are open, the music is blaring, conversation is impossible. As you reach down under the seat to try and find some more chips, you tare the old snickers wrapper off your leg that you cant remember eating. We stop only to pee or buy food.
When I was with the girls, we woke up every morning had oats for breakfast with some sort of fruit and a cup of tea. For the two of the last three nights for dinner we had a vegetable curry prepared over our cooking stove.
With the guys, breakfast is usual forgone because you slept in and lunch is whatever you can buy at a gas station, a sandwich, a sausage roll, potato chips, or a candy bar. For dinner, you have the choice of sausage tomato sauce and pasta or tuna tomato sauce and pasta. Indigestion and flatulence are inevitable!
. . . . .
After leaving Broome, our first stop was Derby the last town to get supplies to get supplies at before you take on the Gibbs River Road. The Gibbs River Road is one of the roads you can take between Broome and Darwin to get through the Kimberleys. If you were to look at a map of Western Australia and find the Northern Most highway just at the eastern edge of the state, Route 1, the Gibbs River Road is the dashed line that runs parallel just above it. They say it was a road created by truckers and miners to be able to move whatever to wherever quicker. Dont be mistaken. IT IS NOT A ROAD. It is a mechanics wet dream.
That . . . . that thing is just ridiculous. They say you need a 4 wheel drive. We had that! They say you need extra gasoline. We had 20 L on top of our existing 60 L gas tank. They say you need two spare tires. We had one. They say you need all of the usual outback supplies, lots of water, extra engine oil, sun screen . . . we left with that but our faulty roof rack decided to toss most of our supplies into the bush arbitrarily. By the end of the trip we had lost two pairs of shoes, a water bottle, 20 L of water, the engine oil, a sleeping bag mat, and even our other tent. By the end 3 of us were sleeping in our three man tent and the fourth was left to sleep across the seats in the truck.
But even with the supplies we managed to retain we still werent prepared for that damn thing. On the third day, after we were 160 ks from the last road house and just 40 ks of the next camp ground we got a flat. We took all of the crap out of our car to get to the jack, jacked up the car, changed the car (I took the lead due to me recent experience) put all of the crap back in the boot, tied down the old wheel and kept on. Not within 400 m of the first (hand to God) we got a second flat. We have no second spare. We had to flag down a Swiss couple to give one of the English guys a ride to the next campsite to get our spare changed.
The remaining three of us sat on that road for 3 and a half hours, playing soccer or napping until he returned. Five cars passed in those 3 and a half hours.
The six was a bunch of French guys blaring Johnny Cash with Tony, the English guy, with the fixed spare on his lap. We thanked the Frogs for helping us, got the jack, changed the tire and then race towards the campsite before dusk to avoid the soon to be active Kangaroo, Dingo, and roaming cattle. On the way to the campsite we have no issues but begin to hear a sharp metal on metal sound from the front wheel and once in the campsite parking lot get a third flat.
The next morning, we had created a quite ambitious itinerary of seeing some hot springs and more gorges, but it was all destroyed by the mechanics diagnosis that we had a broken wheel barring and a new one would have to flown out from Perth (where I started from) and would take probably 3 or 4 days to get there. On top of that he was only able to fix one of our tires and didnt have a spare our size, so we had no spare. We asked the mechanic whether or not he thought wed been able to get to Kununurra if we just road on it real slow. He said he wouldnt move it. We had some thinking to do.
Now with the girls, when we came to a cross roads and a decision needed to be made, the options were talked about, considered, and a consensus was formed.
With the guys, the options were talked about, considered and then we decided what most men do, when they refuse to except the reality of situation and just give in to the irrational pack mentality:
"Fuck it, lets Go!"
We drove on that piece of crap wheel, some 130 k, to get to Kununurra, at an average speed of 25 miles an hour with our blinkers blazing to get here. The tire began to wobble but we kept going. The front brakes began to give, but we kept going. The metal screeching sound got unbearable, we turned the music up. We stopped twice to discuss whether or not it is possible for a wheel to actually fall off a car, but we kept going. And I have never seen so many crazy looks as we pulled into that garage. Some laughed and others just shook their heads, but Damn it, we made it!
. . . . . .
Right now, we are waiting on those parts from Perth they say two days, and a couple of hours to install, assuming no other damage, but who knows. But I am now back in Limbo, and I have to decide whether or not to keep going with the English blokes or to catch another ride onto Darwin. But as the Aussie's say 'No Worries!'
Sample III
Originally posted August 30, 2009 from Bundaberg, Australia:
GAMP!
I am writing this next post more for therapeutic purposes then for my usual entertain. The following is pretty gross and mildly disturbing (but no less true), so I dont recommend everyone read it. Grandma please dont read this, it is gross. Any cousins I have that are under 15 and are following along, thanks for doing so, but please give this one a skip. Maddie (my cat) please do not give into your usual curious instincts but instead resume whatever it is you do for a living. Honestly, nothing really happened to me, so if you dont read this you are not missing anything.
[Grandma, I put a circle where it is save for you to start reading again.]
OK, so to get from Airlie Beach to Bundaberg, I had to take an overnight bus. The bus left Airlie Beach at 5:25 pm and was expected to get into Bundaberg at 3:30 am. All was fine, I got to the bus OK, there were no issues getting on, everyone who wanted to was able to find a seat in empty row, so they had two seats to themselves. I even ended up sitting across the row from a pretty French girl who recognized me from Cairns.
"Do you play Volleyball?"
"Why, yes I do."
"Yes, I saw you in Cairnes."
"I bet you did!" (Damn, thats what I should have said!"
As you can see, things were good.
But about an hour into the ride, I noticed a very foul smell coming from the person in front of me. It was actually very, very foul. It smelt like he was wearing his socks and then eating them or eating some kind of wet cat food. It was rank and I think made my hair one shade lighter.
Luckily, it only came in small powerful bursts. Fine. I can handle that.
About an hour or so later, I noticed him picking his nose and then balling up his little treasure. I didnt see their final destination . . . the bottom of the seat, his mouth, his eye. I dont know and I dont care as long as it wasnt me. Its fine, its gross and weird but I can handle that.
About two hours later, it got really weird. As I was watching 'Cadillac Man,' the movie they put on on the bus, I noticed him watching something. He was watching this movie on his camera, that I presume he took, of some guy dancing around. Now normally, I wouldnt have thought anything of it, it just looked like some drunken tape he took of him and his buddies, which he evidently he missed. But he kept glancing back at me while watching it. What is going on? I just pretended that I didnt notice him glancing back and just kept watching the group movie.
. .
. .
But, he kept glancing back so much, that is was obvious he was doing something that he felt was wrong. And I was able to see that the guy on the camera now had his shirt off. The 'short clips' that I saw didnt go where you are thinking it is going, but the volume of footage of this person that he had and the way in which he was watching it made it uber creepy. He had enough footage to continuously watch videos of this person through 'Cadillac Man' and then for a while there after.
I am now beginning to get concerned. It is pretty late and I am tired and I want to go to sleep but I am too scared at this point. I am afraid that this creepy dude might try to take a video of me or touch me while Im sleeping or something that I cant let happen. So I dont sleep. I keep fading in out. I just keep trying to keep tabs on what he is doing, without looking at him long enough to give him reason to look at me.
. .
. .
At about 2 am, I noticed that he had stopped watching his video and stopped glancing at me. He was now looking at the French girl across the row fom me. She had turned her reading light on at some point during the trip, and then apparently fell asleep under it. So when the lights went down on the bus she was clearly illuminated laying against the window.
His glancing at her was obvious; she was over his shoulder so you could easily see his head swivel back and forth with each glance.
Now, what he is doing in the seat in front of me during this is unclear. I dont see his hands or anything tangible that I could describe to you that led me to my conclusion, except his timid learing, but I know something is up and I am NOT fine with it.
Sleeping is no longer an option. Survival is now the goal. My only option it to now just sit and watch this guy watch this girl and only hope that I stay awake long enough to prevent anything too weird from happening beyond what I already suspect.
I liked this guy better when he was holding his camera.
. .
Dont Sleep!
. .
Dont Sleep!
. .
(eyes closing)
Dont Sleep!
. .
Then out of the blue, the French girl wakes up, quickly pulls her jacket over herself, and now turns away so that she is no long facing him. During this, he whips his head around and throws himself so that he is face down on his row of chairs. Now, I didnt see her see him, but both of these evidents happened at the exact same moment, and they both moved with such speed and purpose that what happened was clear.
I am initially disgusted, but eventually relieved, because as long as he stayed like this I think potential for encountering any type of UFO has been decreased to threat level blue.
I know he must have been embarrassed because he remained on his stomach for the rest of the trip or at least till he got off (no pun intended).
. .
This was good but bad, because he got off at my stop!
As we were pulling into Bundaberg, my stop, and the driver announced we were almost there, I started to get my stuff together. He does so, too.
Are you kidding me? What have I done to deserve this? This guy could only have been a worse bus companion if he jumped into my seat and then tried to give me a high five after his solo adventure. And then pulled a parrot and a baby out of his bag.
Why me?
I say goodbye to the French girl, acting as if I knew nothing and get off the bus.
The driver hands me my bag. I asked where a certain hostel was. I didnt have anything booked at this point, but I had heard this hostel was good so I asked about it. The driver starts to give me the directions, but someone interrupts from behind me,
"It's OK, I am going there, too. You can follow me!" NO, IT CANT BE!
I turn around and I am now looking directly at the certain individual, except now there is no chair separating us. OMG Please Dont Touch Me!
I am stunned. And when did you put on sweatpants?
He takes my lack of saying anything as acceptance and marches on. I hesitate. God please dont let the French girl see me walk away with this person. But I really did need to find a place to stay and I Swedish fellow also said he needed to get there too, so I count myself temporarily safe and followed. But I made sure to leave a healthy margin between me and the geographically ambiguous masturbater.
Withing a couple of meters of leaving the station with Pee Wee Herman and the Swede, I saw a different hostel then the one we were heading to.
"Guys, Im just going to check this hostel. I dont want to have to carry my bags any further then I need to." Or get slimed!
"No problem, we will watch your bag." said the GAMP (a geographically ambiguous masturbating person). I look at the Swede. Do not let this person touch my bag or your person. No response.
I go up to the hostel doors. No lights on. Reception is closed. And noone is about to sneak me in. SERIOUSLY, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? I return to the guys.
"Guys its closed, but I am going to just hang out in front of this hostel till it opens in the morning."
The GAMP replies: "No dont be silly, I know someone at (the other hostel). She'll let us in and we can all crash in the TV room tonight together."
There is no way I am sleeping anywhere near this guy, let alone on an open floor. . . . even with Sweden between us. I open my mouth to politely refuse, when this drunk German girl comes out of no where.
"Hey, where are you all headed?" She said. Easily, identifying us as foreign newcomers, by our backpacks and the confused expression on the three of our faces. One face even looked like it had tears in its eyes.
The Swede tells her the hostel name.
"Yeah thats where Im staying too. I dont know how you are going to get into your room because reception is closed, but there are two empty beds in my room you can sneak into."
I make sure to say Thanks first to claim my stake in one of them, and pat the Swede on the back to claim his. The German girl begins to think through her offer:
"Its in an all girl dorm though. . ."
"haha, Dont worry! We dont mind!"
. . . So, I was pretty much saved from the GAMP and his sticky fingers by this drunk German girl. I was beyond relieved. This German girl made up for the two the other night and their tequila.
And that is how the story pretty much ended. I was able to secure one bed and the Swede the other without incident. And I was able to say goodbye to the GAMP without a handshake or even so much as a second look.
In the morning, I left without reception protesting and checked into a hostel on the other side of Bundaberg.
And since, I have been spending the last two in this tiny town wandering the streets trying not to bump into a certain individual. So far I have been successful.
But the whole irony of the situation is, the thing that brought me into this warped situation is going to be the same one to get me out of it: Another night bus!
O [Welcome back Grandma!]
And that's why I dont collect PEZ dispensers anymore!
GAMP!
I am writing this next post more for therapeutic purposes then for my usual entertain. The following is pretty gross and mildly disturbing (but no less true), so I dont recommend everyone read it. Grandma please dont read this, it is gross. Any cousins I have that are under 15 and are following along, thanks for doing so, but please give this one a skip. Maddie (my cat) please do not give into your usual curious instincts but instead resume whatever it is you do for a living. Honestly, nothing really happened to me, so if you dont read this you are not missing anything.
[Grandma, I put a circle where it is save for you to start reading again.]
OK, so to get from Airlie Beach to Bundaberg, I had to take an overnight bus. The bus left Airlie Beach at 5:25 pm and was expected to get into Bundaberg at 3:30 am. All was fine, I got to the bus OK, there were no issues getting on, everyone who wanted to was able to find a seat in empty row, so they had two seats to themselves. I even ended up sitting across the row from a pretty French girl who recognized me from Cairns.
"Do you play Volleyball?"
"Why, yes I do."
"Yes, I saw you in Cairnes."
"I bet you did!" (Damn, thats what I should have said!"
As you can see, things were good.
But about an hour into the ride, I noticed a very foul smell coming from the person in front of me. It was actually very, very foul. It smelt like he was wearing his socks and then eating them or eating some kind of wet cat food. It was rank and I think made my hair one shade lighter.
Luckily, it only came in small powerful bursts. Fine. I can handle that.
About an hour or so later, I noticed him picking his nose and then balling up his little treasure. I didnt see their final destination . . . the bottom of the seat, his mouth, his eye. I dont know and I dont care as long as it wasnt me. Its fine, its gross and weird but I can handle that.
About two hours later, it got really weird. As I was watching 'Cadillac Man,' the movie they put on on the bus, I noticed him watching something. He was watching this movie on his camera, that I presume he took, of some guy dancing around. Now normally, I wouldnt have thought anything of it, it just looked like some drunken tape he took of him and his buddies, which he evidently he missed. But he kept glancing back at me while watching it. What is going on? I just pretended that I didnt notice him glancing back and just kept watching the group movie.
. .
. .
But, he kept glancing back so much, that is was obvious he was doing something that he felt was wrong. And I was able to see that the guy on the camera now had his shirt off. The 'short clips' that I saw didnt go where you are thinking it is going, but the volume of footage of this person that he had and the way in which he was watching it made it uber creepy. He had enough footage to continuously watch videos of this person through 'Cadillac Man' and then for a while there after.
I am now beginning to get concerned. It is pretty late and I am tired and I want to go to sleep but I am too scared at this point. I am afraid that this creepy dude might try to take a video of me or touch me while Im sleeping or something that I cant let happen. So I dont sleep. I keep fading in out. I just keep trying to keep tabs on what he is doing, without looking at him long enough to give him reason to look at me.
. .
. .
At about 2 am, I noticed that he had stopped watching his video and stopped glancing at me. He was now looking at the French girl across the row fom me. She had turned her reading light on at some point during the trip, and then apparently fell asleep under it. So when the lights went down on the bus she was clearly illuminated laying against the window.
His glancing at her was obvious; she was over his shoulder so you could easily see his head swivel back and forth with each glance.
Now, what he is doing in the seat in front of me during this is unclear. I dont see his hands or anything tangible that I could describe to you that led me to my conclusion, except his timid learing, but I know something is up and I am NOT fine with it.
Sleeping is no longer an option. Survival is now the goal. My only option it to now just sit and watch this guy watch this girl and only hope that I stay awake long enough to prevent anything too weird from happening beyond what I already suspect.
I liked this guy better when he was holding his camera.
. .
Dont Sleep!
. .
Dont Sleep!
. .
(eyes closing)
Dont Sleep!
. .
Then out of the blue, the French girl wakes up, quickly pulls her jacket over herself, and now turns away so that she is no long facing him. During this, he whips his head around and throws himself so that he is face down on his row of chairs. Now, I didnt see her see him, but both of these evidents happened at the exact same moment, and they both moved with such speed and purpose that what happened was clear.
I am initially disgusted, but eventually relieved, because as long as he stayed like this I think potential for encountering any type of UFO has been decreased to threat level blue.
I know he must have been embarrassed because he remained on his stomach for the rest of the trip or at least till he got off (no pun intended).
. .
This was good but bad, because he got off at my stop!
As we were pulling into Bundaberg, my stop, and the driver announced we were almost there, I started to get my stuff together. He does so, too.
Are you kidding me? What have I done to deserve this? This guy could only have been a worse bus companion if he jumped into my seat and then tried to give me a high five after his solo adventure. And then pulled a parrot and a baby out of his bag.
Why me?
I say goodbye to the French girl, acting as if I knew nothing and get off the bus.
The driver hands me my bag. I asked where a certain hostel was. I didnt have anything booked at this point, but I had heard this hostel was good so I asked about it. The driver starts to give me the directions, but someone interrupts from behind me,
"It's OK, I am going there, too. You can follow me!" NO, IT CANT BE!
I turn around and I am now looking directly at the certain individual, except now there is no chair separating us. OMG Please Dont Touch Me!
I am stunned. And when did you put on sweatpants?
He takes my lack of saying anything as acceptance and marches on. I hesitate. God please dont let the French girl see me walk away with this person. But I really did need to find a place to stay and I Swedish fellow also said he needed to get there too, so I count myself temporarily safe and followed. But I made sure to leave a healthy margin between me and the geographically ambiguous masturbater.
Withing a couple of meters of leaving the station with Pee Wee Herman and the Swede, I saw a different hostel then the one we were heading to.
"Guys, Im just going to check this hostel. I dont want to have to carry my bags any further then I need to." Or get slimed!
"No problem, we will watch your bag." said the GAMP (a geographically ambiguous masturbating person). I look at the Swede. Do not let this person touch my bag or your person. No response.
I go up to the hostel doors. No lights on. Reception is closed. And noone is about to sneak me in. SERIOUSLY, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? I return to the guys.
"Guys its closed, but I am going to just hang out in front of this hostel till it opens in the morning."
The GAMP replies: "No dont be silly, I know someone at (the other hostel). She'll let us in and we can all crash in the TV room tonight together."
There is no way I am sleeping anywhere near this guy, let alone on an open floor. . . . even with Sweden between us. I open my mouth to politely refuse, when this drunk German girl comes out of no where.
"Hey, where are you all headed?" She said. Easily, identifying us as foreign newcomers, by our backpacks and the confused expression on the three of our faces. One face even looked like it had tears in its eyes.
The Swede tells her the hostel name.
"Yeah thats where Im staying too. I dont know how you are going to get into your room because reception is closed, but there are two empty beds in my room you can sneak into."
I make sure to say Thanks first to claim my stake in one of them, and pat the Swede on the back to claim his. The German girl begins to think through her offer:
"Its in an all girl dorm though. . ."
"haha, Dont worry! We dont mind!"
. . . So, I was pretty much saved from the GAMP and his sticky fingers by this drunk German girl. I was beyond relieved. This German girl made up for the two the other night and their tequila.
And that is how the story pretty much ended. I was able to secure one bed and the Swede the other without incident. And I was able to say goodbye to the GAMP without a handshake or even so much as a second look.
In the morning, I left without reception protesting and checked into a hostel on the other side of Bundaberg.
And since, I have been spending the last two in this tiny town wandering the streets trying not to bump into a certain individual. So far I have been successful.
But the whole irony of the situation is, the thing that brought me into this warped situation is going to be the same one to get me out of it: Another night bus!
O [Welcome back Grandma!]
And that's why I dont collect PEZ dispensers anymore!
Sample IV
Originally posted November 18,2009 from Portland, Oregon:
"So Doug, what was your favorite place on the trip? How was it traveling on your own? Do you have any crazy stories? Would you ever go back? How did you pay for this whole thing? How does it feel to be back? What are you going to do next? What are you going to do for work? Are you going to stay in finance? Are you going to stay in Virginia? "
Portland, Oregon was the final destination on my trip. In less then 12 hours, I will board a plane to Washington to DC with tickets I bought 9 months ago in Fremantle. Nine Months Ago. When I bought these tickets, I never actually anticipated having to get on a plane to go home. But, here we are, I am almost home.
On July 6, 2008, I left home. My only object was to go wherever I wanted. I had a backpack, 4 months worth of malaria tablets, visas to Russia, India, and Australia for a 6 -12 month trip. And now 17 months later, I will stroll back into Virginia thus ending Doug Jeffery's excellent adventure.
In total, I have spent 3 weeks in Europe, 5 months in Southeast Asia, 9 months in Australia, 6 weeks in New Zealand, 1 week in Hawaii, and 10 day between Seattle and Portland. I have been to over 15 countries, across 4 continents and have crossed ever longitude there is on a map. This trip has been great. I met tons of different people and have had loads of different experiences that have no doubt shaped who I am.
I have tangled with pimps, bus road through guerrillas, hung out with monks, done visa runs into Malayasia, and shot AKs with the best. WIthout a doubt when I am a 100 year old man, sitting on my hover rocking chair, these will be some of the better days I look back on, if I can remember them. And I count myself lucky to have had them.
I realize that this trip is something that not everyone can do, and know that a lot of things had to fall into place for this trip to have occured, most of which were outside my own control. I had to graduate from College with no debt Thanks Mom & Dad!, get a job that allowed me to save enough money to start off my trip Thanks, Freddie!, be willing to quit that job Later, Freddie!, have no romantic attachments [sad face] , and then seeing that I had no significant responsibilities and some money, been willing to walk away from everything I have ever known to take advantage of the opportunity I saw before me.
So here we are.
I mean how many people do you know who can start a sentence:
"This one time in Russia . . . . "
- or -
"Last time I was in Cambodia . . . . . "
- or -
" Well, my Australian manager at McDonalds use to say. . . . . "
Very few have had this privilege and no doubt I count myself luckily to have experienced it. But times werent all good. A lot of episodes of internal strife and self doubt existed in this trip. There was a lot of my going back and forth as to whether or not this was the right decision and whether or not it was right to give up whatever it is I had. It wasnt easy just setting out and leaving everything and everyone I knew behind.
This as well as many other issues peppered my trip. For instance, at one point, I was in Phenom Penh, Cambodia and was very sick. I didnt tell anyone about, especially my parents, because I knew it would just freak out an already freaked out bunch of people. So that morning, when I woke up shivering in a pool of my own sweat, with a fever, upset stomach, uncontrollable headache, after convulsing all night, and rode to the hospital on the back of a motorbike sure I was going to die in Cambodia from Dengue Fever, I kept it to myself.
But still I pushed on.
And while I accrued storied abroad, things kept moving at home, most of which, I wish I could have been there for. When it comes to sports, I follow only one sport; only one team: the Philadelphia Phillies. For most of my life, I have watched them flounder around in the NL East basement, almost never doing anything worth noting. And even when they got close to doing something worth talking about, they inevitably fell short. Thank you very much, Joe Carter!
But while I was gone, that all changed. The Phillies have only won two World Series in their entire franchise history. Only one of which was during my lifetime . . . . . And I missed it, because of this trip.
While I was gone, Cosmo my dog of 14 years died. Without being overly dramatic, that hit me pretty hard. I was just a month into my trip and had just got into Bangkok, my first stop, my first time in Asia. The streets were crowded, loud, and dirty; culture shock is the term that is thrown around. I had retreated off the streets to regroup and check my email, and found out that he had to be put down. Now, I know this shouldnt be that big of a deal to any grown man, but it was. Anyone, who stepped foot into the Jeffery household in Virginia was no doubt instantly won by Cosmo's oversized beagle bark and poor table manners. He was a very charismatic dog but more importantly a staple of my home. And I lost that part of home, at a moment when I wanted home the most.
Being away from home, means that I have missed some critical family moments, a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, my cousin's graduation, numerous birthdays, and even a medical emergency. When I get home I will never have seen my brother when he was 21 and he will never have seen me when I was 24. I have been in Red Square, more recently then I have been in my own bedroom. And I will have tasted authentic Pad Thai more recently then I have had my grandmother's stuffing. Dont get me wrong Australian beach Christmas's are fun, but if you ask me it isnt Christmas if you arent arguing over a pictionary timer with your family in a cold climate.
Two weeks ago, when I stepped into Hawaii that was my first steps into Obama America.
When I initially left the country, everyone was asking, "So, you are American? What do you think of Bush?"
That changed to "Oh, so who are you going to vote for?"
To: "Oh, so what do you think of Obama?"
I watched the presidential election in an American Embassy surrounded by Vietnamese, a bit surreal. And have been struggling to keep up on American news from the often diluted and jaded tid bits I can, ever since. My how things have changed (a touch of sarcasm).
No doubt after my entire trip, I am excited to go home. I didnt leave because I didnt like the US, or my family or friends. I left because I wanted to see something different and travel a bit before I knew that wasnt going to be a realistic option. So when I say I am excited to go home, being excited doesnt fully express how pumped I am to see my family and friends after so long. But at the same time I am very real about the situation. I know that while I have been away time hasnt stood still. People have not been waiting for me to return in the same spot I have left. Things have been moving forward for everyone. So I cant help but be anxious for my return and as to how, I am going to fit back into the Virginia I left.
"Doug, so was the trip worth it?"
ha, of course. I wouldnt trade a moment of it for anything. I dont second guess my decision to leave or length of time I spent away. But still I worry as to whether or not Ill be able to keep up with the conversation my friend are having when I get back? And as to whether or not I will I be able understand the gossip going on around the table at Thanksgiving? And as to whether or not I will be able to comfortably fall back into a 'typical' routine and kill the travel flight instinct that now grows within me.
"So whats next for Doug?"
[deep breath] To be honest, I have no idea. This is a big part of why I left to start with. My trip was suppose to be a time of soul searching [blah, bablah] . . . . Have I figured out what it is I want to do? No! But I think a big part of my trip was my coming to terms with that and just accepting this.
Do I know what it is I want to do next? No, not really. . . . so tomorrow, I am going to get off the plane, hug my parents, unpack my bag, move back into my parents basement, hang my giant diploma next to my old Cookie monster poster, and just continue to live the dream. The dream that any unemployed, broke person that lives with the parents can live. . . . .
What's next for Doug? I dont know. Things couldnt be more unsure. But one things is for sure. I could use a vacation.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
On Thursday November 19, 2009 at 9:54 pm, Ill touch down in Washington DC. Home Again!
"So Doug, what was your favorite place on the trip? How was it traveling on your own? Do you have any crazy stories? Would you ever go back? How did you pay for this whole thing? How does it feel to be back? What are you going to do next? What are you going to do for work? Are you going to stay in finance? Are you going to stay in Virginia? "
Portland, Oregon was the final destination on my trip. In less then 12 hours, I will board a plane to Washington to DC with tickets I bought 9 months ago in Fremantle. Nine Months Ago. When I bought these tickets, I never actually anticipated having to get on a plane to go home. But, here we are, I am almost home.
On July 6, 2008, I left home. My only object was to go wherever I wanted. I had a backpack, 4 months worth of malaria tablets, visas to Russia, India, and Australia for a 6 -12 month trip. And now 17 months later, I will stroll back into Virginia thus ending Doug Jeffery's excellent adventure.
In total, I have spent 3 weeks in Europe, 5 months in Southeast Asia, 9 months in Australia, 6 weeks in New Zealand, 1 week in Hawaii, and 10 day between Seattle and Portland. I have been to over 15 countries, across 4 continents and have crossed ever longitude there is on a map. This trip has been great. I met tons of different people and have had loads of different experiences that have no doubt shaped who I am.
I have tangled with pimps, bus road through guerrillas, hung out with monks, done visa runs into Malayasia, and shot AKs with the best. WIthout a doubt when I am a 100 year old man, sitting on my hover rocking chair, these will be some of the better days I look back on, if I can remember them. And I count myself lucky to have had them.
I realize that this trip is something that not everyone can do, and know that a lot of things had to fall into place for this trip to have occured, most of which were outside my own control. I had to graduate from College with no debt Thanks Mom & Dad!, get a job that allowed me to save enough money to start off my trip Thanks, Freddie!, be willing to quit that job Later, Freddie!, have no romantic attachments [sad face] , and then seeing that I had no significant responsibilities and some money, been willing to walk away from everything I have ever known to take advantage of the opportunity I saw before me.
So here we are.
I mean how many people do you know who can start a sentence:
"This one time in Russia . . . . "
- or -
"Last time I was in Cambodia . . . . . "
- or -
" Well, my Australian manager at McDonalds use to say. . . . . "
Very few have had this privilege and no doubt I count myself luckily to have experienced it. But times werent all good. A lot of episodes of internal strife and self doubt existed in this trip. There was a lot of my going back and forth as to whether or not this was the right decision and whether or not it was right to give up whatever it is I had. It wasnt easy just setting out and leaving everything and everyone I knew behind.
This as well as many other issues peppered my trip. For instance, at one point, I was in Phenom Penh, Cambodia and was very sick. I didnt tell anyone about, especially my parents, because I knew it would just freak out an already freaked out bunch of people. So that morning, when I woke up shivering in a pool of my own sweat, with a fever, upset stomach, uncontrollable headache, after convulsing all night, and rode to the hospital on the back of a motorbike sure I was going to die in Cambodia from Dengue Fever, I kept it to myself.
But still I pushed on.
And while I accrued storied abroad, things kept moving at home, most of which, I wish I could have been there for. When it comes to sports, I follow only one sport; only one team: the Philadelphia Phillies. For most of my life, I have watched them flounder around in the NL East basement, almost never doing anything worth noting. And even when they got close to doing something worth talking about, they inevitably fell short. Thank you very much, Joe Carter!
But while I was gone, that all changed. The Phillies have only won two World Series in their entire franchise history. Only one of which was during my lifetime . . . . . And I missed it, because of this trip.
While I was gone, Cosmo my dog of 14 years died. Without being overly dramatic, that hit me pretty hard. I was just a month into my trip and had just got into Bangkok, my first stop, my first time in Asia. The streets were crowded, loud, and dirty; culture shock is the term that is thrown around. I had retreated off the streets to regroup and check my email, and found out that he had to be put down. Now, I know this shouldnt be that big of a deal to any grown man, but it was. Anyone, who stepped foot into the Jeffery household in Virginia was no doubt instantly won by Cosmo's oversized beagle bark and poor table manners. He was a very charismatic dog but more importantly a staple of my home. And I lost that part of home, at a moment when I wanted home the most.
Being away from home, means that I have missed some critical family moments, a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, my cousin's graduation, numerous birthdays, and even a medical emergency. When I get home I will never have seen my brother when he was 21 and he will never have seen me when I was 24. I have been in Red Square, more recently then I have been in my own bedroom. And I will have tasted authentic Pad Thai more recently then I have had my grandmother's stuffing. Dont get me wrong Australian beach Christmas's are fun, but if you ask me it isnt Christmas if you arent arguing over a pictionary timer with your family in a cold climate.
Two weeks ago, when I stepped into Hawaii that was my first steps into Obama America.
When I initially left the country, everyone was asking, "So, you are American? What do you think of Bush?"
That changed to "Oh, so who are you going to vote for?"
To: "Oh, so what do you think of Obama?"
I watched the presidential election in an American Embassy surrounded by Vietnamese, a bit surreal. And have been struggling to keep up on American news from the often diluted and jaded tid bits I can, ever since. My how things have changed (a touch of sarcasm).
No doubt after my entire trip, I am excited to go home. I didnt leave because I didnt like the US, or my family or friends. I left because I wanted to see something different and travel a bit before I knew that wasnt going to be a realistic option. So when I say I am excited to go home, being excited doesnt fully express how pumped I am to see my family and friends after so long. But at the same time I am very real about the situation. I know that while I have been away time hasnt stood still. People have not been waiting for me to return in the same spot I have left. Things have been moving forward for everyone. So I cant help but be anxious for my return and as to how, I am going to fit back into the Virginia I left.
"Doug, so was the trip worth it?"
ha, of course. I wouldnt trade a moment of it for anything. I dont second guess my decision to leave or length of time I spent away. But still I worry as to whether or not Ill be able to keep up with the conversation my friend are having when I get back? And as to whether or not I will I be able understand the gossip going on around the table at Thanksgiving? And as to whether or not I will be able to comfortably fall back into a 'typical' routine and kill the travel flight instinct that now grows within me.
"So whats next for Doug?"
[deep breath] To be honest, I have no idea. This is a big part of why I left to start with. My trip was suppose to be a time of soul searching [blah, bablah] . . . . Have I figured out what it is I want to do? No! But I think a big part of my trip was my coming to terms with that and just accepting this.
Do I know what it is I want to do next? No, not really. . . . so tomorrow, I am going to get off the plane, hug my parents, unpack my bag, move back into my parents basement, hang my giant diploma next to my old Cookie monster poster, and just continue to live the dream. The dream that any unemployed, broke person that lives with the parents can live. . . . .
What's next for Doug? I dont know. Things couldnt be more unsure. But one things is for sure. I could use a vacation.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
On Thursday November 19, 2009 at 9:54 pm, Ill touch down in Washington DC. Home Again!
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