Wednesday, 19 November 2008

Acting stupid

I don't know what it is about those four little words that make them so ever powerful. I can't tell you how many times I have done something massively stupid and potentially very dangerous just because someone looked at me defiantly and said "You wouldn't dare!". Even now, at twenty-frigging-seven years old, people are able to make me do dumb stuff on a dare. When will it end? Probably never, because I suspect that I secretly just really want to do those things, even though I know I probably shouldn't. I use the dare to silence my better judgement.

There are basically two kinds of dares. The one where you do something that is very likely to kill (or at the very least injure) you, and the one that makes you behave inappropriately. Like a few weeks ago, when I saw this boy with very VERY low riding jeans, the kind where your whole arse is hanging out, and since he was wearing skintight, faded white boxers which were worn to a thread, there was nothing left to the imagination. Did I mention we were at a gay bar? Anyway, my friends and I were cracking jokes at the lad's backside and I mentioned I would love to walk up to him and hoist those trousers up... You can guess what happened next right? He did look a little confused, and I suppose it was a bit rude of me, but so was he in literally wagging his tail in all our faces.

The dares that could have landed me in the hospital are too numerous to recall, but there was one last year that was particularly reckless, and fun! I was traveling Southern-Africa at the time, and was staying in Coffee Bay on the Wild Coast (formally known as the Transkaai, one of the ten black "homelands" during apartheid). We were on a three hour hike which ended at "Hole in the wall" (pictured above). A massive rock about one kilometre out into the ocean. We were supposed to have a picknick there, but it wasn't long before we were planning our little adventure to swim to, climb and jump the hole. In the picture the sea looks quite tame, but I assure you that things near the hole were very scary indeed.
The first problem were the razor sharp rocks. Just walking (crawling more like) into the water was a very painful and akward looking experience, but once we got to the rock we realised we had seen nothing yet. Trying to climb onto it, we cut everything that touched the evil stones and their nasty little barnacle friends. And we touched them a lot, since the waves kept smashing us into them. Once we had made it to the platform from where we could climb inside the 14 meter high hole in the wall, we started to realise what we had gotten ourselves into.
There we all were, bleeding profusely and about the jump back into the most shark infested waters in the world and the Great White's home turf. Shit! And that was only if we managed to survive the perilous climb up into the hole and time our jump precisely so we wouldn't plummet to our deaths, or be hurled back on the rocks by an overenthusiastic wave. We had to hit the (hopully shark-free) wave precisely mid hole and drag our bloody bodies back to safety. Which we did. Except for this one giant tattood guy who got so scared for the jump that we had to borrow a child's canoe in order to get the big wuss back on dry land.

Best time ever!

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