Crazy Kiwi

“Well, if you’re not going to go rafting with us, then you should at least have a drink with me after”. I blink at the big man in front of me. What an outrageous flirt, taking advantage of my lost status… My “I could do that” barely leaves my mouth before eight o’clock at Hooters is proposed and reiterated. I gently point out that he has yet to point me in the direction of my hotel, and I would give his invitation due consideration once I was headed in the right direction. He does, and I find my way easily enough, the smile still on my face. I do like audacious men.

Wetsuit on, I wait for Biff to hand me the rest of the gear, but he’s interrupted by a colleague who hands him a mobile. He listens, nods and says, “She’s standing right in front of me”. I look right back at him, a tad bemused. Bright blue eyes crinkle as he informs me, “The venue’s changed… it’s the Brasserie at 8 tonight, not where you were going earlier”. I gape at him, feeling my face heat up, “What?!”. He repeats himself much to the interest of the gaggle of young girls around us and I frantically nod my understanding. Change of plans. Check. Brasserie at 8. Check. Can we please get on with it?! Of course not, and I mumble something about being accosted and taken advantage of while being lost and we head out.

The canyoning is fun, culminating in a monsoon that’s a perfect end and we head back. I’m now seriously considering my position. A drink at Hooters was not a big deal… if I’d felt like it and it hadn’t been raining, I might have meandered over into town to see if I did run into the boys from Swissraft. But the Brasserie sounds serious, and given the man’s effort in tracking me down to convey the message, I feel the least I could do is show up. Still, there’s time to think about it…. Towelled dry and ensconced in dry clothes, we gather around toasting our adventure with beer, tea, bread and cheese, when this blonde cycles up and starts chatting with the team. “Are you Apra?”. Curious, I reply in the affirmative. “You did get the message about the venue changing for tonight, didn’t you?” Jesus Christ! Does the whole town know I’m out on a date tonight??? She hastens to assure me it’s only her, but the rest of the pack now levels a barrage of questions at me! “He’s getting all spruced up”, she winks. I’m betting people can actually tell I’m blushing under my colour and I blurt out, “I don’t even know his name!”. Ok, maybe that wasn’t the brightest thing to say, but it’s a communal date at this point. David. That’s who I’m meeting at 8. At the Brasserie. Naturally, I have no clue where it is, and Julie (the blonde) blithely tells me it’s easy enough to find on a map – just get one from the hotel and you can pick up an umbrella from them as well…

Shit. Now I have no choice. The man has put in way to much effort to ignore. But I have nothing to wear! This was a weekend of travel, canyoning and river rafting. Period! No dating! Track pants and sneakers. Fine for a quick drink at Hooters but the Brasserie? Dammit! I make a dash for the hotel as soon as there’s a lull in the rain and hit the shower. A quick rummage through the rucksack yields black track pants and jumper that could pass as a tad more. But bare toes. I can’t wear sneakers! I feel stress! The lady at the reception gives me directions to the brasserie, but naturally has no map. Brilliant. I figure I should leave early given my proclivity towards getting lost in this village. The direction takes me past the Swissraft office of the first encounter and as I get closer, I can see a bunch of men seated, shooting the breeze and hope they won’t recognise me. Before I even draw abreast of them, the last one makes eye contact and smiles, nodding in acknowledgement. I give up and grin back at him not really wanting to catch all the other eyes, but lo and behold, one of them jumps up, and it’s our hero! I give up!

I discover that the Brasserie was Julie’s idea and that he actually has no idea where it is…but it’s nice and the hours fly by… diver, rafter, graphic designer, Kiwi, divorced, film assistant, guide, Scottish descent, suggests Central America as an inclusion to my rafting on every continent list, actually had dinner with Hugh Jackman (with 10 others), did a photoshoot for the BBC for ice diving, thinks there’s more joy when you can share the things you want to do… bizarre. He also lacks umbrella carrying skills. Still, an interesting man.

The next morning, a fabulous run of the black Lutschine…! The water is fucking freezing at 3 degrees, and my left hand is soon familiar with frostbite, but the exhilaration of the white water is unbeatable! Despite two reluctant oarswomen, we make great time, and don’t need to resort to plan B (whisk me off before the run culminated in the natural conclusion on the lake, in time to make my train). The mountains dotted with wooden houses, wispy smoke from a chimney wafting into the low hanging clouds remind me why I feel in love with this strange country, despite my now numb hand. We make it back with enough time for me to grab a cup of tea and then off to the station. I’m packed off with four others headed towards Interlaken West, with the assurance that we had loads of time… I certainly hope so! The guy driving me slows down as he’s flagged by this other chappie on a bike, “Have you dropped off…ah, there you are”. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! “Was that your hot date?” the driver pipes up. My yelp of “Does everybody in this frigging town know I had a hot date last night?” elicits a smirky, “Yep. There’s a hoarding up in the square”. “He’s really keen though.. he’s following us”. No way! I twist in panic, but don’t see the bike. He has the gall to snigger. Rude man!

I take the steps two at a time, wondering what platform I’m on and what do you know… I’m on the same platform as the grinning man with the bike. Crazy Kiwi.