Touring through Western Europe we arrive at our next destination which is Austria. We were privileged enough to stop here for one night which would include an exhilarating white river rafting adventure followed by a cross-dress party later that evening. The irony is that the latter would proof to be a much more intimidating prospect, leaving people scarred for life. I simply wasn’t made to wear a skirt or a spaghetti tan top. As we arrived at a pretty chilly white river rafting club in Tyrol we all had to sit down for a brief on the rules of the river. We were surrounded by rolling hills which were mystically covered in crisp white snow. The top white layer was like icing on a cake, a sweet topping with an aroma that made the adventure as real as the hot air leaving our mouths. Breathing heavily on the prospect of falling into the ice cold waters of the nearby river. The tour guide gathered all of us together for the boat allocations and my heart started to pound vigorously in my chest. I got especially nervous when the guide referred to the water as “pretty cold” after which he gave a long and hard stare at us African boys. The stare came with a sadistically sharp grin and I knew then that we were in serious trouble. It was a case of laughing or crying and during this particular adventure we chose to laugh. It started long before the dodge boat expedition. I wasn’t too body conscious at the time and was pretty adapt at not taking anything too seriously. Getting into a wet-suit though brought about a bag full of problems. The guide firmly pointed out that a full wet-suit would be compulsory for all in case we end up in the icy water during the trip. At this stage he was no longer grinning at all of us but only at me. I knew I had no choice and pulled on the wet-suit with the same grit it takes a baby whale to leave the womb of its mother. Needless to say there was a lot of laughter which literally broke the ice. No matter how hard I tried the suite seemed to be too small. I eventually wobbled my way back to the group knowing that any chance I had of impressing the ladies was as far out of reach as using the toilet for the next few hours. We managed to hit the water without too much of a splash. The drier the better I thought while nervously grabbing my rowing oar with pretentious vigor. I might even have grunted slightly as I pull and bend for the first stroke. The small air tight boat started bouncing around slightly and we proceeded over the icy waters. We were probably around eight people per boat which I found to be a bit of an ambitious fitting. Fit being the problem in every sense of the word. The last dagger to my ego was when the guide mentioned that in case of an emergency we needed to brace ourselves between the seats of the boat. I asked my fellow crew members what to do in case we didn’t fit which lead to a few more awkward laughs. I ended up falling into the cold Austrian waters on more than one occasion, and the tour guide was right, it was freezing. Every time we hit a bump I fell off - thank goodness for that wet-suit. On top of the obvious challenges of staying dry there were a few occasions where the guide purposefully caused some of us to fall overboard. I remember laughing so much I nearly drowned. I wasn’t laughing at the fact that the water was cold or that he was throwing us overboard. I was laughing at myself. Once the ego subsided it turned into an adventure we would never forget. Climbing back into the boat was a real challenge and with a lack of body strength could take several attempts. I wasn’t impressing anyone but it didn’t matter as we were all having a great time. As mentioned before we had a cross-dress party planned for later that evening. The venue for the next adventure was in a blissful little backpacker’s hostel situated in the middle of these Austrian mountains. It was a cosy atmosphere with a contradicting crazy-like theme for the evening shenanigans. Fortunately we all had so much fun during the day that we were in high spirits for the festivities. The first step in gaining access to the party involved each person finding someone from the opposite sex from whom they could borrow clothes (a very daunting task and should never be underestimated). Coming from a pretty stern South African background and being a long way from home it was hard for us to ask a lady if we could borrow her clothes. I kept thinking that if our dads could see us now, we would probably be on the next flight back to Johannesburg. All dressed up and ready to go it would be fair to say that we all looked hideous. My friends and I made a deal that we’ll keep this memory to ourselves. Yet here I am writing about it. We had a blast that evening and I remember opening the dance floor with our female tour guide who looked like a male bus driver. The hostel’s pub had a rule were you could receive an honorary certificate if you drank a certain amount of their locally brewed shots. Most of us had several of these by the end of the night and we all felt like they should have just given us the PHD version and get on with it. Honestly the alcohol was so thinned out it was like drinking water. Nevertheless I remember one of our fellow New Zealand travelers getting hammered on two liters of H2O. We laughed and had the best time during the party, we even played some tribal music off a street vendor CD we bought in London. Picture five men dancing like indigenous North American Indian women - all of them in skirts and tops while drinking water shots. Not taking life too seriously, not at all.