Tag Archives: diving

Fish, fish, everywhere!

The water off Paje’s eastern coast is a bit like a Russian chick’s skirt; it looks brilliant, and any self-respecting bloke wants to see what’s underneath it. So today I grabbed my snorkel and went down below for a few hours. Oh, I’m talking about snorkelling, you sicko! And as you can see from these really, really, really great photos, I had a wonderful time in a place that looks like a computer screensaver.

I paid a dude a few bucks to take me out to the appropriately-named Blue Lagoon on his traditional fishing boat, and I felt like royalty as I lay back to relax while he struggled against the wind. By royalty I don’t mean that I felt like an inbred, just that it was nice to have someone do everything for me while I bludged around and looked out at the crystal clear water.

After docking, I dived into the ocean and was immediately overwhelmed by the amount of fish. Seriously, there were thousands of the bastards, and they weren’t shy. I swam right in the middle of a huge school and the fish kept bumping into me and trying to swim down my shorts. It jumped straight into my top five snorkelling experiences. If you’re a fan of aquatic magnificence, Paje is somewhere you really should check out.

There’s a massive array of fishes in all sorts of neon colours. Blue, red, green… alright, I guess you’re aware of the concept of colours. The water is incredibly clear, and splashig around off the coast of Zanzibar is an underwater encounter I will never forget (along with that time I porked a mermaid, of course).

Whilst I enjoyed myself, a fellow snorkeller didn’t have quite such a pleasurable morning. The wind picked up and my little sailor man beckoned me back to the boat, paddling it impressively against the awful conditions. As we chopped through the waves I could see some dunce swimming straight towards us, obviously on a collision course. I tried to shout out to him but he was underwater and couldn’t hear, and had no idea the boat was there until the side wing of it bounced off a wave and clonked down on top of his head. I laughed. So if you’ve got a family member who’s in Paje and isn’t answering their phone, uh, sorry.

All up, it was a brilliant day in the sun, checking out one of the most wonderful places I’ve ever been lucky enough to explore. Zanzibar is a big tourist destination for Europeans and (rich) Africans, but isn’t really on the radar of most Australians. It should be. This island is a mix of the old, untouched Bali that so many people fondly remember, and the still-unspoilt Sri Lanka that a lot of people are just finding out about. In short, it’s as lovely as what’s under a Russian girl’s skirt… well, maybe not that lovely, but it comes close.

More of the world’s worst advice

Bro, what’s cracking? I’m going well, thanks for asking. You write about all these cool places you’re always visiting, and most of them sound fucking fantastic. I’m unemployed and have a severe drug addiction, so I won’t be travelling anywhere for a while (I’m also out on parole, so the cunts at the cop shop don’t want me to), so reading about your adventures is about as close as I’m gunna get to going on a holiday. Anyway, I’d like to know, what’s the shittiest place you’ve ever been to? Thanks, and keep up the good work.
G’day Tinks, it’s great to hear from you. Too bad about the financial situation, but I’m sure you could knock off a servo or a primary school tuck shop if you want to head off on the trip of a lifetime.
As for your question, until recently I would’ve said Huddersfield, UK. It’s a cold, wet, grim shithole in the north of England, where dreams don’t die because they never exist in the first place. The footy team’s shit (sorry, Eorl Crabtree), the shops are run by surly Poles, and gangs of unpleasant youths roam the streets. Also, everyone’s ugly and look like they’ve just come from fucking their sister.
But that all changed when I went to Jaipur, India. What can I say about this nightmare of a city? It’s overrun with criminals (how I wasn’t robbed, I don’t know), the air is so polluted that just breathing is akin to smoking three packs of cigarettes, and the city’s historical sites have been left to rot. Animals shit in the streets, the drivers are fucking idiots, it’s noisy and smelly, and the locals (I only saw men, so maybe they’ve found a way to reproduce through frantic bum sex) look like they’ve had their faces set on fire with a blowtorch and trampled out by a Clydesdale. To make it worse, cunts who were eating pigeons tried to stab me. It’s impossible to feel safe there, and that shithole promises an awful travelling experience.
So, yeah, stay the fuck away from Jaipur. And Tinkerbell, feel free to steel a new TV for me.

Hey mate, it’s me Cameron Rodrigo. You don’t know me, but I’m a fun-loving 20-year-old with a few tattoos. Everyone loves them, and they go with my quirky, upbeat personality. Unfortunately, I was a bit high on red cordial and Snickers bars on the weekend, and I got a smiley face inked on my knob. Right there on the end, so when I take off my pants it looks like the bloody Bookworm has come out to play. When the sugar worse off and I settled down, I realised I’d made a mistake because 1) it looks really stupid and 2) my girlfriend will probably never come near me again. I’ve tried rubbing it off but, while it was a lot of fun, it didn’t work. What can I do?
RODRIGO (NOT CAMERON), NORAVILLE, NSW. WAIT, ACTUALLY, CAN YOU SAY I COME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE?ROW-ROW: Hi Cam! Uh, I mean, Rodrigo. Is that a Brazilian name? You’ve really only got two options. You can cut the silly thing off; just grab a pair of scissors and go to town, then kick it into the sea and forget all about it. Your missus might wonder where your cock went, but you can simply tell her that you’ve been getting in touch with your feminine side, and have decided to become a woman. She’ll respect your courage and, if anything, it will strengthen your relationship. She’ll dump you, of course, and you’ll have a hell of a time getting another girlfriend without a willy, but it’s worth a shot.
The other is to convince her that your penis has become sentient, developed a face and is now capable of initiating meaningful conversations. This will involve learning ventriloquism, and developing a caring, sensitive personality for your little friend. Of course, this plan runs the risk of your girlfriend falling in love with your talking doodle, chating on you with it, and eventually running away with him. So you’ll be left broken-hearted, while your knob swans around on a tropical cruise with the love of your life. Again, being penis-less will leave you deeply depressed and unable to attract other women, probably leading to a life of heavy drug abuse and prostitution.
So, up to you. We’ll talk about it at work tomorrow never talk about it in person because I don’t know you.

What’s up, dude? I’ve been smashing this good sort for a while, and I’ve decided to take her on holidays for a week. After reading your blog (on the toilet, usually) I’ve decided to whisk her away to Samoa. Now, I’m planning to spend most of the time pounding her senseless, but I guess we’ll have to get out and see a few things, so can your list your three top recommendations for this place. That’s if the little lady can even walk after what I’ll do to her!
ROW-ROW: First up, you might want to have a look at the way you talk, because I can’t be 100 per cent sure whether you are having regular sex with this young lady, or enjoy beating the shit out of her. Use a more sensual phrase for sex like ‘driving the beef bus into tuna town.’ Right, on to your question, homie.
I can highly recommend the To Sua Ocean Trench, simply because you’ll never see anything else like it. You’ll descend beneath the earth into a tropical paradise, where you can chase fish in crystal clear water. It’s incredible.
You’ve gotta dive off Safotu, with Dive Savai’i. I’ve dived and snorkelled all over the world, and this place is better than anywhere else. There are so many fish and other forms of ocean life, and awe-inspiring wrecks to paddle around.
I’d also suggest spending a couple of nights at Lalomanu Beach, sleeping in a rustic fale on the sand. It’s a peaceful, perfect spot, with not much to do but relax and swim and fuck your missus. Be quiet when you do it, though, because those fales don’t have walls.
Most importantly, make sure you send me some nude photos of your lady, because she sounds like she’s a real goer.

Hey, babby, it Rara. You still want make fuck? You still want big tit ladyboy? I suck you dick like vacuum cleaner. Look like real woman, big tit, long hair.
ROW-ROW: Fuck yes. But if you get a boner, I’m gunna flick your cock with a rubber band.

One Fine Day in Vava’u (or, That’s the most dangerous box I’ve encountered since my ex-girlfriend dumped me!)

After my terrifying near-death experience, I wanted to spend my last full day in Tonga in a more relaxed way. And that’s exactly what I did, by heading out to the beach and doing as little as possible. Sure, by the end of the day I would have cheated death once again, but… well, it’s been a good day.

There’s a lot to do in Vava’u, including whale watching and diving, but it’s the off-season, and most of those options aren’t open to me. Toss in the fact that I’ve had to book everything at short notice due to getting here late, and I didn’t have much choice. I booked a taxi and had him take me to a deserted beach near Tu’anuku, and that’s where I spent the day.

Apart from a few deserted shacks around, the joint was deserted. Well, as far as people go, at least – a gaggle of well-fed boar were strutting around like they owned the place. I was feeling pretty hungry and thought one of them would taste pretty good between some hamburger buns, with a squirt of BBQ sauce, but I couldn’t catch any of them. Add hunting to the list of things I’m not very good (along with building things out of LEGO and getting it up after 12 beers).

I pulled out my snorkel (no, I’m not talking about my penis) and went for a splash, and what I saw out there was spectacular. Schools of fish sparkled around me like multicoloured stars, weird sea creatures danced in front of my eyes, and caves and coral stretched in every direction. The crystal clear water lapped up against palm trees, with no buildings to ruin the view, and if there’s a place that better fits the description of paradise, I’m yet to find it.

As I was paddling, I spun around and felt my blood freeze. About half-a-metre in front of me was a deadly box jellyfish, its tentacles hanging long and hooked. A sting by one of those bastards is usually fatal, even if first aid is administered immediately, and here I was a kilometre from shore, in a place where the closest thing to a hospital is a medical box with two Band-Aids and a half-sucked Panadol. I’m normally as brave as a gay Jew in an ISIS meeting, but let’s face it, I pretty much shat my boardies. I carefully kicked away from the big bastard, but as I swam away, I swear it was following me. Every time I looked around, it was looming in the blue like an evil plastic bag.

Once back on shore, I climbed a tree and headed back to Neiafu. I took a walk around the place, which is tiny and lovely, like a midget stripper. There are only a handful of streets in the whole town, and I walked them all, marvelling at the simple houses and wild gardens.When I got hungry, I enjoyed a delightful dinner of fish and chips, washed down with half-a-dozen glasses Popao, while overlooking the harbour.

Tonight was the first State of Origin match, and I was worried I’d miss my first Origin since, well, as long as I can remember. But then something magical happened. I got chatting to the bloke who washes the dishes at the restaurant, and he invited me back to drink kava with him and his buddies, and we could watch the game at the same time. I was a bit concerned after the events of last night, but I hopped in his car (like most in Tonga, it was missing windows, and my seat was held in place with electrical tape) and rocked off to a hut full of blokes.

They made me feel so welcome as we watched the game and drank brown water, as we swapped stories of our different lives. So many times on my adventures have I been overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of strangers, who have gone out of their way to help me and make me feel comfortable. Being alone, without anyone to confide in, or anyone to have a simple conversation with, means that these interactions are so important. It was a wonderful way to end my time on the islands, and I was sad to say goodbye to my new friends. But, alas, I had to. I’ve got another date with Real Tonga tomorrow… and things promise to get ugly!