There are certain things that, when one is staying in backpacker hostels, one should avoid whenever possible. "All-male dorms" is one, and "sharing a room with people who work in the hostel" is another. If one is over six feet tall, add "beds with a metal bar at the foot that prevent you from being able to lie comfortably". And at all times one should add "people who snore". For good measure "bed linen washed in what appears to be powdered glass" can go on the list as well. My two-night stay in Bumbles Backpackers in Queenstown fulfilled all of these criteria. After recovering from my four-day hangover in Dunedin to take the Sunday afternoon drive into the mountains, I contacted Nat & Cat from the final Oz Experience bus (calm down dears, your photo is on-line now). Since they were staying at Bumbles and said it had a car park, I decided to go there. After failing to unlock the door, I was shown into the room by an English Ron Weasley lookalike. He examined my key and his key for about five minutes before announcing that they were, in fact, different. He was working in the hostel as a cleaner. This is ironic, since the room (which was shared with two Italian guys who also worked there, and a strange American) was a pigsty. The permanent residents had littered their belongings all over every available surface, including the bunk that was supposed to be mine. I met up with Cat & Nat and we went for a few drinks in town, and exchanged Oz bus stories (of which there were quite a few that can't be repeated here). Shortly after going to bed my lower bunk-mate came back, and fulfilled the impression I have of Italians so far on this trip by completely ignoring everybody except the other Italian (the next day I walked in the door, and he didn't even look up). He proceeded to produce the loudest snoring I have ever heard, which actually vibrated through the metal poles of the bunk bed. On Monday, Nat & Cat & I drove out to Glenorchy, and had a walk down to the lagoon. The mountainous scenery is certainly a wonder to behold, snow-capped peaks reflecting in the calm, clear water. Then there was a slightly panicked drive back to Queenstown to try and get back in time for the girls' bus, which we managed with seconds to spare. When I returned to my room, the entire place was contaminated with one of the foulest smells that has ever passed my nose. I eventually worked out that it was a small travel towel belonging to Mr Weasley, which was blue with festering stains on it. He had propped it up on his bed post to dry out, and it was stinking out the whole room. May I remind you that he was working there as a cleaner. I had a fairly early night, and managed to get a few hours of sleep before my Italian friend returned and started wheezing like a whoopee cushion stitched to a pig's snout. The next day (having decided to spend another night in Queenstown, but not in the same place) I took a drive out to Kawarau Bridge. This is famous as the world's first full-time Bungy site. This does not mean that it is "like a bung", it's the Australian/New Zealand spelling of "bungee". I was already having serious second thoughts about going for a jump, but decided that I couldn't back out after having told so many people I was going to do it in Queenstown. It's a strange thing to want to do. When a human being stands next to a great drop, a small part of the brain encourages them to jump while the rest of the brain wrestles for control. Perhaps the people who are so fond of these extreme pursuits have a crucial difference in brain chemistry, and have a reduced sense of risk. Or something. Whatever, I bought my flight pass and went up to the bridge (coincidentally, just after two German girls who had asked me to take a picture of them with their camera at the Glenorchy lagoon). After putting a harness over my waist, I was invited into the jump platform where a towel was wrapped around my ankles and a strap firmly tightened around it. This was then attached to one of the cords. The jump technician (or whatever they're called) asked if I wanted to touch the water, and I had already thought that would probably make more sense than just dangling in the air. He told me to dive off the platform and my head would touch, and if I didn't then I would go in deeper. I still can't fathom the logic of this, but never mind. When I shuffled my bound feet over to the ledge and looked down, I was struck again by the sheer stupidity of what I was about to do. There was no backing out at this stage, though, and when the guy said "Three, Two, One, Jump!" I attempted to dive off the platform. I've met many people who talk about what a buzz you get from doing this. It was certainly exhilirating, and an interesting experience in doing the exact opposite of what your instinct for self-preservation is telling you. For a brief second I laughed at the absurdity of it all, then put my arms up in a dive position as I had been told. I suppose I must not have jumped off the platform properly, or something. Instead of getting my head wet, I went into the water up to just below my waist (that's below from my point of view, above from everyone else's). After bouncing around on the latex cord a few times, which was probably the most fun part of it, I was dragged into a dinghy and had my harnesses removed, then walked up the path back to the main building. So it was terrifying, exhilirating, and (despite the fear aspect) great fun. I have no desire to ever do it again, though. That jump was 43 metres, I'll probably pass on the Nevis jump (from a cable car) which is 134 metres. Much more fun was the afternoon's activity. After drying off (and checking into a different hostel, in a room with Steve, a Chinese-Australian Doctor here for a "conference" - which mainly involved snowboarding) I took the cable car up the mountainside and had a few rides on the Luge. There was a "scenic" track, which you have to do first, and an "advanced" track which was much faster. I definitely prefer the kind of activities where you have some degree of control over your destiny, and aren't just placing your trust in a glorified piece of elastic...