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bungee dot com - the bungee jumping and bungee stunt authority.  everything about bungee, bungee jumping, bungee equipment, bungee safety, bungee history and bungee television and film work. bungee masters (a bungee.com company) bungee bvridge in washington state, 45 minutes from portland, oregon.
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Quit bugging me Soon Ahia finished his speech, and the people resumed their vigorous dancing and singing. The men hopped three short steps back and forth, their eyes constantly on the erect young man overhead. As if in a trance, Ahia slowly raised his arms over his head and clapped his hands three times. His toes gripping the edge, he clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Then, arching his back, he slowly leaned forward.

Suddenly he was hurtling toward the ground, headfirst. The lianas, one end tied to his ankles and the other to the platform, fluttered in the breeze. Just as his head touched dirt, the lianas snapped taut, breaking the fall. Six men hurried forward to untie the vines. Smiling proudly, Ahia jumped to his feet to show he was unhurt.

Now it was my turn.

Walking stick's last stroll amuses its young captor, who will shortly roast and eat it. Islanders relish the insects—along with such other delicacies as wildcats and crickets—as supplements to their starchy staples: yams and tarot Cooked crickets taste not unlike caviar on burned toast, says the author.

Guest Performs Without Rehearsal

I carefully picked my way upward through the tower's labyrinth of branches and logs. With a certain optimism, I, too, had chosen a point 50 feet above the ground. Two islanders, Benkat and Telkon, who had volunteered to assist me, waited just below my platform, lianas in hand. As I stood on the inside portion of the platform, the two men quickly tied a liana to each ankle. Completing the last knot, they nodded. The next move was mine.

My wooden sigol, or platform, projected six feet beyond the body of the tower. Its width was a scant 16 inches. Slowly I walked to the edge, swinging my ankles around both horizontal crossbars. The lianas now hung in long loops below me.

Before me a breathtaking panorama unfolded. The ocean sparkled just beyond the low coastal hills. Nearer, majestic spreading banyans dominated tropical green valleys of tree ferns and coconut palms. Clustered below, the villagers chanted a song composed by an old man, Sali, in honor of their first white land diver—me.

Young people.. SHEESH!
Rapt As I gazed at the horizon, I recalled an adventure tale l had read a long time ago, as a child in Hungary. The hero, shipwrecked off an island, was captured by cannibals. They offered him a choice: He could be roasted alive or he could jump off a tremendously tall tower.

I don't remember which he chose, but my situation was not so dramatic. The people of Bunlap had invited me to jump, an invitation I had sought for more than two years. Ever since witnessing my first land dive, I had wanted to try it myself.

Strangely, I felt no fear. All the fear had drained from me the night before, a sleepless night during which I berated myself for being a reckless fool. By dawn, my outlook became far more positive. If these men and boys could jump, why couldn't I?

I knew the tower well. For two weeks I had explored it from every angle, bottom to top, and often in precarious positions, all for the sake of photography. So, I convinced myself, I was prepared.

The singing, whistling, and periodic shouts —"Eah hey! Eah hey!"—welled up from below with increasing intensity. The men waved war clubs and the women agitated their hands over their heads. I took some croton leaves from my belt and, conforming to longtime custom, released them.

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