Hemingway Imitation

She stared down at the long, winding river, as the bus slowly climbed the hill. The white foamy peaks were spinning and frothing around its rocky bed. The water’s movements made her dizzy. She had second thoughts about the impending journey; her thoughts wandering back to the pub the evening before. But the gauntlet had been thrown. It was time to put up or shut up. The rapids below were waiting to be conquered. “I can do this,” she muttered to herself. And though it was not an impossible task, the whole idea smacked of drunken bravado.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Christmas in Queenstown had a nice ring to it, an almost exotic flavor; like a safari in Africa or a week on the streets of Manhattan. Dangerously exciting. New Zealand is well known for its challenging white water rafting. It wasn’t as daring as bungy jumping, but exciting nevertheless. It would be a long day, battling the swift currents and narrowly escaping death as the raft dropped down over the ten-foot waterfall. Later we would relax over a light dinner at the local eatery, anticipating an equally long night spent at a pub-crawl. What better way to spend Christmas? What was Christmas anyway, but a well-meaning holiday overshadowed by extreme commercialism.