Adventure Man

When the world shut down during Covid, most people took up sourdough or cross-stitch. Me? I booked a flight to South Africa. Some might say impulsive, I say... adventurously single. And no way was I about to let a global pandemic kill my dating momentum.

Now, here’s the thing no one tells you about South African dating: it's not about grabbing a lukewarm pint and fumbling through small talk in a dark pub. Oh no. Over there, first dates come with a side of adrenaline and possibly a safety harness. Forget a cheeky drink—these guys want you to scale cliffs with them. Literally.

So when he popped up—let’s call him Adventure Man—gorgeous, square-jawed, a little too good-looking for Hinge (you know the type)—and asked if I fancied a rock climbing date, I said yes. Slightly terrified? Sure. But also intrigued. Mostly by the jawline.

Now, full disclosure: I’m not exactly confident behind the wheel. But I soldiered on, gripping the wheel like my life depended on it (which, to be fair, it may have).

I eventually arrived at what can only be described as a hipster's rock climbing dream. Picture artisanal boulders and protein smoothies. And there he was—even better looking in person.

Rude, really.

The date was surprisingly fun. He filmed me clambering up walls (cheeky) and gave me pointers (flirty). I felt like Lara Croft, if Lara Croft had a fear of falling and a healthy dose of bum-related insecurity. Speaking of, at one point I was certain my bum was on full display, and just as I was panicking internally, he goes, “You’ve got an incredible bum, by the way.”

Reader, I nearly fell off the wall.

The flirting was real. I turned into a giggling, blushing schoolgirl, all “Oh stop it,” while clearly hoping he wouldn’t stop. As we wrapped up, sore and slightly dusty, I mentioned I’d definitely be aching tomorrow and planned to use arnica to soothe my poor limbs. Big mistake. Huge.

As we stood awkwardly outside in that post-date purgatory—do we hug? Kiss? High-five?—he gave me the look. You know the one: soft eyes, slow grin, maybe even a slightly tilted head. And then... he goes:

“Wanna come back to mine so we can rub arnica on each other?”

I… excuse me?

Sir, this isn’t a Homeopathic Netflix and Chill. This is where I grab my dignity, and my car keys, and bolt.

Cringe levels: high.

We exchanged a few messages afterwards, including one where he sent me his location—a literal pin drop in the middle of nowhere. Romantic? Mysterious? Mildly threatening? Unclear. But we both ghosted each other in the end. No arnica rubbing, no second climb, and no regrets.

So yes, South African men are hot. Yes, their dates come with a fitness test. And yes, sometimes your bum gets complimented and objectified in the same breath. But hey, isn’t that what dating’s all about?

Adventure. Mystery. And knowing exactly when to leg it.

Still aching from that climb (emotionally, not physically),