The air smelled like salt and sunscreen, the kind of combo that clings to your skin long after you’ve gone home and unpacked your sandy suitcase. I was standing in the middle of the Great Ocean Road in southern Australia—okay, not literally in the middle of the road because that would’ve been a quick way to pet the hood of a speeding tourist van. I was halfway through a spontaneous solo road trip during my exchange year in Melbourne when I stumbled upon a spot that gave “crazy” a whole new definition. Think less chaotic nightlife or adrenaline-packed cliff dive, and more… disconnected from reality.

It was the kind of place that makes you forget your phone exists, mostly because there was no Wi-Fi anyway. But also, it felt like a portal into another dimension, where the rules of flirting, dating, and even human interaction felt like they’d been turned on their head. Buckle in because I’m taking you to a place that blurred the line between corny rom-com energy and existential dating boot camp. Welcome to the Otway Fly, an impossibly immersive rainforest walk... 100 feet above the ground.

The Treetops and the Tinderbox

Imagine this: a towering treetop walk with a narrow suspension bridge that sways like it has trust issues. Spoiler: it does not inspire confidence. I remember gripping the damp metal rails as condensation dripped onto my sneakers. A tour guide ahead was cheerily pointing out eucalyptus leaves and howler bird calls, but all I could think was, if I die here, at least it’s scenic.

Enter: the surprisingly attractive but extremely clueless French backpacker trailing behind me. We’ll call him Jules. Jules introduced himself by slipping on a spot of mud, grabbing my arm for support, and then—because life has a sense of humor—mixing up the English words for "thank you” and “oops.” Cue the awkward stammering, classic rom-com framing, and me overcompensating with a half-laugh while I reassured him, “You’re fine, really.”

Here’s the thing about meeting someone 100 feet above the ground in a semi-enchanted rainforest: it feels inherently cinematic. You’re hyper-aware of everything, from the way the light cuts through the canopy like it’s auditioning for an indie film, to how inherently ridiculous it is to find someone attractive while praying the suspension bridge holds your combined weight. Dating in cities like Vancouver or Melbourne? That felt tame at this point. Here, up in the trees with Jules? Something about it felt raw. Or maybe it was just the lack of distractions.

The Reality Check—And a Mindful Moment

Flirting with a complete stranger in a rainforest comes with rules. For one, your usual arsenal (think clever wordplay or subtle compliments) doesn’t translate well when one of you is explaining, in great detail, why drop bears don’t exist. For another, you’re both sweating buckets, so those cute first-impression moments involve less longing glances and more mutual hydration strategies.

At one point, Jules asked how I managed “to get here alone,” as if solo travel were an Olympic sport and I’d just earned bronze. The way he said it made me think about how much of modern connection is curated. When we meet people at bars or pre-planned group outings, it’s like we’re already wearing the best versions of ourselves. But here? No one made small talk about jobs or Instagram accounts. Instead, we panted our way up the spiral staircase of an observation tower, muttering half-excuses about leg day and altitude.

Here’s your takeaway: strange locations or unexpected experiences do this magical thing where they make connection simpler, even when you’re standing on a wobbly platform wondering if your legs will give out. Vulnerability feels less like a choice and more like a built-in feature. There’s nothing like a mutual fear of plummeting to your death to bond over, right?

Lessons from the Most Unlikely of Settings

The rainforest didn’t produce a breezy rom-com ending—I mean, I wasn’t about to write my number on a fern leaf and pass it to Jules. But it did make me rethink how and where meaningful moments happen. Too often, we’re stuck in cycles of swiping right, rehearsing first-date anecdotes, or waiting for text messages to hit that sweet spot between “too clingy” and “too aloof.” Spoiler: none of that matters when you’re sharing quick conspiratorial grins over an especially loud bird scream.

So, here are a few things I learned from the craziest place I’ve ever visited, all of which apply to dating, connection, and even self-discovery:

  • Forget the Perfect Backdrop. The treetop walk was stunning, but the charm wasn’t in pre-designed Instagram glory. Sometimes, a random adventure (even somewhere messy or unglamorous) is exactly what you didn’t know you needed.
  • Ditch the Script. In unfamiliar settings, canned pick-up lines or bragging about your recent job promotion feels laughably out of place. Here’s the hack: just be present. Listen, laugh, and, when appropriate, steal Jules’ line about “needing sit-down ground after.” Pure gold.
  • Find the Fun in the Awkward. Let me tell you something about spontaneity: most of it is awkward. And that’s not a bad thing. If you lean in instead of running from it, you might find yourself laughing about holding hands with a stranger… for balance, of course.
  • Go Somewhere That Teaches You Something. Whether it’s about trees, your own capacity for overcoming suspension bridge anxiety, or the universality of laughter, stepping into spaces like this leaves you richer than when you started.

Your Next Adventure Awaits

I left the Otway Fly that day feeling entirely unmoored—not just from the forest floor, but also from the version of myself that was content staying rooted in predictable routines. Jules gave me a somewhat crooked salute as we parted ways in the parking lot, and I realized I didn’t care that we weren’t exchanging numbers. The point was never to make something last; it was about making something happen.

There’s a reminder in there somewhere, that perfect connection doesn’t have to hinge on the outcome. Whether it’s flirting in treetops or meeting the love of your life over spilled coffee, you can still leave with something meaningful: a story, a lesson, or the realization that sometimes the craziest places are where you learn the most about yourself.

So, next time opportunity strikes—even if it’s balancing on a shaky bridge with a confused-but-charming tourist—don’t overthink it. Go where the road, the rainforest, or the bridge takes you. You might just surprise yourself.