By Robert Twigger
Product DescriptionAbout to be married, Robert Twigger comes to a decision on his final nice experience as a bachelor. browsing the web, he discovers the Roosevelt Prize - worthy $50,000 - for the catch of a stay 30 foot python. Armed merely with a tin of excessive Toast Snuff (deadly if sniffed via a snake), Twigger units off into the distant jungles of Indonesia looking for his prey. alongside the best way, he investigates the legendarily attractive girls of Sulawesi, treads in Nabokov's footsteps, seems for big snakes underneath the sewers of Kuala Lumpur, and spends time with quite a few snake catchers and cults. After being stuck up in anti-Chinese riots and surviving on greasy civet cat within the jungle, Twigger eventually comes nose to nose with the massive one; however the ultimate seize isn't really what he had in brain. in regards to the AuthorRobert Twigger gained the Newdigate prize for poetry in 1985. he's the writer of offended White Pyjamas, winner of the Somerset Maugham Award and the William Hill activities booklet of the 12 months Award, titanic Snake, The Extinction membership, Being a guy and Voyageur.
Genre : Travel
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Extra info for Big Snake the Hunt for the Worlds Larges
One of our rooms had six of these tatami mats and the other had scuffed lino. Compared to Tesshu, a nineteenth-century Samurai poet I admired, we were rich. He only owned three mats – one for meditation, one for guests and one for his wife and himself. The tatami room was the sleeping room and the book-storage room. We had nearly a thousand books stacked up against the walls in neat piles by Chris, who was a compulsive book purchaser. Fat Frank preferred to borrow or ‘find’ his books. All of us considered reading as necessary as eating; Frank spent a great deal of time doing both, so the piles just got higher and higher.
But I couldn’t exist on air, I needed to earn a living somehow. After two years of prevaricating I bought a ticket to Japan, lured by the promise of high wages, new places to write about, exotic girlfriends and Tesshu. Yamaoka Tesshu was my great discovery. I had been recommended to read Basho, the Japanese haiku master, by the erudite English poet Peter Levi, who had been something of a mentor while I was at Oxford. From a commentary on Basho I read about Tesshu, a nineteenth-century Samurai poet who also wrote haiku.
As we watched, Chris took pleasure in quoting the famous Bruce Lee lines just before Lee spoke them. But it wasn’t the words that stuck in my mind, it was the opening helicopter shot of Han’s Island, where we see row after row of white pyjama-clad men practising basic karate kata. All in time together they punched, one-two, one-two, the canvas of their sleeves snapping in the air, making an amazing thwacking sound. These were the footsoldiers of the martial arts, the grunts, the pikers, the squaddies, and I wanted to join them.