A rundown building. A dirty bathroom. Half-empty
vodka bottles on the table. Beer lined up on the counter. No one here
has showered in days. Some even have teeth that are missing. Where am I?
A fraternity house? No, I am at the school for paragliding. Take off is
in 30 minutes. I’m still a bit frazzled as to why an abundance of
alcohol is necessary at the paragliding school and I am tempted to give
my tandem instructor a quick breathalyzer. Hopefully he wasn’t one of
the people who drank that vodka. Can’t drive, can’t paraglide? That
better be a rule in the Handbook for Paragliding Instructors.
The building may have been enough to scare some away. I’m putting my
life in someone’s hand- you think they would perhaps have the decency to
wipe off the bathroom counter. At the very least, dispose of their
empty vodka bottles. Maybe even invest in a machine so they can accept
credit cards. But no, cash only.
I will argue that the drive up to the top of the mountain was more
dangerous than the act of paragliding. It was a two-lane highway going
up the mountain and we took up both lanes. Instead of slowing down to go
around the curves, our driver accelerated into them. We traveled well
over the speed limit, taking no precautions as we neared the cliffs.
Set-up and take-off went fairly smoothly. Except that, we were given
no instructions or safety instructions. In fact, my instructor hardly
spoke English. Also he put on my helmet, which immediately fell off. He
tried to tighten it, but it wouldn’t work, so I paraglided with my
helmet half-on and half-off (50%… not a bad statistic?) As the
instructor was putting on my equipment, he kept telling me to “Look
away, Leeeez, look far, far, far away.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t
watch him hook up my equipment (sketchy), but I didn’t want to piss off
the instructor by disobeying him so shortly before we flew over the
mountains.
At one point during the 40-minute paragliding session, we kept flying
over the same trees by a cliff. My instructor kept yelling things in
French. I was a bit confused, and a bit worried since we were a few feet
from touching the cliff and a few feet from touching the top of the
trees. Seems dangerous. Eventually he explained, “One of my friends Joe
has had some bad luck. He made a mistake and fell into these trees.”
Shit. After about 10 minutes of yelling for Joe, Joe finally responded
saying that he was “Alright.” And we continued to fly upward further
away from the trees and the cliff (thankfully).
One of the things that I loved most about my unshowered, possibly
drunk instructor, was his ability to carry on conversation. “Leeez, do
you know Kama sutra?” …. What?… “You know, Leez, you know kama sutra?” …
I guess so? … “Leez, you might know, but do you know French Kama
Sutra?” …. I guess not? …. “Here we goooo!!!” He then whipped the
parachute around in a circular motion for about a minute. Breathless
from the exhilaration, he leaned in and said “Leeeez, now I know you
like it.”
I’m glad to report that I landed safely. It was amazing to feel like I
was flying for a full 40 minutes overlooking Mount Saleve and Geneva at
sunset. Despite the sketchiness and near death experiences, my
paragliding experience was absolutely breathtaking.
