The past several days have included: stimulating conversations with amazing people; running off the side of a mountain and gliding through the air with a man named Earl; celebrating my 26th birthday with great new friends and getting birthday cake smashed in my face courtesy of Lee Anne; going on a safari that included seeing blue wildebeests, antelopes, ostrich, elephants.. and bearing witness to giraffes munching on tall trees, brother/sister lions nestling and cuddling, rhinos pooping in their own personal massive pile of crap, springboks pronking, and buffaloes charging after us (just ask Lee Anne, she ended up sitting on my lap out of fear); crying after my last day of volunteering at Place of Hope; laying on my back and watching shooting stars in the African night sky; going out to a club in Claremont and getting proposed to; enjoying the best street performances I've ever seen; falling in love with a boy from Khayelitsha named Thabo; getting undeserved VIP treatment at a political rally of about 30,000 people; having an impromptu case management session with one of the residents at Place of Hope; tapping my feet to great jazz; running into Capetonians I know while walking around Green Market Square; being a surprise attendee at an unannounced concert with the South African equivalents of our Aretha Franklin, Justin Timberlake, Jay-Z, and Beyonce - and just missing being caught up in the craziness that was thousands of people knocking down a chain link fence and bum rushing the stage; climbing to the top of a dam and tentatively peering over the edge; hearing the more-than-likely next president of South Africa speak, only to be followed by his singing and dancing; and learning about Ubuntu on a personal level.
Whew.
In any given span of a few days at home, whilst mid-grind, just one of those experiences would knock my socks off. But being here, it's like, you don't even have time to absorb and appreciate one crazy adventure, because within minutes you're onto the next.
So what shall we talk about first? I'll go with paragliding.
Saturday morning Lee Anne and I headed over to Lion's Head where we were picked up by Earl, Jonas, and the third guy who was really quiet (come to think of it, I don't know that I even heard him utter any words), so I didn't catch his name. Earl is pretty tall and very athletic. He has shoulder length hair that is prettier than mind. With my nerves all over the place, I was hoping for a responsible pilot who would answer all of my questions with care and understanding - someone who's top and only concern is safety. Instead I got Earl, the adrenaline junkie. There was no coddling of my fears, it was all about having fun. He drove his little Ford Focus very fast and swore at pedestrians. He reminds me of the type of guy who would be featured in a documentary for getting high off life from narrowly escaping arrest for taking part in illegal extreme bridge jumping. I was the one that had to ask him if there was some paperwork I was supposed to sign; he was the one that was strictly focused on jumping off the mountain. As he was hooking me into the gear other pilots were commenting on how the wind was bad and they weren't going to fly; he, with a smile and wink, sternly told me not to pay attention to them. Within minutes of being scared shitless by the solo pilots, Earl and I were all carabiner'd up, the 'chute was open, and we were anchored by three said pilots. The wind in the 'chute was pulling us this way and that way, but I steadfastly followed my instructions, keeping my feet on the ground. My eyes stayed locked on my feet and legs -- stiff and firm, but flexible. Then I just remember Earl yelling for me to run.. we ran three short steps before being pulled up into the sky.
I think I squeeled, but I can't be sure. I also probably swore. But all of the sudden there was space between me and the earth. A strange sight to see your feet dangling like that. We glided back and forth in front of the face of Lions Head, which overlooked Seapoint and the ocean. The views were astounding, but I can't say I was paying close attention. In Earl's words, there were big holes in the wind, and it was pretty turbulent. AKA, I was not entirely relaxed. Big holes in the wind means that there were large gusts of wind, then there would be nothing. So we got whipped around a bit, and then would hang aimlessly. When flying over the face of the mountain, we made continual figure 8s. More than once I raised my feet up to my chest because I was sure we were going to scrape the side of the mountain.. but just at the last second Earl would arch the 'chute out and we would circle away from the mountain, continuing with our figure 8s. I sensed it wasn't an easy flight when he apologized for being quiet, but thought I'd understand since he was concentrating. So we sat in mostly silence, me hoping he really knew what he was doing. Just listening to his barometer which beeped every time our elevation increased. I came to like the annoying beeping sound much more than the silence of descent. Once we settled into an exhilarating routine, I came to relax, take deep breaths, and enjoy the moment. Floating is a gleeful, invigorating, and tranquil feeling. The air was extra fresh and I was oddly comfortable.
That was, until we departed from the safety of Lion's Head and crossed over Seapoint and Green Point. There was something about flying over buildings and schools and highways that made me lose my breath and squirm. Kind of like when I see a mouse, I have to climb on top of a large piece of elevated furniture. When I saw cars whizzing by below, I wanted to jump on top of the proverbial couch in the sky. However, by this point the wind was clean and steady - no turbulence, just true gliding. It was refreshing and I was adrenalized. Earl was snapping pictures, I couldn't stop smiling and taking deep breaths in through my nose to feel the cold air.
Until we hit more turbulence and Earl quickly put the camera away. Things happened fast and all of the sudden I was getting instructions on how to land (just like take off: run, and try to stay on your feet). We flew over several fields in Green Point; I was just hoping we weren't going to land on the one that was occupied by a high school boy's soccer game. That would be embarrassing. Luckily, we headed towards the one right next to it, with its dry, brown grass. I had little depth perception when coming back to ground, so I started taking my running steps about 10 seconds too early. Needless to say, both feet only made it about one step before I was assed out on my knees. Earl still insisted that it was a great landing.
While I appreciated being back on solid ground, Earl smoked a cigarette. After we both caught our breath, I convinced him to be honest. And in our conversation there was talk of Earl being nervous (which never happens), and his serious thoughts about landing us on the hiking trail on the side of the mountain, and the enormous holes in the wind, and coming close to crashing into the side of the mountain, and the turbulent air, and wondering if we could make it to the fields in Green Point for landing, and how even though he had four more flights booked for that afternoon the wind wasn't right so he was going to cancel them, and how the solo pilots who said they weren't going to fly talk alot of shit, but weren't totally off base. I thanked Earl for keeping those thoughts to himself while in flight. And then there was even more talk about how he's good at what he does, and he's been doing it for seven years, and we were totally fine, and it was a great flight. And it was. I wouldn't have changed it for anything.
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