Paragliding

The second and final of our adventure activities in Interlaken was paragliding, which I loved. At the start I could tell it was going to be a whole other ball of wax compared to canyoning. With canyoning, panic set in during the drive to the canyon, as three of our beefy and faux-hawked Swiss guides negotiated hairpin turns and sang along to Offspring.

For paragliding, I was a little nervous as we drove up the mountain to an elevation of about 4000 feet, but otherwise quite calm as we chatted with our mellow pilots (as we’re complete novices, it was a tandem flight) and signed a contract that relieved them of all resposibility in case we plummeted from the sky.

In the van on the way up, we each picked our pilot. Carter picked a pilot named Bert because he resembled Jimmy McNulty from The Wire. I placed my life in the hands of Fabrice, even though he was sitting in front and I could only see the back of his head. Of the other pilots I could see and rejected, one looked too green, and the other looked like a crazy guy I used to work with. After this very scientific selection process, we arrived at the take off field and got strapped into our gear.

I was the first in our group to fly! With the chute laid out in back of us, Fabrice strapped the back of my harness to the front of his gear (I’m totally setting someone up for a zinger here). Then we started jogging down an incline, and it really couldn’t have been more than 15 or so paces before we took flight.

Fabrice would find some thermals and we’d float, making lazing circles with an amazing view of the Alps and Interlaken. As we got closer to the landing field, Fabrice pulled out some tricks, and it felt really exhilerating, like being on a untethered rollercoaster. After about 15 minutes of flight, we touched down gently. I wish I could post some pics now, but I didn’t bring my precious iPhone up with me.

We’ve been on terra firma ever since, spending a day in Lake Bled and arriving today in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Next stop, Croatia.

Unless You’re From Texas

“Make sure your wetsuit is rolled over your water boots… unless you’re from Texas.”

This was a joke repeated in different forms by our canyoning guides as we prepared for our trip. I grew up in Virginia telling West Virgina jokes, so now the shoe is on the other foot.

Our primary guide was a giant named Sebastian. He was about 6’3″ and looked like a young Magnus Ver Magnusson. This guy was a badass. He would leap headfirst off a rock ledge, flip in the air, and land precisely where he needed to in order to avoid being pulverized by rocks under the river. We’re talking 3-point accuracy.

So, as you can gather, Carrie and I went canyoning. It’s sort of like white water rafting, minus the rafts and plus a bunch a hairy jumps and slides down waterfalls. It was… extreme. We spent about 5 hours making our way through this canyon, being told where to jump, where to land, and how to slide.

I would usually jump first, into these deep and cold pools of water, with shockingly strong currents. I’d turn around, treading water or clinging to a wall and wait for Carrie to arrive. She would splash down and then the bouyancy of her life vest would bob her up, where an expression of pure panic would be plastered on her face. Classic!

Anyway, the trip concluded with a hearty meal of sandwiches, chips and beer. The beer was abundant, so I polished off three by the time we got back to the hostel (road beers are ok). I napped like a baby that evening.

Interlaken

Some pics from our home for the next 3 nights: Balmer’s! The last 2 pics were taken from the skylight (!) in our room.