Extreme sports in a non-libelous country
The other day, here in Bucaramanga, Colombia, maybe I found my kind of adrenalin capital. The Santander Department of Colombia offers river rafting, biking, and tandem paragliding in the hillside for 13 bucks.
My adventurous day began with another relaxed day in Andrea's parents house, Villa Andrea. Within the walls of the Villa Andrea are banana and mango trees, a horse, a pool,
and two dogs. One dog is really fat and one is really skinny, so I am beginning
to suspect foul play. Anita, Andrea's nanny, made my breakfast with steak and eggs and fresh Mora juice. I later found the Mora berry on Wikipedia and found it is in the the same family
as a blackberry. After I ate, I studied my distance teaching course in a rope hammoch chair for the first hours of the day. Eventually, I decided to go for a swim. I was the second one to
get in the pool, after a 2 inch spider working on his backstroke.
Eventually, I decided that I needed to put some effort out and get out of the resort for at least a
little bit.
During travel, I have found that I often get out of it what I put into it. There have been different times in different countries when I could have lounged
around but putting forth effort later proved worth it. Two of those rewarding times were body boarding in New Zealand and seeing a Volcano in Nicaragua. Being sluggish makes for fewer memories.
My guide, translator, and companion Felipe (Andrea's brother) and I caught a taxi to the mountain road.
The countryside around Bucaramanga embodies an idyllic South American countryside, especially now that the guerillas and paramilitaries have been pushed back. The temperature was a perfect 76F with a slight breeze. Amongst the creeks and banana trees were small family farms and the occasional neighborhood or mansion. "If it weren't for the war, most Colombians would choose to live like this," Felipe said.
We arrived a turnoff where three 20-somethings were getting off the bus. They each had big pillowy backpacks which told us we were at the right spot. They seemed just alot like
the extreme types in the US: relaxed, friendly, and alternative looking clothing, especially for Colombia. We gave the girl a ride in the taxi and the guys followed behind down the dirt road.
Their setup was pretty basic and minimalist: two meager bamboo tents and a big sloped field. If I were in the States then I would have been sitting down to begin signing numerous form saying that I will hold no one liable if I got dropped, skewered, strung up. On the contrary, I stood there in this open field and cluelessly waited for my paperwork and eventual tutorial.
One of the young guys walked up to me and introduced himself. He said something in Spanish which I mentally paraphrased to "follow me".
"Ok," I was thinking ",Time to go see the equipment, maybe a general explanation of the flight path?" In front of me a guy was casually putting on a backpack which was attached to the big parachute behind him on the ground. A chair was being clipped in front of the guy. My ego was telling me to play it cool, don't be a pussy. But survival instincts told me to get help. I called over Felipe and said something that probably meant "I need explain me". He raised his eye brows and gestured towards the seat.
I am not going to over dramatize it but things became sort of surreal at that point. I didn't think I was so easily led. Oh... it's a chair, I get it...ok, I'll just move my leg so you can strap me in. Suddenly...Whooosh! The parachute rose off the ground and bulged with the breeze coming up the mountain face. I gazed at the instructors and the subtropical landscape patiently
and knowingly waiting for my tutorial.
I don't know if it was the language or my ego that stopped me from protesting. As we ascended, I was still denying what had just happened. We must have ascended 75 feet in about 10 seconds. The family picnicking below soon became smaller. It felt as though we reached 200 feet about 4 seconds later. I gripped a support rope as if there were no legs straps or achair. I was elated but also still in shock of what I was doing. I knew I had just let myself get a couple hundred feet in the air without any paper work or instruction. The instructor urged "tranquila" and eventually I scooted back into the chair.
We passed brand new houses on the along a ridgeline, farm workers, and a 15 foot waterfall which looked tiny from above. I then thought of a quote I heard a hang gliding instructor say ",one can see the earth breath." It was true, I could see the wild forests and the farmland, overgrown foundations, freshly painted mansions, Bucaramanga, Florida(a city), and the mountains of Santander. I could see the flows of people, flows of water, flow of electricity,
and the bends and twists caused by plates below the earth.
The height offered a private view into things I wouldn't otherwise see: backyards, mountain trails, cascades, people working, and a guy yelling at his dog to name a few. My normal thoughts and
ego disappeared and I momentarily transformed in a person simply looking at his planet below. It was hardly like looking out a plane window. There was no noise or anything in the way.
I was merely sitting in a chair, discovering everything around me.
Eventually the instructor did a few tricks like a corkscrew manuever, in which we barrelled sideways going down. I did parapenting twice that day, for about a quarter of the cost in a first world country. I walked away satisfied and enlightened. I kept rambleing on that I couldn't believe I had just done it. It reminded me of all that is around, new and old, the character of Colombia and the world that is difficult to see otherwise.
The taxi had dropped us there earlier, so we were luckily stranded. I say luckily because it was an oppurtunity to walk through this lush mountain farmland back down to the city.
After high school, I went to New Zealand to backpack, party, and do various extreme sports. Queenstown, on New Zealand's south island, was said to be the adrenalin capital of the world. Heath, my travel partner, and I quickly found that it was the adrenalin capital for people on a $200 a day budget. Much of New Zealand was like this. We quickly concluded we would rather have a warm hostel bed for a week than 15 minutes of skydiving, helibiking, or even Zorbing. The relative joy to money ratio was much
higher secretly sipping out of hip flask in a bar(drinks were too expensive also) than to pay any extreme outfitter.
higher secretly sipping out of hip flask in a bar(drinks were too expensive also) than to pay any extreme outfitter.
The other day, here in Bucaramanga, Colombia, maybe I found my kind of adrenalin capital. The Santander Department of Colombia offers river rafting, biking, and tandem paragliding in the hillside for 13 bucks.
My adventurous day began with another relaxed day in Andrea's parents house, Villa Andrea. Within the walls of the Villa Andrea are banana and mango trees, a horse, a pool,
and two dogs. One dog is really fat and one is really skinny, so I am beginning
to suspect foul play. Anita, Andrea's nanny, made my breakfast with steak and eggs and fresh Mora juice. I later found the Mora berry on Wikipedia and found it is in the the same family
as a blackberry. After I ate, I studied my distance teaching course in a rope hammoch chair for the first hours of the day. Eventually, I decided to go for a swim. I was the second one to
get in the pool, after a 2 inch spider working on his backstroke.
Eventually, I decided that I needed to put some effort out and get out of the resort for at least a
little bit.
During travel, I have found that I often get out of it what I put into it. There have been different times in different countries when I could have lounged
around but putting forth effort later proved worth it. Two of those rewarding times were body boarding in New Zealand and seeing a Volcano in Nicaragua. Being sluggish makes for fewer memories.
My guide, translator, and companion Felipe (Andrea's brother) and I caught a taxi to the mountain road.
The countryside around Bucaramanga embodies an idyllic South American countryside, especially now that the guerillas and paramilitaries have been pushed back. The temperature was a perfect 76F with a slight breeze. Amongst the creeks and banana trees were small family farms and the occasional neighborhood or mansion. "If it weren't for the war, most Colombians would choose to live like this," Felipe said.
We arrived a turnoff where three 20-somethings were getting off the bus. They each had big pillowy backpacks which told us we were at the right spot. They seemed just alot like
the extreme types in the US: relaxed, friendly, and alternative looking clothing, especially for Colombia. We gave the girl a ride in the taxi and the guys followed behind down the dirt road.
Their setup was pretty basic and minimalist: two meager bamboo tents and a big sloped field. If I were in the States then I would have been sitting down to begin signing numerous form saying that I will hold no one liable if I got dropped, skewered, strung up. On the contrary, I stood there in this open field and cluelessly waited for my paperwork and eventual tutorial.
One of the young guys walked up to me and introduced himself. He said something in Spanish which I mentally paraphrased to "follow me".
"Ok," I was thinking ",Time to go see the equipment, maybe a general explanation of the flight path?" In front of me a guy was casually putting on a backpack which was attached to the big parachute behind him on the ground. A chair was being clipped in front of the guy. My ego was telling me to play it cool, don't be a pussy. But survival instincts told me to get help. I called over Felipe and said something that probably meant "I need explain me". He raised his eye brows and gestured towards the seat.
I am not going to over dramatize it but things became sort of surreal at that point. I didn't think I was so easily led. Oh... it's a chair, I get it...ok, I'll just move my leg so you can strap me in. Suddenly...Whooosh! The parachute rose off the ground and bulged with the breeze coming up the mountain face. I gazed at the instructors and the subtropical landscape patiently
and knowingly waiting for my tutorial.
I don't know if it was the language or my ego that stopped me from protesting. As we ascended, I was still denying what had just happened. We must have ascended 75 feet in about 10 seconds. The family picnicking below soon became smaller. It felt as though we reached 200 feet about 4 seconds later. I gripped a support rope as if there were no legs straps or achair. I was elated but also still in shock of what I was doing. I knew I had just let myself get a couple hundred feet in the air without any paper work or instruction. The instructor urged "tranquila" and eventually I scooted back into the chair.
We passed brand new houses on the along a ridgeline, farm workers, and a 15 foot waterfall which looked tiny from above. I then thought of a quote I heard a hang gliding instructor say ",one can see the earth breath." It was true, I could see the wild forests and the farmland, overgrown foundations, freshly painted mansions, Bucaramanga, Florida(a city), and the mountains of Santander. I could see the flows of people, flows of water, flow of electricity,
and the bends and twists caused by plates below the earth.
The height offered a private view into things I wouldn't otherwise see: backyards, mountain trails, cascades, people working, and a guy yelling at his dog to name a few. My normal thoughts and
ego disappeared and I momentarily transformed in a person simply looking at his planet below. It was hardly like looking out a plane window. There was no noise or anything in the way.
I was merely sitting in a chair, discovering everything around me.
Eventually the instructor did a few tricks like a corkscrew manuever, in which we barrelled sideways going down. I did parapenting twice that day, for about a quarter of the cost in a first world country. I walked away satisfied and enlightened. I kept rambleing on that I couldn't believe I had just done it. It reminded me of all that is around, new and old, the character of Colombia and the world that is difficult to see otherwise.
The taxi had dropped us there earlier, so we were luckily stranded. I say luckily because it was an oppurtunity to walk through this lush mountain farmland back down to the city.
No comments:
Post a Comment