The First Attempt

Reading: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez

A beautiful day in Paccha

Paccha has a new pastime. That is to say a few paragliding aficionados have discovered the beautiful hills of Atahualpa and its great wind currents. Being that they are some pretty hip, young Ecuadorians, naturally I befriended them. After some genuine coaxing, they had me convinced that I absolutely had to go paragliding with them.

So after a late night of celebrating the founding of Ayapamba, I found myself hiking up the very large hill overlooking Paccha with a pack full of harnesses. After taking a moment to enjoy the spectacular view, the guys went to work setting up the paragliders. They had spent the previous day flying and repeatedly assured me that they knew what they were doing (the one I would be flying with is an instructor after all) and after my first flight I would be hooked.

What they didn’t tell me is that paragliding involves literally running and diving off the side of a mountain while strapped into a very cumbersome harness and attached to another person. Consequently, my first two attempts were in vain. The idea of running off the side of a mountain and the idea that it would lead to me flying several thousand feet above the Andes is a rather difficult thing to wrap your head around. I quickly found out it is also not very successful if you even think about hesitating.

As we regrouped for a third time, the guys began scrutinizing the change in the wind. (I think that might be a line from the Lion King?) My Spanish has progressed to the point where I can easily follow most conversation even when they’re not directed to me. But when these conversations are about air currents, directions, and temperature, I am at a complete loss and probably would be in English as well. Needless to say, I quickly checked out of a conversation that I probably should have been paying more attention to.

Marlon paragliding over Paccha

We then strapped up for the third attempt, I was giving one more pep talk about not over thinking running off the mountain. This time, every thing happened exactly as it was meant to and for five glorious seconds I was flying…

… only to be rudely interrupted by a sudden jerk backwards and a quick crash to the ground. I looked back to see our paraglider caught in a tree on the side of the hill, limply wrapped in the branches and sinking into defeat. I gathered myself up, asked Eddie if he was okay, and brushed myself off. Years of riding horses have turned me into a master of the fall, the key being to never dwell on it. But I was miffed that even though I had finally beaten myself at my own head-game, I ultimately lost to Nature.

Back at the top of the hill, the guys quickly explained that as they had been discussing earlier (that conversation I probably should have been listening to) a cross current had developed and our flying into the tree was the result. They decided it was best to wait out the wind for a while and see if it would be possible to fly later in the afternoon. If not, there would always be another weekend. Paragliding, understandably, is not something to be taken lightly.

The next few hours involved some good old fashion bonding time amongst friends, complemented with a nice musical throw back to senior year of high school. If any one had told me in 2006 that I would be sitting in the Andes, conversing in Spanish while listening to You and Me by Lifehouse on a smartphone, I would called them crazy. Such is this wondrous life.

My final result