In May 2013, over Memorial Day weekend, we made our first European vacation to the island of Crete, Greece. It was by a stroke of luck (or rather, a rainstorm on the mainland) that brought about this trip. For months we had been planning a trip to Cinque Terre, Italy where we would hike between the coastal towns, lounge on the beach, and drink some wine. However, the day before we were supposed to leave, we found out that all the trails were to be shut down due to excessive rain and possible mudslides.
I scrambled to the library (I had no internet at my house at this time), and booked us on a last minute flight leaving the next morning at 0530 to Greece. When we arrived, the sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the weather warm. The drive from our airport to the hotel was breathtaking. After one year of virtually no sunlight while working nights in Afghanistan, my body responded to the clear blue skies like a flower to the sun, along with excessive sweating and a rather embarrassing stench of body odor. We spent the next four days basking in the sun, sightseeing, driving a little white beater car around the island like 2 college girls on spring break, and getting rip-roaring drunk on a nice little liquor called Raki.
This
trip proved that we could travel well together (which I had learned the hard
way was VERY important when, during a 2 month backpacking trip through Europe
when I was 20, ended with the girl and I parting ways in Budapest after weeks
of constant arguing).
We started
talking about upcoming trips that we would like to experience together, however
the summer was against us. I was headed to Iceland, Croatia, Bosnia, and
Montenegro for two weeks of traveling for my block leave in June, and my July
and August 4-day weekends were filled with a trip to Ponçay France to visit friends,
and Kiev Ukraine while her time was filled with the exciting world of Change of Command Inventories.
We decided to set aside her birthday weekend to go somewhere and celebrate, and
what better way to celebrate than to cross something off BOTH of our bucket
lists.
On 6
September, after a grueling day at work (more for Sydney than for myself), we
loaded up her 2011 white Volkswagen SUV and began our 5 hour journey (our
friend Austin joined us) to Interlaken Switzerland where we had scheduled to go
hang gliding the following morning.
Although rain and lightening was forecasted, we
awoke to a sky of blue. We ate a meager
breakfast of bread, cheese, yogurt and fruit before being picked up at our hotel
by a surfer type Aussie who had been the owner of “The Funny Farm” hostel that
I had visited 13 years before during my backpacking trip through Europe.
We loaded
the hang Gliders on top of the van, and began the drive up a mountain to our
take off point. Before I continue, I
need to mention something that is rather embarrassing for me as a pilot…I am
afraid of heights. Now before you start laughing, I must explain that it is not
while I am in a helicopter (although from some odd reason, between 4-6,000 feet
my heart races a little and my palms begin to sweat) that this fear takes a
hold of me, but rather, when I am standing near an edge. I blame my mother for
this.
As a child, this fear never made its way into
my subconscious. My father would take me
on roller-coasters at the amusement park as soon as I was tall enough (which
was when I was 5 or 6, since I am like the jolly green giant), and we even rode
in a hot air balloon in the parking lot outside of our favorite Chinese
restaurant. I would cry out with glee,
giggling and clapping my hands. I loved the thrill and the wind in my hair.
Then there
was the fateful trip to New York when I went up to the top of the Statue of
Liberty for the first time. I spent a
lovely afternoon enjoying the view of the city while my dad held me up to the
window (which wasn’t really necessary since I previously mentioned I was already 6’ tall
when I was seven years old…ok, the need for excessive exaggeration also comes
from my mother).
I believe
that this was the moment in my life where my fear of heights began to creep in.
Jump forward 23 years to a trip I took to Singapore. There is a rooftop bar on
the 64th floor of one of the buildings, with Plexiglas railing to
better see out over the sprawling city. As I got off the elevator in 3 inch
heels, I almost passed out in fear.
Standing 20 feet from the edge, I could see the imminent plunge to my
death as I fell over the almost invisible barrier between solid ground and thin
air. My legs started to shake, and I had to take off my heels for fear of
losing balance. Mind you, I was 20 FEET AWAY FROM THE EDGE!!! I lasted about 15
minutes before I abdicated my pride and left the bar. Thank you mom.
As
the van continued to climb up the mountain over Interlaken, I prayed that I
wouldn’t humiliate myself by showing fear.
When
we reached our take-off area, all fears melted away like the snow in spring.
The view was breathtaking, and my guide hilarious. With Bob Marley playing through the speakers
of his phone, we set up the glider, strapped on Herbie style helmets and sexy
blue sunglasses. I posed for pictures like the model I always wanted to be;
throwing up gang signs such as the “shocker” to ensure the classy nature of my
photos. After a few practice “runs” we strapped in and ran towards the edge of the hill. It happened
so quickly; one second I was running downhill praying that my father’s genetics
of clumsiness didn’t cause me to trip over my own feet bringing the Aussie and
myself crashing to the floor, and the next we were airborne.
The feeling
of absolute freedom has hit me only three times in my life. The first was in
New Zealand when I was 17. I was with my high school basketball team doing an
exchange with a girl’s team from Rotorua. We had plans to play in tournaments
that summer in Auckland, Rotorua, and then a week in Fiji. Our first stop was
Auckland, where after a straight 14 hour flight from Los Angeles, we landed at
the airport exhausted, jet lagged, and ready for bed. As soon as I arrived at
my host family’s home, we began talking about things we wanted to do. I
mentioned that I had always wanted to go sky diving. 30 minutes later, I was in
the family vehicle headed out to a place an hour away to go skydiving. When I jumped out of the plane, the greatest
feeling of freedom washed over me. I felt as if I was flying (not falling) and
have craved that rush ever since.
The second
time was last summer during my block leave where I went on an eight day
horseback riding trip through Iceland. It was on our second to last day, while
riding through the highlands that I felt that familiar wave of exhilaration. We were in an area that you couldn’t really
get to unless you were either in a helicopter, or on a horse. There were no
roads, no trails…nothing. We rode for 5 hours and I never once saw a telephone
pole, a house, a car; only rolling hills, sprawling terrain, and a few
waterfalls. I felt as if I was on top of the world.
The
second the earth disappeared from underneath my feet and we began the glide
through the air the adrenalin kicked in once again. I was flying, soaring
through the air like a bird. We dove towards the tress, pulled back and caught
a gust of wind that lifted us back up. We stalled, dove again and turned at a
120 degree angle. Aside from the
acrobatics, the view was breathtaking.
Overall
rating for this experience…EXCELLENT!
If you are interested in this adventure, look up our friends at www.hangglidinginterlaken.com
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