We finish packing, place our thing in the bagagerie, and wait for the adventure to begin. Around 9:30 a skinny brunette walks into the lobby in her Birkenstocks and introduces herself. By this time, Evan and Kristen have talked their way into our group, and the woman reluctantly lets them come with Stephanie and I. We follow her out to a van, pile in, and begin a winding journey up the mountain opposite Mont-Blanc to the lift area. We meet a man with crazy scientist hair outside named Benoit who is one of our tandem instructors and doesn't miss on the opportunity to apply his charm toward four, young American girls. Unfortunately for him, we're way more interested in gazing up the mountain side we're about to fly off.
At the top, we get off the lift, and my heart is racing. I'm not scared -I'm excited! I'm impatient! I can't wait any longer! We hike up a short hill and to a grassy area where other paragliders are setting up their equipment. To our surprise, Madame Kelton, Professor Vessely, and Phil are the top sitting on a bench and waiting to see us take off (This is why I love this program. Who else takes such an interest in their students?). The instructors call us while unpacking their parachutes, and I wander up to an middle aged man who introduces himself as Laurent. He speaks no English. I'd be lying if I said this does not slightly alarm me.
He hands me a helmet and points toward the rest of his things. "That's your..." I don't recognize the last word, but as I've become accustomed to doing, I fake it 'til I can figure it out. I wander over to his stuff, but I'm similarly perplexed by the various gear piled there. Blindly, I grab a backpack and hold it up. He shakes his head and repeats the word again. Sorry, buddy, but I'm not up-to-date on my paragliding French vocabulary. When he realizes I'm lost, he abandons our parachute and pulls out a harness and begins putting it on me... I really don't feel that embarrassed. I doubt I would have been able to pick out the harness if he had told me in English.
He puts my purse in my his backpack for safekeeping, and I stand around stupidly watching my friends get prepped as well. We look like idiots to put it simply. There's a baggy area of material at the back of the harness that looks like a giant diaper, and our helmets are for safety not for fashion. Stephanie models the look here...
Writing this, I'm taking more time than it did for the men to prep. They're professionals. They've been doing this for numerous years. My nerves start to set in as I realize the time is approaching and my instructor hasn't told me a damn thing! His only command? "Cours!" (Run!) He continues in French, "When I tell you to run, run as fast as you can run. If you don't run fast enough, the parachute won't catch, and we'll fall off the side."
You mean that side? I'm sure he'll be laughing for years about the look on my face. Kristen's the first to take off, and she refuses to run when Benoit tells her. Finally he nudges her, and they run toward the edge. The parachute catches. They fly away. Evan's next. Then Stephanie.... I know my turn is coming. My heart's thundering in my ears. I have clamy palms. I wish I had gone to the bathroom before this. My legs are shaking a little. I just keeping thinking over and over in my head, "Run, run run..." Laurent holds me back. "We have to wait for them to descend before we go," he tells me. Wait? C'mon..........
Finally after what feels like an eternity, he yells out, "Cours!" But hold on! Perhaps now is the time I should mention being that we're tandem, my back is attached to his chest. We can't move more than a few inches apart from each other. Not only do I have to run with a heavy harness hanging down and a weird diaper thing hitting the back of my knees, but I also have to run with someone else. "Cours!" Not thinking about this, I dig my feet into the grass, and it feels like a thousand pounds pulling me back. I want to yell at Laurent and ask if he's even trying. But I put my head down, I push my shoulders forward, I keep digging my feet in again and again and again. We're barely moving, but I feel like I should be sprinting. I see the edge ahead of me. I can here his ominous French warning playing through my head. I feel like I have the Eye of the Tiger in me, and then my grace kicks in. Something jerks me back, Laurent runs into the back of me, I trip clumsily over my feet... In a split second, my feet are dragging in the grass. Laurent is still running around my limp legs. I'm staring down this cliff, and I start flailing like I'm going to die. I can't get my footing! He's literally dragging me along like a limp doll!
When I think we're about to fall face first over the edge, there's a gust. We bob up into the air. Suddenly I realize the diaper is actually a seat. My feet dangle listlessly through the air, and for a moment, I don't believe it.
We glide graceful and effortless over the forest and city. Laurent pats me on the shoulder and asks me if I'm ok. Grinning from ear to ear, I chirp out, "Oui!" He laughs and tells me I'm a good flyer. Staring at my grass-stained shoes, the irony's too obvious to even acknowledge.
To ask what paragliding is like is a near impossible question. I don't know that I have the vocabulary to capture the sensation, but I'll try. It's like sitting on the bottom of the pool. There's no sense of gravity. You're just weightless, suspended in the air with the cool, fresh mountain air whipping around your face. It's a seamless ride. There are no jerks, no turbulence, no discomfort. It is the absolutely most peaceful sensation in the world.
My eyes prick as I stare at this impossible view. I sincerely cannot believe this is my life. I'm flying through the Alps! I've never felt more fortunate or sincerely, deeply happy.
Clearly Laurent is amused by my childish excitement.
"You have the best job in the world," I tell him (and I still would argue this). Completely serious, he catches another air current and directs us back toward the mountain. Reaching past me, he points toward the launching area and says, "Viola mon bureau." (There's my office). Exactly.
After we've flown for awhile, sliding from wind current to wind current like riding on waves on the sea, Laurent asks if I want to do tricks. I'll admit here and now there was something lost in translation. I don't completely understand him. He twirls his finger, and frankly I'm too awestruck and happy to say no to a single thing. I nod emphatically, and he grins. Taking the edges of the parachute, he begins rocking us from side to side. I'm already giggling when suddenly the parachute goes forward, and we're facing the ground. The momentum kicks in, and we spin. It feels reckless and intense as if we went into hyper speed. Chamonix is swirling beneath me. I'm screaming. We pull out of it, and I'm dizzy and laughing.
"Nous sommes oiseaus (We are birds)," Laurent tells me, and we don't hesitate to extend out our arms and reach through the sky. We're flying.
He asks me if I want to drive and lets me take the handles which control the edges of the parachute. Stephanie pulls up beside me, and I yell out that I'm driving. She laughs, and it's a bit surreal how natural we are about it.
We descend closer toward the city. I reach out my toes like I can brush the roofs of the quaint town.
My romantic journey through the Alps had a very unromantic end. Within two minutes of landing, the reckless twirling kicks in. I feel the motion sickness creeping in. I breathe in the crisp mountain air, stare off ahead of us, try all the tricks in the book I can think of, but I know it's too late. We circle above a field where we'll land, and Laurent tells me simply to stand up and walk.
It is really that simple. As soon as my feet can touch the ground, I stand, and we walk with a bit of stumbling as the parachute falls behind us. Laurent unhooks my helmet and my harness, and I'm able to breathe a bit easier. I watch him work with the parachute for a moment, but my motion sickness is hitting it's peak. A young woman with a toddler on a tricycle ebb closer, and I hear her say, "There's Papa! Say hi to Papa!" Laurent takes the toddler under the arms and picks him up, and I can't help smiling at this cute family. Unfortunately, I'm too sick to speak with them. I wonder over toward Stephanie to distract myself.
We survived! I'm so happy, but I'm breaking out in a cold sweat. I pay Laurent, tell him thank you repeatedly ("Merci a toi (Thank you)", he tells me as only a cool paraglider can), and decide to sit down for a little bit with Stephanie until the sickness wears off. Evan and Kristen join us, and the three girls are chatting about the experience. I try to contribute, but it feels better to put my head between my knees and breathe. They tell me if I throw up, I'll feel better, and I know it's true. Stephanie escorts me over to the toilettes, but they're a hole in the ground. Feeling even sicker by the sight, I shake my head and say, "I'll hold it."
The girl returns and sees I'm green at the gills. She lets me sit up front and promises she'll drive slowly. If only she could get rid of those damn French roundabouts at ever corner. After four of them, I'm dizzy again, and when we reach the hotel, I stumble out of the van like I have sea legs. I head straight inside to the toilets, and Stephanie waits for me. I feel better but still sick. I sink into a couch in the lobby and give Evan and Kristen money for medicine. They return empty handed. The pharmacies are closed on Sunday. I'm more upset thinking about the bus ride home. They buy me a Sprite from the hotel, and I sip at it while the rest of our group makes their way downstairs to hear about our experience. Will, Charles, and some other are leaving to paraglide in a few minutes. I tell them my near death experience and instruct them to run.
The others filter away for lunch. Stephanie stays with me to make sure I feel fine. To my relief, I finish my Sprite and I feel good as new. We head off down the streets to lunch at a small cafe where I have grilled salmon and veggies.
Why can't I have this every day? For dessert, we split a slice of tart and pear ice cream with pear brandy. Sadly, we can barely touch the latter because it was more pear brandy with a little ice cream than vice versa. One bite, and we felt it burning down our throats.
We see Charles and Will wandering through the streets and wave them down. Will shares his experience as well. Apparently my story had scared him enough that he did the impossible: he ran too fast! His instructor was yelling at him to slow down, but not understanding, Will ran faster! He was running so fast the parachute wouldn't have had time to catch. Uh... ok Thor. He laughs. I hand Charles our pear brandy and tell him how amazing it is. Excited, he takes a large sip. Not a moment later his face falls and takes Stephanie's glass of water and chugs it. The French couple sitting next to us erupt into a roar of laughter. Sorry Charles... Couldn't resist.
After lunch, Stephanie and I walk around town buying souvenirs and killing time until we have to be back at the hotel at 3PM. We pile onto the bus once more and drive 3 hours back to Lyon. I'm very reluctant to leave Chamonix. This non-mountain girl is a convert.
I can honestly say it was the best weekend of my life.
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