So after spending the entirety of my first 10 days in Chile, I decided it was time to go abroad. My friend Alex and a new found friend from school decided to border hop to Argentina for the weekend. Vina del Mar, Chile to Mendoza, Argentina is essentially a flat, straight drive. There's really only 1 obstacle that mars the path.... the Andes Mountains- 22,000+ ft. at their highest point. Prior to departure, friends and fellow travelers hyped the bus ride over the range as breathtaking, magnificent, and inspiring. All turned out to be drastic understatements!
We purchased our tickets early in the week, giving us complete agency to pick the perfect seats. Obviously, we chose seats 1, 2, and 3 on the upper level of the double-decker bus. I read later in a travel blog that these seats are affectionately referred to as murder seats because a glass wall is all that separates you from safety and a precarious balance over the edge of the 35 switchbacks you have to traverse to climb the mountain slopes.
Night had fallen when we reached the mountain pass. Luckily, the moon shone bright, illuminating gargantuan mountain profiles all around us as we rambled up the Chilean cliff side. The road was a roughshod, 2-laner that was nearly wide enough for two buses to pass each other abreast. When buses would pass each other, the more senior of the drivers would haphazardly drive with half the bus bouncing along the dirt shoulder. Switchback after switchback the front of the bus would swing towards the edge of the road, revealing a 60% grade descent below us- the cars' lights below shining like little bugs waiting to be smashed by a careening bus falling off the edge. Tunnels along the way seemed cut to just the exact dimensions of our 64-passenger superwagon. It was like the driver was a 3-year old, sticking cubical blocks through the corresponding cubic cutouts.
Hours after our arrival in Mendoza I found myself in the back of a WWII troop transport being hauled to the top of a 2,000m mountaintop. Paragliding time!! This was my first time to paraglide, and I figured the Andes would make the perfect initiatory backdrop. At the top of the hill, we harnessed to the front of our "fliers". They arrayed their kite-like parachutes on the ground behind them, scores of thin ropes connecting us to our vinyl hope of salvation. They barked quick instructions to us, "When I say run, you run as fast as you can, don't sit down, and don't look back. You're speed is what will make or break our takeoff. If you sit down, you'll drag us both down, and we'll fall off the cliff." Simple enough I guess.
Apparently, you need a decent amount of wind to get airborne safely. On our special day, there was none! We stood and waited... and waited... and waited.... Finally, there was enough of a breeze, determined by the flier kicking dust up with his feet and watching how far it carried before descending. The first duo ran down the slope, took off, and then came back down in defeat. The tourist and the flier narrowly avoiding the cliff's edge. However, one by one the tandems of fliers and tourists lifted-off and soared through the air.
I was lucky to be a part of the rearmost tandem. We observed the last of our compatriots take the plunge and were anxious for our turn, when the wind again betrayed us. We waited for another freezing 15 minutes and still nothing. When the dust kicking provided insignificant results, our driver lit a cigarette to determine wind speed and direction. At this point I'm hoping my flier cherishes his life as much I do mine. My introspection was shattered abruptly when my flier started screaming "Corre! Corre! Corre! (run! run! run!). I start sprinting down the hill as fast as I could., urged on by another salvo of "Corre! Corre! Corre!". Halfway to cliff's edge we got airborne for a few meters before returning to the earth. Our momentum had taken us within 10m of the edge and we were still barelling foward. "Mierda! Mierda! CORRE! CORRE! (Sh$t. Sh$it. RUN! RUN!)" my flier yells. By now we're on a 55% grade, sloping straight to our doom. Adrenaline pumping, legs straining, mind questioning I raced as fast as I could in true lemming fashion. Suddenly, two steps from the edge, our chute catches enough of a draft to suspend us above the precipitous drop below.
My hearts pounding subdued as I took in the scene before me.... terraced hillsides, the city of Mendoza, the Andes mountains, and life itself. River rafting the next day will be a breeze....
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