Tandem Paragliding, Pokhara, Nepal

Tandem Paragliding
Sunrise Paragliding Company
Pokhara, Nepal

Why aren't they screaming?
Maybe someone tapped their mouths shut.
No, they have definitely been drugged.
Uh uh, they’re dummies; I’m sure of it.
Maybe someone paid them to keep quite.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that awe-inspiring that you just forget all need for words or even sound. Hard to believe that running off a cliff attached to a parachute by strings thinner than dental floss could make anyone forget that they were 1450 meters above sea level, but it does. Tandem Paragliding on the mid-morning thermals, following vultures, which closely resemble North American condors, to ever more stunning vistas is nothing less than mind-blowing. Hillside villages busy with morning ritual slope dramatically to the rice fields flanking Phewa Lake on the outskirts of Pokhara, Nepal—all of which exist miles below your dangling feet. With Sarangkot as your launch point, you will experience the Annapurnas and Machaphuchre (Fishtail) skyscraping and radiating white in the near distance.

In my armchair-like harness, seemingly weightless, I rose and descended at the will of nature and my capable pilot. My flight was thirty-minutes of trying to remind myself that I should feel scared. Pleasantly, however, I eluded fear and instead took full advantage of the views, the quiet, and the joy felt at seeing my fellow novices enjoying the thrill. I would periodically remind myself that I too was flying—the most birdlike experience I have ever had. I heard roosters crowing in their yards, goats bleating, and children playing in the fields and on rooftops below. Amid a small-scale flurry of other paragliders, we circled lithely over canyons, sloping forests, and finally over Phewa Lake itself.

It was here, over the lake with the World Peace Pagoda and it’s four gleaming Buddha like a pearl atop a neighboring hill, that the real thrill seeking began.
“Do you want to do some acrobatics?” my pilot asked.
“What kind of acrobatics?”
“See your friend over there, spinning with her pilot, those sort of acrobatics. We call them wing dips and spirals.”
“Hum, maybe.”
“It’s safe and fun, let’s try it. Do you want to?”
“Okay, but be gentle.”

Meanwhile my pilot was clearing his sinuses, letting saliva drip into the lake far below. He should have told me to do the same. We began with “wing dips”—gentle and mildly queasy-making undulations from left to right—affected by pulling the parachute strings more forcibly with one or the other hand. After the first few, it just felt fun as if I were swinging in giant arcs from side to side. Of course wing dips are meant to butter you up for the real excitement—“spirals”. Whipping around in mad tailspin-like circles, the force was so strong I had to struggle to get my hands to my face in order to keep my sunglasses from flying off. This is where the sinus clearing would have benefited my poor pilot. Without warning, my cheek was flapping in the air, a steady stream of spit rushing out from the right side of my face; snot too escaped my body all flinging back in one fell swoop towards my foolishly un-warning pilot.

As we settled into our landing, coming smoothly out of our intangible centrifuge, I apologized to my pilot and prepared to hit the ground running. Much to my amusement, my legs were as sturdy as jelly and as we touched down they promptly crumpled, thus bringing my pilot to his unsuspecting knees. After unclasping the enigma of straps, I sat under a fabric canopy nestled between rice paddies and Phewa Lake and debriefed with the other paragliders—only one of whom had any signs of nausea. We all agreed that this was an experience of a lifetime and a handful of us vowed to learn how paraglide when we eventually returned home.