The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Three - Over The Valley

I have a few minutes before jumping off the cliff.

In the beginning it was decided amongst the four of us that I was to go first. I didn't want to. Nobody wanted to. However, Richard, the man who we have reluctantly handed our lives over to, mandated that the lightest person has to go first.

I get to go last.

So with a few minutes to go, I sit on a grassy field littered with deer pellets, trying to calm myself down. I'd already seen my friends Amy and Christine take to the skies, and Brian was touching down somewhere, so what was the big deal? It's safe, right?

Oddly enough, I'm not scared at all. The Sacred Valley has a way of calming you down.

To get to this vista is no quick and easy task. You take a taxi or bus (God help you if you drive ANYWHERE in Peru on your own) away from Cusco, through the sleepy towns of Poroy and Chinchero, and instead of taking the road further down into the valley, you pull off...in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, to this day I have no idea where we were the day we all paraglided. But that's not important.

What is important is the sight you see when you come across the Sacred Valley for the first time.



It takes your breath away.

And so for two hours or so, I sit on the grass/deer poop, waiting for the others to complete their flights. I brought a book and an iPod, but I end up sitting and being completely still. It's wonderful. Except for the few distractions. Such as:



- The horde of wild (baby) pigs that descended upon us, looking for God knows what. Look, they may seem harmless here, but let me tell you, there was a MASSIVE staredown between me and the pigs. The pigs won. I screamed, gathered all my things and ran for the bushes. Fortunately the pigs went away, never to return. Guess I showed them.


- The group of tourists that descended upon us, out of curiosity as to what we were doing, and to see the Sacred Valley themselves. They arrived just as Christine was about to take off. This is them nearly trampling me to death as they return to their tour bus.

- The truly horrendous baying of random farm animals, probably burros. Either they were in pain or in heat. Whatever the case, it was awful.

- The frequent circling of falcons over our heads. That's never a good sign. Although, when do I ever get to see falcons?!

And despite all these distractions, I maintained a sense of tranquilidad. The Sacred Valley demands it.

More time passes, and Richard pops up. Richard, a fellow Bruin, has been paragliding for 8 years. And when he's not paragliding, he's river rafting in Brazil. The guy just oozes cool.

Richard's assistants attach him to my back (it's not as weird as it sounds), and we wait. We wait for the wind to be just right. "Ready...GO!", Richard shouts. I run as fast as I can toward the edge of the cliff. Except I only take two steps. I'm nowhere near the edge. Doesn't matter. I'm up and away.

And just like that I'm flying.

The first five minutes are spent in absolute terror. Not because I'm so high up, but because I can't get my damn camera out of the pocket of my windbreaker. Eventually, I got it out and snapped away. I even shot a video. I'd post it, but it's probably the most boring video you'll ever see. So pictures will have to suffice.


*The view from above*

I can't begin to describe the feeling of flying high over the Sacred Valley. In fact, I won't even try. You'll just have to take my word for it. It was spectacular. A rush of adrenaline.

As we begin the slow, slow, slow descent back to earth, I get a little queasy. Actually, I get very queasy. Richard informs me, "Let me know if you're gonna hurl. There's a special position you have to be in, and it's not easy to get to." This does nothing to make me feel better.

We touch down with ease. I can't get my helmet off fast enough. I give Richard a high-five, mumble something along the lines of, "I gotta be by myself...", walk to a lonely space, and proceed to NOT vomit. Richard advised us not to eat anything before paragliding, and I'm seeing the value of that advise. Three dry heaves later, I head back. Richard exclaims, "Are you GOOD TO GO?!" Something tells me he's no stranger to his clients yakking over Peruvian farmland. I yell back, "I AM GOOD TO GO!!"

We drive back toward the launch point, where my three friends are having a picnic, and the next group of paragliders, a trio of British ladies, await. They ask how I liked it. Without missing a beat, I reply, "It was AWESOME!" Well, it was. If you take away the nausea.


*Amy, Me (post-dry heaves), Richard, Christine, Brian*

Taking the taxi back to Cusco, the four of us are exhausted and baked from the Andean sun. But we're content, knowing we got a view of the Sacred Valley that few get to see.

But all our thoughts were on the next day. When the fun begins...

Catch all the paragliding madness, as well as farm animals in combat, on my flickr site.