After a sandwich in the park, fending off an army of hostile pigeons, it was time for hanggliding (my birthday present from Clem -- thank you). I had called earlier in the morning, but the wind was dangerously strong. After lunch, apparently, the wind had changed and conditions were perfect. Still felt pretty blustery to me. Anyway, we caught a taxi over to the landing area (the driver understood what I meant by stretching out my arms and making hanggliding sounds, apparently, after my attempted pronunciation of the name of the beach proved incomprehensible). There we were met by my co-pilot, Rui Marra. I was mainly attracted by the name of the agency, Superfly, but it turns out Rui is a bit of a legend (we found this out online, he was very modest). Brazilian hanggliding champ several times over, this is only his hobby; his main job is psychology, studying fear and stress management (spot the connection?). He also takes kids from the favelas up flying to help them deal with their traumatic backgrounds.
I was pretty relaxed for the most part, but there were three moments when I felt somewhat less than chilled. First, when looking up from the beach at the rocky outcrop 800 metres up from which that I was about to jump (before I learnt that you keep running, as jumping slows you down).
[first experimentation with photos, more coming]
Second, when we got to the top of the mountain and I made the mistake of peering over the edge (as Clem laughed at me). And third, as I was being strapped up to the hangglider and it became apparent that we weren´t doing any more practice takeoffs but were actually about to run off into midair. By then everything is happening too quickly to flip out and I´m running at the edge, running off the edge, airborne, hit by a sudden surge of panic. But for only a second, then it´s just exhilaration, marvelling at the view and how smooth and surprisingly relaxing it feels to be flying 800 metres over Rio.
As we flew, Rui positioned the hangglider so I could pout at the camera with the spectacular scenery in the background (first Christ Redeemer, then Sugar Loaf). We flew out to sea, then turned back into the beach. At this point Rui said, "I´m going to release your legs, don´t worry." He did, I worried. Just hanging by my shoulders suddenly felt a lot less secure. Then we pick up speed as we swoop into the beach, and Rui lifts the hangglider as we´re within touching distance and I´m supposed to start walking but somehow end up just flopping in the sand, with my dignity tangled up in the hangglider´s struts. Thankfully Clem hasn´t yet made it down from the top to laugh at me, but she will do once she sees the video. Obviously I decided to shell out the extra to get the photos and video, although while I was captivated watching myself on camera my legs were being savaged by a horde of sandflies. The recovery of the 20 chunks taken out of my flesh was an ongoing saga, my over-reaction to which amused Clem greatly. 10 days later and I seem to be alive, with the bites finally faded.
We finished up the afternoon walking back up Ipanema, then taking the cab north to where we´re staying for our last three days in Rio, near Lapa. After finding out that "kitchen access" doesn´t actually include cooking, we went out for dinner. We happened to bump into a few people (a couple of Canadians, and a Brazilian guy who had studied with them in Ottawa) whom we had just met in the reception of our previous hostel, and accepted their kind invitation to join them for dinner. Also with them was the Brazilian guy´s aunt, a lawyer who was born in the favelas and gave us a fascinating lesson (translated by her nephew) on the city, how the favelas were being pacified (although there were hundreds that were still dangerous), and why some people were even moving back into the "pacified communities", attracted by cheap prices, free (stolen) electricity, and amazing views from the hills.
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