Of Birds and Billiards

August 12th - Rio de Janeiro

It is precarious to think what might have not been invented if flying's most serious enthusiasts, the Wright brothers, had ever tried to hangliding. Our trip from the top of the mountain in Tijuca Forest to Peppino Beach lasted no longer than 15 minutes, but one could feel like they were flying all the same.

At about 11am our cabbie picked us up, and quickly drove us through leblon (the neighborhood next to Ipanema) to Peppino Beach. There, when looking into the sky, it is almost as if dozens of enormous peacocks had taken flight. Hangliders of all colors lazily patrolled the air, catching thermals, swooping low, and landing gracefully on the beach every few minutes. It was all I could do to not run up the mountain to immediately propel myself off of it. We would get our chance soon enough.

Boarding our Land Rover, we were soon humming our way up the mountain, eventually climbing some 1600 ft. Once we were at the launching ramp, the butterflies began to grow. Basically a wooden platform built off the side of the mountain, the overhang seemed to end in a definitively too abrupt manner. We were soon saddled into our harness, and after a few practice runs, we were ready to go. A few minutes later, Mario had already taken flight, and it was my turn. The butterflies came back in full force. My pilot, Marco, positioned the booming 30ft orange-tipped wing onto the launching ramp. With a few words he motioned me over next to him and began to clip me in. Finished, we started our own little count down. 3, 2, 1, GO!!! Five quick steps and we were airborne! Riding the buffets of wind which drafted up the sheer cliff of Pedra Bonita, our little tandem easily climbed into the sky. The view (of forest, ghettos, city, high-rises, beach and sea) was magnificent, but the silence was profound. My expectation was to be besieged by the howling of the wind. The air, however, provided a serenity which could only be experienced by un-powered flight. Alas, all things must end, and so too did my ride. Marco adroitly maneuvered our hanglider in one swooping turn onto the beach for a delicate, if not rather thrilling landing.

That night Tim and I put on our Sunday best and headed out to the local Irish Pub. There we met up with the gang from the Mango Tree. We soon found ourselves looking longingly at an occupied pool table, so Tim and I decide to ask for a match. The two Brazilian ladies at the table, each in their late twenties, were sporting enough to accommodate us. Surprisingly, they each had very good English. We got on well, even though Tim and I had managed to lose the first two out of three matches(yes, embarrassing). Well, that is, until they learned of our country of origin. Apparently, the US does not provide a good conversation piece for many foreigners. It got to the point where one of the girls refused to talk about anything related to our home country. Needless to say, I had better things to do than wait till the US-bashing began. We decided to take our losses and walk away from the table. There are few other countries which beget such a unique fusion of hate and envy as the US. On one hand, these Brazilian girls espouse cultural awareness and acceptance as virtues. On the other, they reject our culture completely. It seems that hypocrisy is not just an American institution.

A few good laughs with the Canadians, a bar or so later, and a 5am last-call sent us home.