Go Out and Travel the World

Everyone should travel to another country at least once in their lives. More, if they’re lucky.

I know that many cannot realistically do this. Financial reasons, family obligations, schedule restrictions, health considerations. For some, these limitations are insurmountable.

For those where such limitations don’t exist: travel. Go visit another country. Learn enough of their language to say, “hello,” “good bye,” “thank you,” “excuse me,” “check please,” and “where is the bathroom?” Read about their customs, traditions, and beliefs. Strive to understand them, even for a little.

To be fair, simply flying to another country and visiting their main tourist attractions isn’t enough. But for many, it is perhaps better than nothing. For a while, you are enveloped in another world. Even that taste can help.

For a true learning experience, you have to talk to the locals. Walk off the beaten path. Eat something different. Observe the general populace. Behave as they do, within bounds. And above all, be respectful of their culture.

The benefit of traveling is the opening of your mind. You learn how another whole society lives, day in and day out. It helps you to understand, if even just for a little while, how a fellow human being lives. The world shrinks, if even just for a little bit. Prejudices shrivel. Preconceptions wither. Generalizations splinter.

The more you travel, the more your mind opens, and the more the world shrinks.

I remember a time when taking the train out of my home town was scary. My little suburban town was all I knew. Taking the train into the city was a huge event. It meant going someplace far, foreign, even frightening.

But once I did it, the city became part of my world. What I knew expanded while the world shrunk. No longer was it someplace far and foreign. It was just another place to go.

I remember a time when taking the plane from the East Coast to the West Coast was disconcerting. My coast was all I knew. The other coast was practically a foreign country with a different temperament, disposition, and even attitude.

Then I moved there. Both coasts became my world. Temperaments, dispositions, and attitudes were more similar than I thought. The world shrunk a little more.

I remember a time when another country was totally alien. My country was all I knew. Other countries weren’t just foreign; they were so different that it was easy to generalize their populations as charactertures of their cultures.

Then I visited one country. And another. And another. The diversity of the people in each was just as diverse as a New Yorker is from a Texan and an Alaskan and a Californian and a Hawaiian. There are more similarities than there are differences. The world shrunk even more.

Every country has its poor and homeless, its rich and aristocracy, its kind-hearted and selfless, its fools and racists, its leaders and managers, its good parents and bad parents, and its bad drivers.

Cultures and traditions may differ. Foods and languages may differ. Religions and skin color may differ. But everyone feels happy, feels sad, and gets pissed off like everyone else. While there may be cultural differences that underlie a group of people, exceptions abound.

Prejudice may have an evolutionary benefit, but it can also be harmful to you and other people. It can close your mind to opportunities. Traveling the world shatters many of those misconceptions. Or at least, it makes you think twice before categorizing someone or some idea.

So go out and travel the world. Watch it shrink. Experience and understand another culture. Eat different foods, speak foreign languages, and talk to someone new. Do that, and the world is yours.

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The Trip to Vietnam

“Oh my goodness, let me tell you this story,” began the barber. His electric shaver sheared my sides as he started.

“I was flying back to Vietnam. I have not been there in years. Many, many years. It has been so long that I did not remember if I needed a Visa or not.”

He shook his head and frowned. “A friend told me I did not because I am Vietnamese. I believed him. So I packed up all of my bags and went to the airport. And guess what?”

“What?” I asked.

He took a step back from my hair and examined it. Narrowed his eyes. Then he looked at me. “When I got to the gate, they rejected me. They told me I needed a Visa. Can you believe it? I listened to my friend. I believed my friend. And here I was, at the airport, with all of my luggage, and I was told I could not get on the plane.”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured. “So what did you do?”

“I had to go all the way back home, get online, and look up information on how to get my Visa.” He snipped some hair and shook his head again. “Normally, it takes only ten dollars and a few weeks to get the Visa. But because I needed it right away, I had to pay… guess how much?”

“Fifty bucks?”

“No, more.”

“Hundred bucks?”

“Yes! Hundred bucks! A little more than a hundred bucks, actually. I had to call up my cousins in Vietnam to help rush it too. It was such an ordeal. I finally got it in an email, printed it out, and called the airline to book another flight. But then…”

His voice trailed off. I couldn’t tell if he was lost in the shears, or in the story. I decided not to push him and let him finish my sides.

“…and then,” he finally continued, “they told me all the flights were booked. I had to wait next week for the next available flight! I was so angry. I only had a week of vacation and already took a few days off. I could not wait a week!”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured again.

“So my brother, he travels a lot. He called up the airline and talked to them. Somehow, he got them to give me a flight in two days. I was so happy”

“Uh huh,” I concurred without trying to nod my head.

“I flew from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Then from San Francisco to Shanghai. Then from Shanghai to Vietnam. Oh, and while at Shanghai, there’s more to this story…”

“There’s more?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes! These things always happen to me. I don’t know why.” He rolled his eyes. “When I got to Shanghai, they told me I had to get my luggage from luggage claim and check it in again for my flight to Vietnam. I told them No, it should be transferred automatically. But they kept saying No, I need to pick it up myself and check it back in again. Such an ordeal. So I went to luggage claim. And guess what?”

“What? Your luggage was missing?”

“Yes! My luggage was missing! Can you believe it? I talked to the airline and they told me it was still in San Francisco. So I had to call San Francisco airport, and they told me they did not have my luggage, that it was on the airplane.”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured again.

“I know! I was so angry. So I called my brother and he checked it for me. They told him my luggage was on its way to Vietnam already. So I got on the plane and flew to Vietnam. And guess what?”

“You didn’t find your luggage.”

“Yes! I didn’t find my luggage!”

This guy’s story is either one huge exaggeration, or the poor fellah really does have horrible things happening to him all the time. Either way, the story was enticing. I listened with intense interest.

“I called my brother again,” he continued. “The airline told him my luggage was in Vietnam. But the airport in Vietnam said they did not have my luggage. I was on the phone all day, calling Shanghai, San Francisco, my brother… such an ordeal. Finally, someone told me to check the luggage counter. I did, and there was my luggage.”

He let out a long sigh and shook his head.

“Daaaaaamn.”

“Everything in my luggage was broken. The luggage itself was okay. Nothing was missing. But all of my stuff inside the luggage was broken. I had to buy all new things.”

“Daaaaaamn.” Well, at least you finally made it to Vietnam.”

“Yes. I finally did.” His face hinted at a momentary smile, then it vanished. “But there’s more.”

“More?”

“More.”

“Haven’t you had enough already?”

He laughed. “Yes, I have. These things always happen to me. My sister asks me why these things always happen to me. She doesn’t believe me that they always do, but they do.”

Another long sigh. Then he continued.

“While in Vietnam, sister made me a delicious dessert with coconut. She doesn’t know that I get sick with coconut, unfortunately. I ate it and started to feel sick. I didn’t know why. I asked her, ‘What is in this dessert?’ She said, ‘coconut.’ I ran to the bathroom and had such stomach pains. My goodness I was in such pain.”

I grimaced. He noticed the expression on my face and nodded.

“Yes. I had bad diarrhea. It was such pain. I even had to go to the hospital because I could not stand it. The doctor examined me and said there was nothing he could do. I just had to wait it out. But I kept telling him I was in a lot of pain, tremendous pain. He finally gave me some medicine, but it didn’t help. I just sat in the bathroom for a long, long time, in such pain.”

“Daaaaaamn,” I murmured.

He snipped my hair, looked at it in the mirror, and snipped again. I waited silently to hear more, but he just kept cutting my hair. After a moment, I asked, “How did the rest of the trip go?”

“Oh, it was okay. I saw my family, then flew home without any more problems. Getting there was such an ordeal. But coming home was great. I was so happy to come home.”

That was so not the answer I was expecting. A part of me almost hoped to hear more horrible ordeals. I dunno why. Something about watching a train wreck, that kind of thing.

“My mother,” he started up again. “She wants me to go back again this year. I told her No. I had such a horrible trip, I do not want to go back again so soon.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yes. Such an ordeal. Such an ordeal.”

Fortunately, he cut my hair without incident. No lost scissors or explosive diarrhea marred my haircut experience. But stories like that sure have a way of capturing one’s attention. Everybody loves a good, horrible ordeal, especially when it’s someone else’s.

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Security Scare at the Airport

So here’s how it went down:

I’m on a Delta Song flight from JFK to SFO. The plane is mostly packed. I’m towards the rear. Although it’s around dinner time, the lights are dimmed, and most of the passengers are asleep.

Somewhere over the Mississippi River

I get up to go to the bathroom. There’s one person ahead of me, so I stand and wait. A man in the aisle seat of the last row starts shouting something.

“…can’t believe you’re doing this to me! …you guys are supposed to be helping me! …is a matter of national security!”

He seems to be shouting at the flight attendants, who watch him intently but do not answer. The man is pounding on the tiny TV screen from the seat next to him – the TV screen in front of him is off.

After I finish in the bathroom, the man is quiet but appears visibly shaken.

Somewhere over Colorado

The flight attendants are slowly bringing the drink cart down the aisle. They reach my seat.

“What is the matter with you people! Are you ignoring me?!”

It’s the man from the last row again.

“You’re taking your time with that damn drink cart! Hurry up and get to me! What is wrong with you people?!”

Several other passengers turn to look. I pass on my drink and put back on my earphones.

On the ground in San Francisco

Finally, we land. As we head towards the gate, a flight attendant gets on the loudspeaker.

“Attention, ladies and gentleman. As soon as we taxi into the gate, please remain seated. There is a security issue that we need to attend to, and we need you all to remain in your seats. Airport security personnel are going to board this plane as soon as we are at the gate. Please remain in your seats until you are told you can get up to deplane. This is a serious matter and I want you all to listen very carefully. I don’t want any of you to get up and claim you did not hear this message. You all must remain in your seats until you are told you can get up again. Thank you.”

As soon as the message is delivered, just about everyone’s heads whip backwards (including mine) to the man in the last row. The man looks at his row mates and shrugs.

The man appears to be of mixed Asian/European decent. He is dressed in business casual attire and wears thick-rimmed glasses. I can’t tell if he’s been drinking or not.

Several security officers board the plane. A few remain up front while two walk to the back of the plane. They get to the man in the last row, the one who’s been shouting earlier.

“Get up,” orders one of the officers. The man gets up without any hassles.

“Turn around.” As soon as he turns around, the officers cuff him.

“Do you have any bags in the overheard bins?” one of them asks.

“Yea, yea,” the man replies with a nod. The officers open up several bins and point to each piece of luggage. The man shakes his head with each. I guess he didn’t have any bags after all…

The officers walk him out, past the surprised & suspicious stares of the passengers. Several passengers eye the overheard bins.

In my hand the whole time was my Treo. I contemplated taking a photo, but decided against it in case the man really was a terrorist or mass murderer and started shooting us all or something.

A few moments later, the flight attendants called for us to deplane. We all rushed the hell out of there.

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The Fantastic Flying Cousins

“How did you get up there?” our little cousins asked. They were on their tippy-toes, as if their toes would magically get them on the roof too.

“We flew,” my brother and I answered.

“No you didn’t. Did you?”

“Yup, we did. And you can’t come up because you don’t believe us.”

Our cousins bounced up and down. “We believe! We believe! Can you take us up there too?”

“Nope. It’s too dangerous for you two. You’re too young.” My brother and I smirked. Behind us was ledge we climbed across from our bedroom window. But we didn’t tell our cousins that.

“We want to fly! We want to fly!”

“Sorry. Maybe someday when you’re older.”

“No fair! How come you get to fly and we can’t?” Their frowns almost made us laugh, but we kept as stolid as we could.

“Because.”

“Because why??”

“Just because.”

“Awww c’mon!” They ran around the house, flapping their arms. “We want to fly too!”

My brother and I ducked back from the edge and hooted. “Oh man, this is too funny! They totally believe us!”

“Look, I can fly! I can fly!”

We peeked over the edge again. One of them was jumping up and down.

“You’re not flying. You’re just jumping around.”

“Nuh uh! I was flying for a few seconds! I’m just too young to fly all the way!”

I hid my face and laughed again. My brother kept a straight face. “You’re doing it wrong. You have to flap your arms like this.”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

“That’s all wrong. You’ll never get it. Forget it; you’ll never be able to fly.”

Our little cousins hollered and ran around the house again. They leapt about as they ran, arms flapping. “We want to fly! We want to fly!”

“You know, I’m beginning to think that you’ll never be able to fly. With that awful arm flapping, you’re not going to go anywhere.”

The cousins skidded to a stop. One of them stared at us defiantly. “Stop it! You guys can’t fly!”

“What? Of course we can! How do you think we got up here?”

“Prove it! Show us you can fly!”

We flapped our arms and got onto the tips of our toes. “See? We’re going up, we’re going up, we’re… naaah, we don’t want to fly right now.”

“That wasn’t flying! You can’t fly!”

“Sure we can! There’s no other way we could have gotten up here.”

“Maybe you climbed up.”

“Oh yea? Look around the house. Do you see a place we could have climbed?”

Our little cousins circled the house again, touching the fences and wall in various places to asses their climbability.

“See, there’s nothing we could have climbed. We flew.”

“Nuh uh! You can’t fly!”

I looked at my brother. “I guess they don’t believe us.”

“Yea,” he answered. “I guess they’ll never be able to fly.”

“You guys are lying poopie heads! You can’t fly!”

My brother and I darted from the edge and quickly crawled into our bedroom. We rushed downstairs while our little cousins continued shouting at the roof.

“Hi!”

Our little cousins stopped in mid-word. Mouths still open, they swiveled to see us standing next to them. “How did you get down so fast??”

“We got bored up there and decided to fly down.”

“What?! You flew down?? When? We didn’t see you!”

“You didn’t? You should have been paying more attention. We flew down right next to you.”

“Nuh uh! You’re lying poopie heads!”

“Okay, fine.” I stared the cousins deep in the eyes. “You want proof?”

“Yea!”

I looked at my brother. “Okay, let’s fly back up!” We took off around the house.

“Hey!” Our little cousins came after us. Their little legs couldn’t match our speed. We made it halfway around the house before they made it a quarter. With our cousins out of sight, we ran into the house, up to our bedroom, and back out the window again.

“Hey you guys! Up here!”

Our little cousins tumbled over each other as they tried to stop. Their little eyes were as wide as golf balls. “You flew!!”

“Yup!”

“You guys can fly! You guys can fly!”

“We told you we could.”

“Take us up with you! Take us up with you!”

“No way! You called us lying poopie heads. And that hurt. So we’re not taking you anywhere.”

“Puh-leeeeease! Take us up there! We want to fly with you!!”

My brother looked at me. “Since they didn’t believe us, they’re never going to be able to fly, are they?”

“My my, you are correct,” I nodded. “What a shame to never be able to fly. Sad.”

“We believe! We believe!”

“Yes, very sad indeed.” My brother rubbed his cheek to wipe an invisible tear. “Sniff sniff.”

Our little cousins stood below us for a frozen moment, mouths agape like a pair of turkeys, then they darted into the house. “Moooooommie!” we heard them cry. “They said we’ll never be able to fly like them! We want to fly too!”

As they sobbed, we heard our aunt and uncle trying to stifle a chuckle. My brother and I tumbled over and laughed until we couldn’t breath.

“Think we should tell them the truth?” my brother asked between chortles.

I smirked. “Naaah. Let them go back to school next week believing they have flying cousins.”

Have you ever been a lying poopie head to younger cousins or siblings?

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The Pyramid Scheme

I just finished reading Robert Cialdini’s “Influence”. It’s a book about six basic behavioral principles that can be used to influence people.

So it was with great interest that I engaged in a conversation with Stephen, a gentleman sitting next to me on my Southwest flight to New York. He offered me some drink coupons and then tried to sell me some air treatment equipment.

Instantly, I my radar beeped. Give a gift to someone and he’ll generally feel the need to give in return. (Chapter 2, “Reciprocation: The Old Give and Take…and Take”)

He even added that the air treatment equipment offer would end in a few days. Emphasize how rare something is, and it will seem more valuable. (Chapter 7, “Scarcity: The Rule of the Few”)

Then he gave me his card, inquired into what I did, and expressed an interest in hiring independent contractors. My eyes lit when he said he was interested in hiring freelancers. He asked for my card and I made the mistake of giving it to him. (I didn’t believe it was a mistake until later, of course—I thought he was only an air treatment equipment salesman who needed a web site.)

After he established a rapport with me, peppered compliments throughout our conversation. People are generally more susceptible to people they like, and flattery can get you anywhere. (Chapter 5, “Liking: The Friendly Thief”)

“I can tell you’re an intelligent young man. You’ve got a great future ahead of you. I can tell you how you can make hundreds of thousands, easily.”

He pulled out several charts and brochures. They listed dozens of examples of how his distributed marketing business (basically, a pyramid scheme) could make me rich. Stephen even told me about a “partner” of his in San Jose and how hundreds of others in California are doing this right now.

“Hundreds of intelligent young men just like you are getting rich right now.” People are more apt to do something if many others are doing it too. (Chapter 4, “Social Proof: Truths Are Us”)

It was interesting to hear these how he was using every influential behavioral principle in the book. I wonder if he had read it too.

He described to me a rather polished and formal looking pyramid scheme. The color brochures and practiced speech made it sound even more legitimate. He himself was, in fact, one of the organization’s most successful and knowledgeable members, he told me.

And if I were to join, he, an experienced authority, would personally teach me. People will generally follow those in authority. (Chapter 6, “Authority: Directed Deference”)

Finally, he had me write a list of luxurious goals and dreams (like which sports cars I’d like to own and how many vacations I’d like to have).

“You would like to achieve these dreams someday, right? If I told you I had a guaranteed way to help you reach these dreams, you’d be interested, right? Now what if I told you that all you needed to do to start was to attend one of our seminars for only six measly dollars, you would, right? What’s six dollars, a lunch? Wouldn’t you trade a day’s lunch in order to make hundreds of thousands of dollars in one year’s time?”

By committing to part of an behavior, many people will continue the rest of the behavior in order to act consistently. (Chapter 3, “Commitment and Consistency: Hobgoblins of the Mind”)

It was a very fascinating discussion. After the plane landed, I thanked him and left. As soon as I reached my house, I pulled out Cialdini’s “Influence” and leafed through it.

Wow. Stephen sure gave me a great presentation of the principles in practical use. He probably thought I was thanking him for this “opportunity” to get rich, when I was really thanking him for this cool demonstration of Influence.

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Good Bye, New York

Good bye, New York.

I’m sitting on the plane right now, on my way to San Francisco. It’s about a six hour ride. The batteries on my laptop are almost gone, so I need to write this ramble quickly.

I’m nervous about Monday. I’m nervous and anxious. On Monday I start my new job.

Then I’ll have about two weeks to look for an apartment. Until then, I’ll be in a hotel with a few of my belongings while the rest sit in storage, waiting for my new home.

I’m thinking about last Friday night too. A bunch of friends and I met up at good ole’ St. Marks Ale House.

This bar is “our” bar; it’s where we always go when we want to be someplace familiar, homey, and down-to-earth. It’s chock full of memories—I now add last Friday night to my St. Marks file.

I wish I could capture the feeling I had as I sat there, amongst my friends. It’s such a warm and comfortable feeling. It’s the feeling of true friendship, of close family, of warm fuzzy thoughts.

I’m frightened about losing these friendships and never getting this warm fuzzy feeling again.

No longer will I be able to hop on a train and join Eric, Stephen, Ben, Andy, Stacy, Dave, and Dan for drinks at St. Marks.

No longer will I be able to walk down Wall Street and meet Vanessa for dinner.

I won’t be able to sip wine at Chez Es Saada with Jen, Grace, John, and the others anymore.

Not to mention dinners with Norika or Annie and Jessie.

And I must not forget about Zamz with Jayne, James, Jason, Marc, Terry, and the others.

Or coffee at Cosi with Kristina.

Then there was TGIF with Corey and Sam.

And karaoke with Jane.

There are so many more, and my batteries are running out.

New York has been my home for so long, it’s become more than just a home to me. It’s a haven; It’s a friend. And It’s full of warm fuzzy memories.

I’ve made so many strong friendships here that I hope I never lose them. I’ll never forget them; I hope they never forget me.

Good bye, New York. I’ll be back.

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I Flew With Darth Vader

It’s time to go again. It’s time to go to the airport to sit and wait for a delayed flight. Time to fall asleep on the plane after munching on my ten peanuts (no more, no less).

Since February of 1999, I’ve been traveling almost every week. I’ve gotten a few stories from it. This is one of them.

So there I was sitting, wondering why James Earl Jones was on my plane.

He was in the first seat of first class. A book was in his hand; he was reading it peacefully. And he was wearing—get this—a Bell Atlantic shirt!

“Bell Atlantic: Where the Wild Things Are”

Two ladies in front of me did a double take on him. “Is that him? Is that him?”

The flight was from New York’s La Guardia Airport to Virginia’s Norfolk International Airport. I wonder what Mr. Jones wanted to do in Norfolk? Was it just a stop-over to another city? Maybe there’s family there? I wonder.

As I took my seat, a memory blipped in my mind. Someone had been talking about Darth Vader and his voice in the airport terminal. He must have been talking about Mr. Jones.

It was a crowded terminal. Bad weather caused dozens of delays. The terminal was hot and stagnant. I hadn’t noticed any particular commotion there to signify a celebrity in the midst—and I wondered—when did Mr. Jones board the plane? I’d imagine that hordes of admirers would have been bugging him for autographs had he walked through that jammed terminal.

After all of the passengers took their seats, a flurry of flashes blinked in first class—somebody was taking pictures up there. Of Mr. Jones no doubt.

Then we took off. The plane shuttered as it flew. The fault of bad weather.

A friend of mine in upstate New York, where it takes a ten minute drive to get to your neighbor, has a long and unpaved gravel driveway. Riding on it with a car is an endorsement for shock absorbers. The turbulence of this plane ride reminded me of that.

The bumps got so cacophonous that I wondered—what if we crashed? Damn, I thought, it would be a shame if Mr. Jones died on my flight. Not that it would be my fault in any way. But I’d feel darn bad if, during my first encounter with Mr. Jones, we crashed.

Obviously, we didn’t. Otherwise, It would be ghastly strange to be reading all of this from me.

The turbulence ended and we landed without further incident. I exited the plane without spotting Mr. Jones again.

Last week, as I exited a plane, I walked into the blazing light of a television camera. I wondered what famous person this camera for. A gathering of travelers was huddled around the cameraman. I got to my rental car without ever finding out who they were waiting for.

There had been no television camera for Mr. Jones though. I wonder why.

Have you ever flown with someone famous?

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Someone Waiting For Me

As he walked out of the airplane, she jumped into his arms and kissed him.

I watched the couple embrace for a good five minutes. Another guy walked out and was greeted by a parade of smiling children. An elderly lady received a hug from an awaiting elderly gentleman. And a little boy ran out and screamed “Daddy!” as he darted towards his father’s awaiting arms.

Gosh, I wish I had someone waiting for me when I got off the plane.

My current job requires a lot of travel. Every week I get on a plane. And every week I get off a plane.

Once, just once, I’d like to walk out and see someone waiting to see me. I don’t care if it’s a friend, a girlfriend (if I had one), a relative, or even a complete stranger. Heck, I’d even be content just to see a little puppy wagging his tail as he saw me.

I can see why some people ask for car services. Having one of those limo drivers waiting at the gate holding a sign with your name on it can be real nice. You can’t exactly run up and hug and kiss him (unless you get one of those car services), but it’s nice just the same.

Have you ever had someone waiting for you?

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I Almost Died

“Oh my God I almost died today!”

Temi bounced around like a giddy school girl. Only half an hour ago she was clinging to her chair, digging her nails into its frame, and chanting: “I’m going to die! I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”

And now she’s chanting: “Let’s do that again! Let’s do that again! Let’s do that again!”

We did it. We survived. And gosh darn it, we’d do it again.

Thursday, May 13th. I’ll never forget that day. Kind of an ominous number, but that didn’t bother us.

On that day, nine of us jumped out of an airplane 14,000 feet in the air and plunged straight towards the Earth at 120 mph.

And HOLY SHEEET what a rush!

The fear didn’t hit me until I boarded the plane. As I signed the release forms (what a horribly ironic name—a release form that releases your life from their carelessness, should they be careless) and sat through the instructional video, I was numb to the risk I was about to take.

One of the first lines from the video was: “Tandem is an experimental form and you can die from this.”

Golly. I had no idea jumping from a plane could kill me. Glad you clarified that.

Before I go on, here’s a brief intro on sky diving. There are three methods in which you can go with:

Tandem

An experienced instructor is strapped to your back. He/she handles everything: the parachute, the landing, the jumping out of the plane. You’re just there to enjoy the ride. There’s about 35–45 seconds of free fall before the parachute is deployed, depending upon how high you jump.

Static Line

You jump alone. Your parachute is automatically and instantaneously deployed, so you experience no free fall. A long training course is required for this so you can learn what to do in the event of a mishap.

Accelerated Free Fall

You jump with two instructors at your sides. They watch you and monitor your progress. If anything goes wrong, they can intervene quickly. A long training course is required for this one also, since there is a lot to learn.

All nine of us went tandem. Two had gone static line before and a third guy had been on his way to get a sky diving certification. The rest of us were newbies.

We went up in groups of three. The plane carried a total of seven jumpers: three tandem, three tandem instructors, and one jumper holding a camera.

There were no seats. We sat on the floor. The door was clear plastic, so we could see the ground outside. Watching it get further and further away was utterly terrifying.

Higher and higher we climbed. When we finally hit 14,000 feet, they opened the door. Wind rushed in. I looked out the door and gasped. There was nothing separating me from the ground, except a whole lotta air.

The two other jump pairs leapt before me. Then came my turn. I dragged myself to the threshold. My instructor was strapped securely behind me. He told me to stick my knees out of the plane.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to willingly stick your body out of an airplane? I looked down and saw the tiny landmarks. The two dots of my friends grew smaller and smaller.

Then we jumped.

The air roared around me. I could hardly breathe. My ears popped.

Then I steadied my equilibrium and screamed. The adrenaline was now firmly locked in my system.

Daaaaamn this was a great feeling! HOLY SHEEET what a fucking rush!

Then I looked up at the camera jumper. And my goggles blew off my head. My glasses dangled. The rush of the wind tore at my face.

How my glasses stuck to my head while my goggles blew off is beyond me. I must have a guardian angel or something. The only thing that held my glasses to my face was a prayer.

I quickly reached up and grabbed my glasses. And I held them all the way down to the ground.

My video caught it all.

When the chute opened, the thigh straps dug into my pelvic area. That was not cool. I was singing soprano at 3,000 feet. But at least I still had my glasses.

I tried to remember all of the procedures. Our instructors didn’t give us very thorough lessons. And falling at terminal velocity to your death has a way of making you forget things.

I didn’t have a perfect landing. My instructor didn’t remind me to run as my feet hit the ground and my mind was too flooded with adrenalin to remember.

So I crashed. But despite that, it was still a soft landing.

Then I did a victory dance. Shook my booty and threw my hands in the air like I just jumped out of an airplane. I made it! I jumped out of an airplane and survived! HOLY SHEEET what a rush!

Have you ever sky dived?

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