A tandem paragliding ride in New Zealand let me compare the sensation of real flying to all those flying dreams I have.  Both have discrete pleasures.  In my dreams I’m always in the superman position, belly down with my hands out in front.  Control is sometimes sketchy, but I did once sail through a glass chandelier without breaking anything.

During the real flight in New Zealand I was introduced to charming Beloj, a retired Israeli paratrooper.  Before take-off he carefully reviewed what I’d need to do.  He walked to the hillside which I knew dropped off quickly and said we’d be running down that hill “Do you want to see it?”  I said, “No, I trust you.”  Which made him laugh and respond “That’s a good thing, since you’ll be strapped to me in the air.”  Then off we went.  And I kept running for a bit after take-off, because he told me that if I stopped running down the hill, he would crash into me and we would tumble down the mountain instead of glide in the air.

Once we were up there, I didn’t have a care in the world except for those darn strings.  There were so many strings tied to the material.  My only concern was the possibility they’d get tangled in the other paragliders who were soaring nearby.  I let it all go, fortunately, and enjoyed a gentle and relaxing long flight of soaring and spirals.  The only improvement would be if I could do it in the superman position.

Sometimes I wonder if traffic will prevent me from ever getting to work.  It’s a bit congested some days.  Other times I wonder if I’ll die on the way to work.  Thousands of other commuters on Route 78 must feel the same.

I’ve driven past the water tower pictured here a hundred times during my commute.  It stands at a ledge overlooking the highway.  I snapped this shot during its recent refurbishment.  With all the rust spots gone, the water tower now stands clean and white, a symbol of survival.

Today when I pass it I ponder my own survival at a company where I’ve worked for so many years.  During the turmoil of this bad economy and contracting markets, lots of incredible people have been “let go.”  It’s not just talent and skills that help people survive in an environment like this.  There has to be an element of luck involved.  The same could probably be said for surviving Route 78.

When traveling abroad alone I feel the safest when I limit my time in transit.  I prefer to cruise around unfamiliar foreign lands when I travel with a partner.  My solo adventures involve staying in the center of a large city, such as Paris or London, where I maintain a home base and have plenty of options for entertainment, art, and walking.  I have the freedom to explore at will in familiar territory.

Days after the terrorist attacks of September 11^th, I had to decide if I’d follow through on a solo trip I booked to Prague.  I figured it would be one of the safest times to travel with everyone on high alert.  And I was not going to let “them” prevent me from enjoying the things I love.

As one of the few medieval European cities that wasn’t destroyed by bombs, it is a treat to walk Prague’s streets, visit the castle, and loiter on bridges over the River Vltava.  I was introduced to the art of Josef Capek (at home I quickly painted his “Head of a Woman” (1915) from my sketch so I wouldn’t forget it, but my execution is dreadfully poor and I hope to re-do it someday).  Another highlight was a concert by Jablkon, a Czech acid folk group whose instruments include freaky bells, gongs, horns, guitars, and voices.

In the Prague metro I helped prevent a 100 person pile-up on the steep escalator.  A huge drunk man was wobbling in front of me as we quickly descended.  I backed off as far as I could, but there were lots of people behind me.  Sure enough, at the bottom he fell on his backside and I had to vault over him to avoid falling on top of him.  A woman in front who heard the commotion helped as we each grabbed one of his huge arms and hauled him off the escalator.  She proceeded to get in his face and yell in Czech.  It’s one of my distorted thrills to hear someone being scolded in a foreign tongue.  You don’t know what they’re saying, but you know what they’re saying.

I would have missed all this and more if I let terrorists prevent me from travelling.  My individualism flies in the face of “their” philosophy on so many levels.  Only later did I recognize the significance of my chosen destination since reports alleged a connection between 9/11 terrorists and Prague.

Travel serves many purposes.  My passion for travel was started by Mom.  She’s been to countries on six continents.  She had a professor who said “If you have money, travel.  If you don’t have money, travel.”  I had a professor who explained that the best way to learn about your own country is to leave it to experience the rest of the world.

Of course, the experience of culture, food, and people can enrich your life.  I’ve also used travel for interpersonal discovery.  I once asked a new boyfriend “Hey, next month do you want to go to Lisbon for a long weekend?”  Everyone knows travelling is a great way to test a relationship.  The correct answer speaks volumes to the gusto, spontaneous nature, and wanderlust that I treasure.

Travel can bring out the best and worst in a person.  This pic shows how I got along with current longtime friend Willie when we took a trip to Italy.  If a friendship can survive battles outside your comfort zone during stressful travel, it can probably last a lifetime.