Old Times
The first time I saw paragliding was in 1988. I was rock climbing as I reached the top of a cliff, a friend flew over my head I was amazed! He had just been on a two day training course and had purchased a paraglider. He had asked his instructors if you could fly off cliffs but they said they didn't know as no one had done it yet! So he tried it and you could!
So he taught me how to fly which I was lucky to survive as he forgot to tell me about stalling for my first few flights. Well at the school he went to no-one had mentioned landing into wind! No-one really knew anything.
We had climbing harnesses to fly with as they hadn't invented flying harnesses yet. We made a wooden swing type seat tied on to the maillons and would lift ourselves onto that so are legs would have some circulation. There weren't any second hand gliders on the market so I had to save for a whole summer to purchase my new Harley New Wave.
I bought a medium so I could share it with a friend as we didn't know the importance of weight ranges! This meant I was always getting blown backwards and He was always dropping like a stone! We tried going tandem in a howling gale 23 stone on a medium the wing tips were nearly touching we dropped very fast and pile drived into the ground He walked with a limp for a long time as he had touched the ground first! We had read in skywalker the new discovery of soaring and top landing! Normally we would just glide down but occasionally the wind was strong enough to hold us up but we could just get forward there was about a 2 km window! So now we were soaring or gale hanging in strong winds which was magic!
There are many more mad stories from this time. It was not the recommended way to learn as it hurts too much! Someone else has already made the mistakes now so you don't have too!
Things have progressed so much since then. Paragliders now have an 8 to 1 glide angle and can stay up easily in light winds. We also have comfortable harnesses that allow us to stay up for hours without loosing the circulation in our legs. It has never been easier to learn how to fly. So what are you waiting for?
Time stands still in Outer Mongolia by Zabdi Keen
We were exploring with two jeeps. Paragliding in the Gobi desert. My boyfriend Chris Mackay and I had been running a paragliding school in Hong Kong. The sticky heat got to much for us so we came to Outer Mongolia with four Chinese friends. To continue their instruction and have some adventures before returning home to the Isle of Arran in Scotland.
Star light prickled the heavens, the rocks around took bites out of the sky. The air smote our lungs burning coldly. The rough board of the trailer and some greasy wool brushed my face as we lay, wrapped in our sleeping bags, gazing round in wonder. Against the night sky of the Gobi desert, the Mongolian ger beside us glowed white. The chimney sending up showers of red embers to join the stars. We were paragliding pilots on a month long trek through Outer Mongolia. Staying on the nomadic farm of an Uncle of one on the Mongolian paraglider pilots. I fell asleep to the turnings and shuffling of the baby yaks and goats that were barricaded under the trailer we lay on. They were safe from the wolves and bears that were probably going to eat us instead!Blue. Blue sky. I lay on my side watching the ger being unwrapped before my eyes. Today was traditional day for the move from Spring to Summer pastures for the nomadic tribe. First they unwound layers of white waxed cotton, then two layers of felt that protected them from the sub-zero frosts and snows. Walking round and round the circular ger slowly peeling off the layers to reveal criss crossed thin wooden lattice sides. A painted door. Beds laid out. A stove cooking. Two central poles went up to a sort of wagon wheel from which poles fanned out, sloping down to rest on the sides. The whole tent was placed on raised wooden flooring to insulate it from the permafrost.
We helped to dismantle it. Chris impressed them. Standing in the centre he was tall enough to hold both poles which would normally take two people as the Mongolian people are quite a small race. The wooden lattice sides concertinaed down in sections to easily fit on the ox cart. We sat on the metal single beds in the middle of the vast open plains, for a breakfast of hot milk. Served us by an old wizened woman wrapped in scarves, stirring the fresh milk as it heated on the black stove in the centre. She handed round a bowl of what looked like great chunks of tablet. I took a big bite with great delight Yuch ! Of course it wasn't sweet tablet instead a sour, sour taste of dried whey made from mares milk! I had to eat it and look like I was enjoying it as they were eagerly watching for my reaction!
The young children rode around bareback, clutching onto the manes of their small fast horses. Herding the animals up onto the high pastures at a gallop. A baby yak had been born during the night and lay black and tiny, curled up beside it's mother who gazed at it through big dark eyes. They tried to separate them so they could keep it in the warm but she wouldn't let them come near.
The heaped up trailer was led by a big white ox. He patiently stood and waited whilst it was loaded up. I sat beside a young boy on the trailer as we moved. His father held the rope and called the ox to follow, the boy pulled the tail from side to side to build up speed. The big beast pulled against his wooden collar. The cart rocked. The seasons turned. And time stood still under the wide blue sky.
We helped set the ger up in fresh pastures. This gave the trodden ground a chance to recover from around the tent. There was no impatience or moaning from them as they moved their house and belongings and set it all up again in their traditional place for the summer. This time missing out one layer of felt as the summer is a lot hotter. On really hot days they just unwind a section of the walls and let the breeze blow through! It was too windy for us to fly our paragliders so we persuaded the farmer to lend us horses. He wanted to lead them as they had just been brought out of the herd three days earlier, though they had been broken the year before. We persuaded him to let us out on our own with our Mongolian interpreter and friend Bafca. Chris had never ridden a horse before. I told him it was just like his paraglider. Pull right to go right. Left to go left. Both hands pulled for stop! To make them run in Mongolia you say Chaa, Chaa and they brake into a gallop! We raced away over the endless grassy steppes with pink granite slabs of rock rearing up, not a fence or another person in sight. The horse I had was a bit crazy but by making it go in circles I could calm it down. Luckily there was a big metal handle on the Russian saddle to hang on to. Our four Chinese friends who were travelling with us came up alongside in the four wheel drive. The three of us we raced them to the brow of the hill galloping really fast with our hair streaming in the wind. We won!
They went on and we carried on our ride. We came across a cow stuck deep in the mud . We tried to get it out standing in the mud beside it but it was stuck fast. We went for help and came back with the farmer who eventually managed with the help of some children to pull it free.
We stopped for lunch. A fire. Gathering sticks and dry horse dung which did not smell because of the dry climate. We had forgotten a pot, so we boiled water in a vodka bottle that was placed in amongst the flames! We all squatted round the fire, watching the bubbles rise up and waiting for the glass to crack. It didn't. Boiling water in a vodka bottle over a horse dung fire we settled down to eat our pot-noodles! A bizarre meal!
Night was approaching but one of the calves was missing, we all went searching. I was given the stallion to ride bare back as the kids were impressed that a western girl could ride and stay on. We found it and herded it in under the trailer safe from the wolves.
When we got back to the ger we were invited to try some vodka distilled from mares milk! It tasted of sour yoghurt but was clear and strong. We smiled and drank trying not to let the shudder show on the face which we must have managed to well as we were given another bowl to drink! The custom of vodka drinking in Outer Mongolia is to sit in a circle. One man pours, hands the bowl to a person who drinks it and hands it back. He then refills it and hands it back to the next person. Everyone is watching and waiting for their turn to drink and it's a big bowl! You are not allowed to stop drinking the bowl once you have started. To say no you are allowed to dip your finger in and sprinkle some on the ground in offering to the Gods. Then hand the bowl back to the man who poured it who may pass it on again to someone else.
This normally ensured us a good nights sleep. Wrapped in our paragliders and sleeping bags laying in subzero temperatures looking at the stars and the glow from the horse dung fire. The night sky filled with the songs of the Mongolian tribes men who had been lured close by our brightly coloured paragliders flying in the evening skies. The singing starts and beautiful voices reach up to sear the heavens. Everyone falls asleep curled up around the fire. With Chris and Bafca ending up having a mid night feast opening tins of smoked mackerels that they had secreted away for a late evening snack that didn't consist of mutton.
We went flying the next day soaring on the up drafts that hit the pale grassy slopes with hordes of children running just underneath us. Backwards and forwards, laughing and trying to jump up and catch us. The older ones holding the younger by the hands and a few big friendly dogs the only supervision. All grubby with raggedy clothes but big white happy smiles. A magic moment.
We walked up the mountain with Alexandra the other Mongolian paragliding pilot with our fabric paragliders carried in rucksacks on our backs. Gophers scurried into their earths as we walked by. We reached the top but the wind was too strong and we might have been blown backwards. So we curled up and fell asleep in the sun. We woke up refreshed hours later, the wind was much better. We laid out our paragliders. We were launching above a high cliff. I brought my wing into the air and stepped forward and was lifted into the up drafts above the cliffs. We flew soaring high above the flat plains circling with the eagles. Playing in the up currants. We landed next to three Mongolian tribes women tending their cattle. Wearing traditional robes and sunglasses! They were amazed to see us. Chris gave them sweets and biscuits that he had in his harness. Forever after they will gaze into the skies whenever hungry. They were smiling and talking when they noticed the cattle had wandered off. The youngest one a beautiful girl raced off across the steppes her hair and robes streaming in the wind to block them off and chase them back with thrown stones. On our way back to camp we walked past a collection of Gers, outside on the ground lay the head and paw of a dog the rest had been eaten!
We were getting further into the Gobi desert and had had some small flights on the rocky slopes but the terrain was very harsh severe dust devils were forming by 9.30 am! Our Nissan Patrol was stuck in a rocky gorge in the middle of the Gobi desert in Outer Mongolia! We had been travelling through the bottom of the narrow gorge for hours, following the frozen stream bed which was supposed to be a track which lead up the mountain according to the locals. The cliff walls loomed up almost touching at times. The blue sky was turning sullen and ominous. The odd rock fell. A threatening place. Camels gazed fixedly as we struggled pushing and slipping on the glacial ice. Amethysts the size of eggs lay scattered over the ground. The drivers had had enough. This route was impassable, they refused to go on. We would have to turn back.
Alexandra the paragliding pilot come special force policeman was our guide with a hidden agenda! "Come" he said "we three go. BIG mountain, BIG Walking, carry food three days. Fly highest mountain in Gobi. Other people stay here" He was a big guy covered in knife and bullet wounds who would think nothing of a 3 day walk carrying a 25kg rucksack. We had already nick named him the "Beast Master!"
So a heated discussion ensued, all grouped round on a big boulder discussing through an interpreter what the real aims of the mission were as the storm clouds brewed and raced over head. We refused to go on and leave our friends in the middle of the gorge in the Gobi desert. He said we would land back beside them in three days time!
"We would not be able to land in the gorge if it was windy. So we might have to land on the other side of the Mountain range in the desert with no radios. We've come here with our friends to fly not to leave them stuck in a gorge" we argued.
Finally he agreed, we would eat here then drive back out of the Gobi desert which had turned out to consist of rocks not sand. To the grasslands which were more suitable for flying. So we cooked the sheep we had previously exchanged for two bottles of vodka. Earlier in the day our Chinese friends wanted roasted lamb. The Mongolians were shocked it is not in their tradition to eat young animals. So they chose an old ewe and slaughtered it in front of us. Slitting open the stomach, putting their hand inside and ripping the artery off the heart whilst stroking it and telling it not to worry, when it finished struggling they closed its eyes. We had mutton stew cooked in a big pot over a horse dung fire. The driver roasted the tail with a petrol burner in front of a rock. He cut strips of the white fat off, ate it then cleaned his hands off by rubbing the rest into his arms and face, a good moisturiser!
We proceeded to eat the lot over the next ten days! Throughout the ten days I surreptitiously threw the odd bone to the friendly dogs who followed us in the hopes of getting rid of the mutton before it got rid of us!
The storm hit and chased us back down the gorge. We passed nomadic tribesmen tents and threw biscuits to the children who ran laughing after the jeep. We passed through a town in the out skirts of the desert. Bored young men lounged against the walls a hungry look in their eyes not for food but for our belongings it didn't feel like a safe place. You could disappear here and no one would know.
We drove back into the desert where there are no roads. We stopped at a ger to visit a friend of our drivers. Inside the circular nomadic tent was warm and cozy. A stove in the middle, beautifully painted and decorated wall hangings. A television! We were given Mongolian tea which must be an acquired taste. They first heat the tea leaves in some oil and flour then stir in milk. This nomad was happy he had been to the outside world and brought back the things he wanted. His windmill, satellite dish and motorbike were outside between his laughing children and horses. The goats were tied up in two rows ,heads together, I helped to milk them.
We had lost sight of the other jeep and the storm was developing we had a eight hour drive through the trackless desert which we wanted to travel in convoy with the other vehicle. We came across a solitary horseman standing silhouetted against the stormy skies. He was very handsome. The dust whipped around him his green eyes gazed at us unsmiling. Self sufficient. Not wanting anything from us. He had not seen the other jeep pass. This was strange as they should pass this way, maybe they were behind us. We decided to carry on as we were the slower vehicle.
This was the most arid region where nobody stayed. We drove on through the beautiful coloured sands and strange rock formations. The wind was getting up, a sand storm was developing, still no sign of the other vehicle. We saw something in the distance two boys on a broken down motorcycle they seemed unperturbed and were fiddling with bits of wire, they didn't want any help.
The sand was whipped up obliterating our vision. Luckily we had found the row of electric pylons which we could follow to get out the other side. Still no sign of the other jeep though and they had most of the water. Also we were getting low on fuel! We still thought they must be behind us or they would have waited as we had only stopped for ten minutes and you can see a long way in the desert. We wanted to leave them a message to let them know we had continued. We had a chemical glow stick when you snap it it emits a luminous green glow for 24 hours. We placed it in a plastic bottle with a note. We fought against the stinging, blinding wind and strung it up with gaffer tape between a post and some wire. It looked really eerie dancing in the wind. Our Mongolian interpreter Bafca said the tribesmen will think it is a ghost and avoid the area.
Darkness enveloped us we kept looking at the fuel gauge we were running on the red! Finally we drove into the next small town in suspense. Would the others be there or would we have to try and look for them tomorrow. They were there. Relief followed by anger! they hadn't thought there was a problem! Alexandra had gone by a different route to look at the mountain we hadn't flown off!
We went back to Ulaan Bataar the capital city. In Mongolia every car is a taxi you just put your hand out and they stop if they want to. It's a fixed rate per kilometre whether it's a Mercedes or a pick-up truck! Walking down the street in Ulaan Bataar there were stalls set out selling a few goods. The old men and women huddled round their faces wrapped in scarves to protect them from the dust in the cold Siberian wind. I kept walking by and seeing rocks for sale. I couldn't understand it as they looked quite ordinary, finally I realised it was newspapers they were selling! The rocks were there to hold them down in the wind!
The atmosphere in the town was not very friendly as there was a lot of poverty and resentment towards westerners not helped by the soaring inflation. The countryside was much friendlier as they do not rely on money. In a store in Outer Mongolia you have one room with about twenty stalls all selling the same items. They have brought the food individually up from Russia or China. If you ask for three tins of something they might go and borrow from their neighbour. There are some strange things for sale like camel sausage that I ate and a nicely stacked pile of smoked sheep skulls that I didn't try!
There is also a black market which has a bit more food but is a bit more dangerous for westerners. To eat cheaply our Mongolian friends would drive us to near the factory. Outside the women waited with their flasks of food for sale filled with Mutton dumplings and grated carrot. They would crowd and mob the car in a frenzy all trying to be the ones to make the sale, quite scary. You could also stop on the road and buy fizzy juice but we would have to drink on the spot and hand back the bottles. Recycling!
On our last night we were taken by Zaya the Mongolian special force agent who was also a paragliding pilot, to sample the other side of Mongolian night life. It was his Uncles farm we had been staying at in the countryside. We went to a high tech night club playing the latest music where strippers stripped at high speed under blue-neon and candle light! When their bikinis came off they disappeared!
Well maybe time is moving in Outer Mongolia!
Anyone wanting to paraglide in Outer Mongolia can get more information from the Mongolian National Air Flying Federation email: mnaff@hotmail.com of fax : +976 1 362772
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