Sorry for the lack of a blog yesterday. I was in the oblivion of sleep deprivation, jet lag and general misery that modern intercontinental airline travel still attempts to market as in some way glamorous and racy. Well, if being forced to undergo intrusive and rude security checks at pretty much every stage of the experience (how long till you’re forced to bend over whilst an ill-tempered customs agent shines a torch up your arse before being allowed to visit the loo in departures, I wonder?) and then attempting to sleep for 12 long hours on a seat harder than granite in a space smaller than the average battery-hen gets to live in, I hate to see what ‘roughing it’ is like…Anyway I shall rant no longer about plane travel. It’s misery and we all know it. ‘Nuff said. Congratulations to Iberia, though. They managed to get me AND my paraglider to the right continent, the right country and at the correct time. Well done and I take back my earlier insults about their reputation regarding losing baggage.
On arrival in Mexico City the chap assigned to pick me up was waiting as planned outside baggage reclaim with a note with my name on it. He didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Spanish (the best I can manage is French with a Latino accent which, whilst better than nothing, is not significantly so) so after a round of handshakes and babbling without the slightest risk of understanding one another we were ready for the off. At this point another pilot approached us and asked if we were going to Valle de Bravo. ‘Of course’, I said to what turned out to be ‘Danny’ from the Slovakian Team, and the driver seemed only too happy to be taking another person so we all departed and were soon on the Mexico City ring road speeding through the early morning traffic.
At this point the conversation turned to our various names. ‘Jorge’ said the driver proffering his hand again. ‘Mark’ says I. ‘Danny’ said Danny shaking hands warmly with ‘Jorge’. ‘Danny?’ he says, puzzled and rustling in his pocket for a piece of paper. ‘Danny’, confirmed Danny. ‘You no Vittor?’ says the driver, looking a little perplexed. ‘No, Danny’ confirmed Danny. ‘Ah, problemo’ says our driver.
Ten minutes of phone calls and lots of comedy arm-waving Spanish later we had done a U-Turn and were speeding back towards the airport. To cut a long story short the driver was actually there to pick up Vittor (without whom the competition cannot go ahead) and not my good self as I’d thought. It seemed he’d been told to go and get the FAI Observer and to pick me up at the same time if I happened to be there. Ah! the penny drops… When Danny had approached us the driver assumed this was Vittor and off we’d gone leaving a confused and abandoned FAI Official stranded at the airport watching a fast disappearing car with paragliders sticking out of the boot. Ooops!
Anyway, after finding Vittor and proffering apologies we were all off again, grateful for a Spanish speaker to communicate with the driver. Well, he’s Portuguese but the languages seem close enough to communicate, certainly better than my attempts of French with a Spanish Accent.
Four hours later and we rocked up into Valle in warm winter sunshine. Alan, our helper in Valle, was waiting for me and we repaired to the British Team House. Home Sweet Home for the next 20 days. And what a beautiful place it is. Slap bang in the middle of Valle it is a little ‘Island’ in the midst of the town, with a nice garden, terraces to lounge around on, never ending coffee and broadband internet. In fact there’s very little reason to leave which is why I’m writing this blog at 1.45pm local time instead of being out flying. Rest and relaxation as they say…
We are actually off to fly this afternoon when I’ll get the chance to try out my new Ozone Mantra R09 (the black and white one as mentioned in a previous blog) and to try to sort out the flying weights and any last minute trimming that may be required. I’m still quite groggy from jet-lag and I flew 12 tasks here last year which is why I’m not too worried about getting hours in before the off. Just enough to blow the cobwebs away and shake down the glider will be perfect and then, hopefully, we’ll all be well rested and in the mood for when the comp gets going on Sunday.
Here’s a quick photo of the unsightly British Team on their balcony after a hard morning’s loafing about and eating. Needless to say I’ve spent much of it on the loo (in fact on Russ Ogden’s loo which has delighted me and irritated him) after heavily over-dosing on the super hot cactus and chilli sauce at the restaurant last night. Nothing much changes…
Mark H
