Australia and Oceania

Great Ocean road Australia – Lorne to Port Fairy

grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy

If someone asked you what the largest war memorial in Australia and possibly the world is, no doubt you will start remembering childhood memories of being dragged through big dusty buildings with perspex displays of a tobacco tin that stopped a bullet or heart felt, tea stained letters posted to loved ones. You would remember parents telling you in hushed tones that this history is very important and that these men fought for your freedom (stand up straight!) all the while wishing you could run outside to climb on top of that rusting tank outside.

This history is important for sure but one thing that most people do not realize is that the biggest war memorial in Australia is not based in Canberra or Sydney, it is right here in Melbourne…with its very own nudist beach. The Great Ocean Road Australia is a road and war memorial that I was lucky enough to ride my motorbike along last weekend with my fiancee Jette.


grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy We left Melbourne’s centre mid afternoon on Friday and rode towards Geelong straight into a stinging rain storm. Soaked and shivering we continued under a big wooden sign outside of Torquay welcoming us to one of the worlds most scenic coastal roads.

The Great Ocean Road runs for 243 Kilometres from Torquay to Warmambool. A beautifully curvaceous road it hugs the coast allowing for magnificent scenery and great ‘boy-I-wish-I was-a-motorbike-racer’ moments. The road was added to the World Heritage list in 2011 and quiet rightly so.

It is obvious that this road is often driven by tourists straight off the plane as every ten kilometres of so we saw signs reminding us to ‘Please drive on the left hand side of the road’.

Despite expecting to smash into a rented van full of European holiday makers around every turn we finally made it to Lorne. As we were completely busted after a big week at work and a cold ride we immediately showered, did the grotty hotel room thing for a while** and fell asleep without exploring Lorne properly.

grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy The following morning at breakfast I reached the conclusion that Lorne is where the rich and famous from Melbourne come for the weekend to pretend they are laid back surf bums. The street is lined with Audis and Porches, even a new Ferrari was parked just over from our breakfast table. Once a bored looking policeman pulled me over to check my license we were out of Lorne and on the ocean road proper.

This road was started in 1918 and finished in late 1932. William Calder, then road minister, was the driving force behind the road. William wanted to connect isolated fishing and foresting communities along the coastline while helping to employ returned servicemen. A private company was set up which funded the road, upon completion a fee was charged for anyone wanting to drive the road. Once the construction costs were cleared the entire road was gifted to the state. It was made free for all to use and declared a war memorial.

 

 

grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy The Great Ocean Road is marvelously built and perfectly windy for tight corner aficionados such as myself. Every time I started to get my groove on (read ‘go too fast’) we would catch up with a plodding camper van. Eventually I resigned myself to just relax and enjoy the cruise.

The road just before the Twelve Apostles needs some serious loving with numerous potholes and hasty repairs forming a patchwork over the tarmac. Bumpy as it was I am sure it is better than the road traveled by construction workers in the early 1900‘s. Back then workers used to rest explosive detonators on their knees throughout the long, bumpy drive to work as this was the smoothest place to transport this dangerous cargo.

 

 

 

grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy The Twelve apostles are so named because the original name sucked. They were originally known as the Sow and Piglets until sometime in 1922. A passerby realized that this name was not biblical enough for such an impressive geological feat. A petition was signed and the name changed to The Twelve Apostles, despite only ever having nine stacks.

The Twelve (actually eight now after one collapsed in 2005) Apostles are massive limestone stacks formed by erosion, if you want to see them you had best hurry though as they are eroding at a rate of 2cm per year. The stacks begin life as caves in the tall limestone cliffs that erode to form arches. The arches collapse leaving the stacks we see today. Despite the impressive panorama in front of me all I could think about was how cool it would be to fly a paraglider around this area…

 

 

 

Nearing Port Fairy we pass the spot where construction on the road was halted for two weeks back in 1924. Neither weather, strikes nor an act of God is the explanation for this unscheduled hiatus. What happened is far more Australian. The Steamboat Casino got stranded on rocks near Cape Patton. No doubt the captain started frantically tooting his whistle in the hope that some kindly road workers would come over with a trolley jack and help him out. Upon seeing the stricken boat workers rushed out to help…

…And help they did. They helped themselves to 500 beer barrels and 120 barrels of spirits. This little windfall resulted in a two week unscheduled drinking binge which completely halted road works. This may just be the explanation as to  why the last bit is so damn bendy.

grey Great Ocean road Australia    Lorne to Port Fairy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Grotty hotel thing I hear you ask! This is not what you think! The grotty hotel room thing that Jette and I do is to buy a heap of junk food or room service chips and lounge about watching pay TV documentaries. We sit the junk food on our bellies and stuff ourselves as we learn about ‘American Auctioneers’, ‘How bridges are built’ and ‘Storm Chasers’. We first did this in Indonesia on a beautiful sunny day, we really should have been outside enjoying the beach but we simply could not be bothered. Recharge days like this are crucial to fully experience a place I believe but maybe I am just trying to justify laziness. Whilst ordering our second room service meal in Indonesia I exclaimed guiltily, “it is bloody grotty to be inside on a day like this’ the name has stuck and we love doing the grotty hotel thing on occasion.

Paragliding Torquay – what a day!

If you were to ask an Aussie “What do you do in Torquay, Geelong?”  most likely you will hear breathless talk of Bells surf beach where the Rip Curl Pro, the worlds longest running surf competition, is held. You will also hear many familiar surf brand names bandied about, names like Rip Curl, Piping Hot and Quiksilver all call this sea side town their home. Torquay is also rather infamous as a favourite ‘Schoolies’ week destination. Schoolies week is an annual debacle where the kids finishing year 12 all meet up to camp, relax, drink and in some cases void the warranty on their political aspirations. Big waves, bikini clad women flaunting their silicone and wetsuit-clad muscle men with bleach blond hair…y’know, basically the perfect Australia stereotype. However, there is another thing to do here, something which is way more fun than getting sand in your speedos…Paragliding

“3, 2, 1, we got a lift off…”

This text message on Saturday morning from my good mate Fabio sends me into a sandwich-making-gear-sorting frenzy of don’t forget the sunscreen and “I love you babe, yeah I’ll be safe…”

I shove my big paraglider bag into the back of Fabio’s car and jump in the front to my customary welcome, “Hi Kakadu face, right to go” Fabio is an exceptional pilot who has just moved here from Switzerland, he is revelling in everything Australia. Leaving Melbourne behind we drive through Torquay, past all the surf shops and soon are standing on a cliff beside a “BEWARE! crumbling edges” sign.

The wind is too strong for my experience and I am not one to push it too hard. I watch a fellow ‘restricted pilot’ launch with help from his friends, they encourage him to go despite his pale face and knocking knees. The pilot looks uncomfortable throughout the launch.

 

I am extremely glad that Fab is a zero pressure mate. He never, ever puts any kind of pressure on me to fly if I am not ‘feeling it’ as he puts it.

“Mate, this is above my pay grade, I’ll hang here and do some ground practice.” I say, not displeased for the chance to practice this critical skill.

“No dramas, you can never have too much of that. I think I’ll get out the small acro wing for a play” Fab says with a wide grin. After an hour working on smoothly rising and lowering my wing I pack up and sit on the edge of the cliff to watch Fabio play. Fabio’s flying resume reads like an old school encyclopaedia. He is a member of the ‘U-Turn Swiss Acrobatics team’, a professional flight instructor and a very well respected tandem pilot. No doubt his biggest achievement in the sport  was being one of the crazy bastards who played Tandem Paintball Paragliding with me in Chile a few years back. Watching him play in the strong wind is no chore whatsoever.

 

Two hours later almost all the other pilots have worn themselves out and gone home. Fabio is still going hard at it on the small wing, while I chat to a friendly pilot (whose name sadly went in one ear and out the other…thankfully in Australia everyone calls each other ‘mate’ so any awkwardness was avoided). The wind drops to around my comfort level so friendly  pilot offers to stand nearby, watch and give help if needed. My launch is really good but my harness definitely not. Currently I am using an old borrowed harness with adjustable straps that hold up the seat plate. This allows you to adjust the pitch of the seat for comfort, much like a lazy-boy recliner. I didn’t think to check the straps prior to launch and they are fully released. This leaves the seat flapping against my ass like a doggy door in a hurricane and me hanging uncomfortably from leg straps that are trying to pinch my scrotum out of existence (hence the language warning on this next video). I let go of the brakes numerous times to try and get seated but give up in the name of safety and fly down to the beach to land and be greeted by a friendly surfer.

 

Immediately I pack my wing and run back up the hill. After ensuring my testicles still have a home and adjusting that bloody seat I launch again, . It is simply amazing to be flying around with one friend in a silky smooth afternoon breeze. I am grinning like a madman and thinking that this day could not get any better.

 

Fab flys close by and yells at me “Want to go paragliding on the other side Ben?” I yell back, “YUP” . Turning away he says to follow his line closely along the ridge. Leaving familiar ground and, feeling like a duckling following mum, I trust my leader despite a rapidly closing gap between feet and treetops. If I was alone I would have turned back long ago. The trees are getting closer and closer but I hang in there following my silhouetted leader. Trusting Fab pays off as I knew it would and soon we are back over a line of small red cliffs which are producing spectacularly reliable lift.

On the way to the big cliffs Fabio flips himself upside down to check on me and wave. We soon make the 2km trip to the big cliffs and spend a long time paragliding higher and increasingly closer to a setting sun. The breeze has settled and we are playing in a silky, laminar 3D river of air. This is higher and further than I have ever flown before and I am beside myself with excitement. The views are breathtaking. Below my feet are waves which once seemed so big and powerful, now they are simply small folds in the ocean’s azure fabric. My cheeks start to ache and I realise that I have been grinning widely for over forty minutes.

 

Much, much later we decide to make the long commute home into the headwind. It is almost surreal to be paragliding gently forward high over the world suspended by nothing more that glorified clothes line. Back at the familiar cliff where we started we fly a few times over the launch area, mucking about and delaying the end of this incredible day. I decide to be bold and try my first ever top landing. I know that the approach is crucial, coming in too high is not such an issue as you just overshoot the landing and try again. However if you come in too low there is a risk of being blown into rotoring air or back into the trees. I line myself up  and apply smooth brake pressure. The wind is holding me exactly where I want to be and soon I am gently reunited with earth. Fabio comes over to celebrate, he knows how excited I will be with this flight. I love the fact that, despite his vast experience, Fab is as excited as I am about our jaunt.

I live for moments like this, perfect conditions, great company and the universe conspiring in my favour.

 

Happy feet and blue skies to you.

The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

“YOU LOOK TOO SERIOUS B, IT’S A PISS-TAKE REMEMBER,” Mel yells over the running water as I stand ankle-deep in a flooded creek wearing only my mountaineering pants. It is dusk and my sister Melanie is chuckling gleefully whilst wielding a camera, “Surely a Blogging Charity Calendar is not going to be that serious!”

“I AM BLOODY CONCENTRATING ON NOT FALLING OVER” I yell at my grinning sister, continuing with a muttered, “….and sucking my gut in” My words are lost to the babbling creek. I am unsure who is more disturbed right now, myself or  Melanie, a great amateur photographer who generously offered to do my ‘shoot’.

Before we manage a good shot the light fails and we decide to wind up the shoot. Mel speaks to my back as I frantically throw on warm clothes “Maybe we can get a good one tomorrow at Cradle Mountain?”

“Yeah maybe, but bloody hell it is cold!” I reply while frantically rubbing my numb toes.

Why am I dancing about half naked in front of my sister you may well ask. Some weird Tasmanian ritual maybe? A lost dare perhaps?

No, not a drunken dare or pagan rite, I am trying to get a nice photo for a calendar in which I am Mr January.

“WAIT WHAT? You…you with the joined up eyebrows and shaggy hair, YOU in a calendar, but you don’t even come close to having a six pack…” I hear you scream. Calm down people, it is all for a good cause. Some months prior, my mate Chris Walker-Bush from Aussie on the Road had the great idea to compile a ‘Travel bloggers charity calendar’. Like a polite cough setting off an avalanche the idea quickly gained momentum (read the full genesis here). Without even considering the consequences, for example my naked ass haunting some hapless housewives fridge, I threw my name into the mix and was promptly given a spot. The brief was loose; ‘Risque, fun, no frontal nudity below the waist, relevant to your blog’

The day after our abortive photo shoot in the creek my sister, brother-in-law and I drive to Cradle Mountain National Park in Tasmania. ‘Cradle’ as it is affectionately known is my favourite place in the world, it is part of Tasmania’s pristine World Heritage Area and one of Australia’s oldest national parks. I cannot overstate the importance of this area to me, it is my church. Whenever I return from abroad, after re-introducing myself to parents and friends I pack my bag and scuttle off for a few days of silent, solitary mass here. This area is so important to me that soon, very soon my fiancée and I are going to climb the hill in the photo to the left and get married, anyway enough of this tree hugging, back to my modelling efforts…

We arrive early the next morning to find the mountain itself is covered in snow, the path is slippery with ice and our car thermometer shows a brisk 2 degrees celsius. I mentally prepare myself to jump into the frigid melt water. Beating the crowds we race to the boat shed to find perfect photography conditions. Dove lake is a mirror.

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

I strip and wade into the water. It is hard to put into words just how bitterly cold the water is. Immediately my lower legs go numb, I constantly stub my toes on hidden rocks and struggle to maintain balance.

“Ok, get in properly and do a sexy shampoo ad Ben,” big sister’s joking mood is infectious.

“You’re enjoying this a little bit too much sis…” I laugh through chattering teeth. Continuing (and not without a touch of whinge to my voice) “Okay guys I am only doing this once so take heaps of photos. Lots of photos, I bloody mean it!”

Dipping my head into the lake I fling my hair back, icicles of cold water sting my once warm back. I am starting to get dizzy and tired with the cold, my toes no longer belong to me.

“Again, I missed it sorry, haha!” Mel laughs as a crowd of curious daywalkers gather on shore.

“Oh, c’mon…” I  almost plead, feeling the need to be inside my sleeping bag (which we put on shore in case of a hypothermic crisis).

“Ooh, no I have an idea, come here and lie down in the shallow bit” Mel continues inspired no doubt by my obvious suffering.

I am now just looking at Mel with big pleading puppy dog eyes, “Get the shot Mel, I am frikking cold” mumbling now “fo’ fucks sake…”

“Yeah, lie there and stay still for the ripples to go, we’ll get the reflections” Mel ignores my suffering determined to get the perfect calendar shot, I play along.

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

I lie down in the shallows and force my shaking body to still, the water feels like razor blades all over my trembling body. (note if you will the snow on the mountain, where do you think that melts to?)

“Stay still, a little longer….” Snapping away furiously Mel’s eye is glued to her camera lens.

“Fuc-ffaaar out Mel!” I growl through gritted teeth.

“Got it, this is your shot…now one more shampoo ad just to be sure…gotta get it right” Mel says with a determined look.

Ignoring her I wade towards my sleeping bag, by now there is a hefty crowd watching. They are all clad in beanies and warm gloves. I see a man self-consciously remove a heavy down jacket as he watches. I manage to stumble out of the water just as I begin to slur my words and feel warm, not a good sign. It was definitely time for me to get out before ‘funny cold’ became ‘serious cold’.

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

Under close scrutiny I manage to dress without revealing any secrets…in truth the cold water made hiding my secrets pretty easy.

A brisk walk around the lake returns feeling to my extremities but I am sure it will be days before I am reunited with my testicles. Back in the car we go through the photos and am impressed with what we have got. Beautiful scenery reflected on a dark mysterious lake is ruined by a near nude interloper.

As I warm I think it was all worth it, we had better choose a well deserving charity for this one.

 

 

 

 

 

POST NOTE: We let the public vote through our website on which charity was to receive the proceeds. Everything we make apart from shipping costs will benefit Mitrata Home which is an orphanage in Nepal (Mitrata means friendship in Nepalese) and VSO Bahaginan, a volunteer organisation which fights poverty in developing countries.

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MASSIVE thanks to the awesome team at Uprinting who are very generously providing free printing for this project, if it is flat these guys can print on it and at a good price…check them out and tell them I sent you!

For more information on the travel blogging calendar and to check out the very cool people involved go to this link:

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

 

 

Or you can check out our Facebook page here: Travel Blogging Calendar on Facebook

Big thanks goes to my wonderful sister Mel and brother-in-law Win for helping me to get that one decent shot.

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

 

grey The Blogging Charity Calendar boy

 

Crown Casino urban legends, a reality check and a souvlaki

grey Crown Casino urban legends, a reality check and a souvlakiBeing a caring, loving fiancee *patting self on back* come friday night I take my lovely fiancee out for dinner and introduce her to our rather (in)famous neighbor. As well as wanting Jette to meet our neighbor I want to see if the lamb souvlaki tastes as good to a sober palatte as it did the previous weekend at 5am. Spanning two whole city blocks the Crown Casino complex is the largest casino in the Southern Hemisphere. Flashing her lights just across from our front door she gobbles up people’s money at a breathtaking rate. Through all hours of the day and night we hear people commiserating losses or celebrating wins outside this beehive of greed. it is also the mekka of Crown Casino urban legends.

We start by walking along the foreshore where innocent looking gelato and coffee shops line the Yarra river, I tell Jette some urban myths about the place, “I heard that every bathroom is designed with a back door to sneak out suicide corpses”

“Rubbish” Jette replies unconvinced. grey Crown Casino urban legends, a reality check and a souvlaki

“Yeah, this is what my mate told me, it would look bad to be wheeling stiffs through the main gambling floor…people get desperate, gamble their last then top themselves in the bathroom…” I explain.

“Sounds almost plausible” Jette replies with a bemused look.

“Yeah, and do you know their biggest expense is replacing carpet, the tile carpet that can be replaced a square at a time” I forge on with my unqualified rambling.

“Why the carpet, drunk people vomiting?” Jette asks,

“Nope, when people spend a long time feeding a pokie machine they don’t want to leave so they just piss on the carpet….costs heaps more than renting the land, the council only charges them $1 per year.” I continue as we walk inside and past a serious looking security guard frowning in his suit.

“Now the others I could believe but not the rent, $1 a year for two city blocks, ridiculous…” Jette decides.

The most crazy sounding myth is the only true one, Crown Casino is leasing its land under a 99 year lease granted by the Melbourne council. Despite making $370 million dollars profit last financial year they will pay only $1 per year for the first forty years of this lease, thereafter they will pay market value.

grey Crown Casino urban legends, a reality check and a souvlakiThis sounds absolutely insane, but consider this:

  1. Crown payed $200 million dollars to initially license their 500 gaming tables and 2500 pokie machines
  2. Currently 6500 people are employed there.
  3. Since moving from its initial location across the Yarra in ‘97 Crown Casino has payed over 2.7 Billion dollars in taxes.
  4. God only knows how much the building cost to construct and how many people were employed during this time.

All things being equal I think the Melbourne council has made a smart choice in looking after this cash cow.

Reaching the main gambling hall Jette and I walk past a lady asleep at a pokie machine while trying not to stare at a man shaking invisible flys from his hair. Another man is sitting entranced by a machine, he takes out his frustrations by bashing the buttons at a furious pace. Despite everyone knowing that the odds always favor the house, punters are enticed to believe they can win by loudspeakers announcing a win, lights flashing and the sounds of coins falling noisily onto tin trays.

Everyone feels surrounded by luck.

No natural light enters this place and looking around I notice that there are no clocks anywhere to been seen. For all we know we could be 100 storeys down a nuclear bunker in Nebraska. grey Crown Casino urban legends, a reality check and a souvlaki

“Lets get back amongst the living, this place is giving me the creeps” Jette says just before I voice similar thoughts.

We wade through a mass of zombies and stumble upon a touch screen displaying our entertainment options (3 hotels catering to various demographics, 40 restaurants including the food court, 11 bars, bowling alley, village cinema, laser tag….) we decide to simply find our way to the food court to test out a sober souvlaki.

As we wait for our order I watch people leaving half eaten meals to scurry back towards the lights and noise of the gambling area. My mind wanders, ‘Why not set up a food court out the back serving half eaten meals to homeless people…I wonder if the casino donates much money to charities?…do people come to Melbourne for the casino alone?…How many ambulance callouts would they get?’

I later found the answer to my last question in an online version of The Age;

‘881 callouts in a 12 month period between August 07- august ’09…over one call out a day to paramedic services, Among call-outs were overdoses, sex assaults, gun and knife fights, a drowning and several emergencies for pregnant women’

Crown sure employs a lot of people and draws a significant tourist dollar but can the people providing the majority of this money truly afford it?

Now I am more conflicted about this place than ever.

Evil corporation feeding on the desperate and greedy or useful revinue raiser and employer?

I cannot decide…at lest the souvlaki was as good as I remember.

My paragliding buy and a visitor

grey My paragliding buy and a visitor

Busy times over here in Woolongong people. Since my last update I have collected Dad from the airport (he is going to beta test my Surprise Bucket list idea. Not that he knows yet) and I finally received my very first paragliding buy, my brand new rig. Because I do not have a proper Paragliding cool-word vocabulary yet I will go with ‘rig’.

Things up here in the ‘Gong have been very quiet and a bit lonely of late so it is very refreshing to see a familiar face waiting for me at arrivals. I have not seen the old boy for a few months, however thanks to Skype and email we run out of news before diving into the melee of Friday afternoon Sydney traffic. It comes as no surprise that Dad has not changed one bit since we last spent time. He is still tall, brimming with Dad jokes, possessing a crushing handshake and I still need to run to keep up with his stride. Despite two recent prosthetic hips and an even more recent prosthetic shoulder the man is unstoppable. It is great to see his recovery and rehabilitation from almost 2 years of surgical insult going well. Dad, or ‘The Dave-A-tron’ is finally pain free.

My paragliding teacher Mitsi had sent me a text earlier in the day to announce that my long awaited wing is here so I take Dad straight from the airport to Mitsi’s house. Mitsi’s place is something of an airport itself being filled with wings, harnesses, posters, flying magazines, motors and all kinds of wonderful paragliding paraphernalia. Mitsi rips open the box and we fill one very content afternoon adjusting straps, hanging the harness from the beams and discovering secret pockets. At one point I find myself distractedly rubbing the squeaky, fresh-smelling wing material a little too sensuously…but moving right on.

Friday night. Dad patiently pretends to be interested as I shove endless videos with technical details under his nose before running off to grab the harness and display a previously undiscovered loop or feature.

In true Westy form Dad and I pass Saturday morning by spending up big at a camping store sale before Mitsi calls with some welcome news;

“Ben, get up here mate, it is on”

*Queue roadrunner speed montage*

Thirty minutes later Dad and I are on the hill counting wings in the air. Fifteen people are making the most of these perfect winds. I grab my harness pack from the car then with a magician’s flourish reverse it into a flying harness. That’s right boys and girls, this harness reverses into a very comfy backpack for climb/fly missions (and you know I will). The whole ‘rig’ weighs a mere 11 kilograms complete with wing, helmet and reserve parachute.

Mitsi wants to test the wing before letting me loose so he straps in, takes two steps and is flying. I am amazed at how lifty the whole thing is. He seems to go straight up. He flies for about ten minutes before top landing nearby. I go over to where he has landed;

“How’d you go mate?”

“Bloody hell, that is one stable wing Ben”

“Yeah I saw you did some steep turns, felt okay?”

“Brilliant, I also flew behind a tandem to trial it in wake turbulence and it hardly moved, you are going to love it”

“Okay then, my turn”

“Yup, will just duck home to get the radios, you get ready, won’t be long”

“No drama”

Now this is where my poor luck with the weather continues, guess what happens next… Yup, A big squall sneaks over the water bringing with it rain and wind too strong for me to fly. “That is flying ladies and gentlemen” We pack up the gear and adjourn for a coffee and a gossip.

The rain is predicted to last until Friday…A whole week of waiting is sadly in store for this keen student. At least this will give me time to hang out with Dad and to choose a good name for my new toy. I am leaning towards ‘Sky snail’, ‘Red Rocket‘ or ‘The Benphis Belle’

While Googling name ideas I found this which gave me a chuckle:

Paragliders vs. Women :

paragliders can kill you quickly; a woman takes her time
paragliders don’t object to a preflight inspection
paragliders come with manuals to explain their operation
paragliders have defined weight limitations
paragliders don’t care about how many other paragliders you have flown
paragliders don’t mind if you buy magazines about them
paragliders don’t comment on your piloting skills, and
paragliders don’t make annoying whining noises unless you are spiraling towards the earth at an alarming rate.

Oh, surprise Bucketlist; I want to get Dad to either do a tandem Paraglide or a skydive with me…this last sentence will also unveil if my Mum reads my blogs properly or not!

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This business partnership has expired.” Ben has no idea what adventures are in store when he sets out to discover what lies over that next mountain.

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