Well this is another something for sinful white men. The seaside resorts all over the world all have a big disadvantage, and Brazil is not an exception - because you are a big white Gringo, and everyone thinks you're stuffed with dollars, they all try to take advantage of you. It's hard work, but you can chill here cheaply, but it's nothing special.



    With the group of fliers that want to enjoy the beach after XCeara, we run through the local attractions - on beach scooters, all the way up to the cliff, some play around with parachutes and others in the ocean, like myself. Flying here is something sloping at Sumice near Brno, only instead of houses and wires below the starting field there is a vast expanse of blue water and sand. Great relaxation after a hard week of flying.






    After two days of lazing around, and a one day excursion to the desert, we split off from the remaining paragliding pilots and travel by bus, with really hardcore air conditioning, southward to the inland city of Pesqueira about 250km west of Recife. Evidently we are perceived as exotics here, tourists are seldom seen here, foreigners almost never, let alone with huge backpacks. There is only one resident of this city interested in flying on a hangglider, but he's always traveling.

    Paragliders are very rare here, if there ever are any. The locals gradually come by to look at us at our hotel - a better one with hangers - to see what has arrived in their calm little town. One of them, the local globetrotter, who probably is the only one who speaks English, has decided that he will take us to the starting ground which is located in the middle of an old Indian reservation. We wander lost in the brush. The tracker looks out to see if there are any arrows being aimed at us. He guides us around a house in the brush, where a local hermit lives, scaring us by saying she's already shot two thieves. It doesn't sound overly convincing.

    After getting to the starting ground, he quickly leaves us, looking around nervously. Not wanting to end up on a totem pole, we take off quickly. Some clouds appear on the sky and we fly up to 2000m above sea level. I land after an hour, with broken risers at a maximum of 2m/s, while the downdrafts are easily up to 6m/s. An unfair day, but at least we'll have strength for the evening's "samba party".



    The next day we ride a mototaxi in the noonday heat to the start, and the boys driving are happy that they don't have to drive fat butts through the city, but instead have two crazies who don't speak Portuguese. I won't forget this day. For one thing it was completely windless, then, while trying to take off I made a 10cm hole in my lower cover, (instead of the welcoming shrubs we have here, there's one in this country that doesn't have thorns and they are everywhere). And the best for last... We are 3000 meters above sea level, and the bases are high above, at 3500m, and still nothing - are we in Australia, or what? 3900m above sea level, and the for the first time I am feeling cold in Brazil, I stop turning, and fly straight into a cloud, 4000, 4100, where will it end? In a while, I see a 200m long tunnel in the mist, with light and the landscape visible at the end. Absolutely beautiful, as if I were flying into another dimension. The view is from 4km in a place where the floor is 700m above sea level, and was worth it. The local landscape, with its dry, brown color reminds me of Ceara with the difference that there are more high plains here, which are all in contrasting green colors.





    Well, that was really crazy, after flying around the far surroundings of the city before 17:00, we land at the stadium and become heroes of the town.



    It's best to stop while the going's good, and tomorrow we're heading South again, to another flight terrain in the state of Bahia.