Turkish Delight

The breeze is soft and cooling as I stand on the rocky hill-top. The burly men on each side of me and the other behind me have me in their firm grasp . I am already battered and bruised from days of punishment, any resistance by me will be both puny and futile. 600 metres below the Turkish town of Kas shimmers in the heat of the late morning sun and beyond it the light plays on the myriad blues of the Mediterranean Sea. Not long now.

With a sudden rush the gentle breeze becomes a strong gust and I know my time has come. Run! Run strong! comes the command as the men thrust me down the hill side and then out over the waiting rocks. Oh, bugger!


Paragliding should have been a literal and metaphorical high-point during my 7 days of activities in Turkey with my youngest son. But I'm afraid it wasn't.

The purpose of my travels is not just to discover new places, but also to discover things about myself. One thing I have learned is that the older I get, the more susceptible I am to motion sickness. This became apparent very soon after the tandem parachute left terra firma and we began to swoop and twirl among the sharp rocks looking for lift. It was one big roller-coaster ride and anyone who knows me well will tell you what I do best on roller-coasters - yes, I puke everywhere. People have said I have a weak stomach. That's not true - on a good day I can chunder over huge distances.

It's bad enough getting airsick on a plane, but at least there is usually a sick-bag within reach. What do you do when you are paragliding a 1000 feet above a pleasant Turkish town? For a start I was wearing a full face helmet which added the possibility of drowning in my own vomit to my list of woes. Then of course there is the problem of disposal. Wailing from the loudspeakers on the twin minarets of the central mosque was one of the five daily calls to prayer. I doubt that many of the town's people were praying to be bombarded with cheese curd and diced carrot and given their profound kindness towards me and my companions strafing the town square with my breakfast seemed like poor repayment.

Salvation came in the form of Omash, my pilot. Though to be fair, strapped to my back and permanently down-wind of me he may have had some self-interest in avoiding a mid-air Technicolor yawn. As soon as I alerted him to my condition he steered us a away from the turbulence of the hillside and out towards the calmer air over the sea. We even managed the mid-air removal of my helmet safely.

At first I thought I might be sick. The cold sweat that enveloped my body, despite a ground temperature of about 35 degrees, signalled the inevitable. Then it was a case of hanging on for as long as I could.

The landing was to be on a concrete harbour. The spasms began as we made our final decent. Thanks to Omash's skill, the touchdown was perfect. Then came (to quote Wilfred Owen) an 'ecstasy of fumbling' as Omash, his helpers and I fought to get me clear of my harness. Finally, I was free to spew at will. And I did. Many times.

Despite this unfortunate incident the holiday was a roaring success. One of the best I have had. In fact it created a number of records of achievement, such as:

The most laughs ever on a holiday. It has been years since I have been so incapable with laughter.

The most exhilarating experiences on holiday. Top among these would be the white water rafting and the canyoning. If you are unfamiliar with the concept of canyoning I would describe it as a scramble down a water-filled chasm, whilst dressed in a wet-suit and helmet. At various times progress can only be made by abseiling down the rocks or by jumping into the pools of water below. The highest jump on our particular scramble was about 8 metres.

The most bruises on holiday - see canyoning, above.

The most puke on holiday - see paragliding, above and mountain biking, below ( I was sick again on the journey up the mountain in the mini-bus).

The longest and fastest bike ride down a mountain - 30k (about 18 miles) in about 90 minutes, which included lots of stops to keep the group together.

And finally - my gayest experience ever. This involved a very pleasant Turkish bath with fellow traveller Dan that included much pummelling and pounding by a well built chap wearing nothing but a flimsy towel and a very big moustache. Having recovered with a nice cup of apple tea we then went to the barber for a very close shave that involved having our faces swabbed with a burning stick. I'd like to think it was all very manly but when you're pinned to a table by a big man with a moustache who is clearly enjoying causing you pain it is very hard to see yourself as anything other than being as soft as the soap suds he had earlier rubbed into your body.

Finally, there may be some of my fellow activity junkies reading this. If so then please allow me to say what a pleasure it was to get to know you all. The activities were only part of the experience. Being able to share them with such an excellent group of good-humoured and kind-hearted hearted souls as yourselves, under the benevolent eyes of our guides and driver are what made it something I will never forget and also something I might make a few quid out of when I write about it for a competition in the Sunday Telegraph.

High five team!

Live long and prosper.