"You are next, John.  I will take you.  Strap this on.  Tighten it there.  Yes.  Just one instruction.  Do not sit down on take off.  Stay standing.  Keep running.  Keep your legs straight. Don't bend them until we are off."

Three men stand in front of me, holding me, their backs to the cliff.  Jose, the pilot giving instructions, is behind me, invisible.  Behind him are dozens of lines, each the size of  very large threads, perhaps a millimeter each.  They extend to a canopy, a rectangle roughly 30 feet by 7 feet, made of spinnaker cloth, the same material used in modern tents.  The canopy has two  levels, with shoots to direct the air.  It is colorful, purple as I recall.  It rests on the ground.  One man stands near its center, holding down the center portion if wind lifts it up.

"We are almost ready.  OK.  One. Two.  Three.  Walk forward quickly.  Do not sit down.  Keep moving the legs."  

We move.  We move up.  Straight up.  I had thought we would move forward over the cliff, then down as gravity provides the impetus to move forward.  Not true.  The updrafts near the mountain take sails straight up.  And I  (John) am para sailing.  We go up, off the mountain, back toward the mountain.  Each time we return toward the mountain, we rise, flying twice 100 feet above Chichi, who is waving wildly, standing with our friend Lynne Sladky, a professional photographer, whose husband, Gerry O'Donoghue, is flying behind me under another gorgeous canopy.  Back and forth, over the take off spot, sometimes heading straight into the mountain, then sharply up, immediately turning out, and floating away, until Jose decides that time has come to head down toward the landing spot near the river bed, 700 meters below.  Anxiety rises the more we move away from the mountain, the more land descends below us, increasing our relative height.  However, as we begin to spiral down, relaxation is easier, and the beauty thrills.  I feel secure, elated, free and joyous.  Though touch down is a relief, sadness too enters the system.  Then Jose and I disconnect, turn to one another, smile broadly, and give the abrazo.  We have been irretrievably connected for 45 minutes, for me the joy of a new human experience and perspective, for him the satisfaction of having facilitated creation of this wonderful new memory.

In a 1700 meter high valley, Merida is just below the short-of-breath-headache zone for most persons.  It offers more experiences, more economically, than any place we have seen, including The Rockies and The Smokies.  For the relaxed out doors persons, day trips by car are plentiful and rewarding, usually less than  $40, including driver/lecturer.  Towns like Jaji, or Santa Cruz , are fine.  The old coffee hacienda near Santa Cruz teaches the details of coffee bean production and roasting, in the same building with a museum dedicated to Venezuelan immigration.  The young tour guide there, a university student studying tourism and hospitality, is an excellent teacher, and a friend.  At the end of the day, she accompanied us to the bus stop because we had a problem.  No transportation.  All the Por Puestos were full, because the next day, Monday, was the first day of University classes in Merida.  Every seat was taken.  She remained with us almost two hours as we began to imagine an extra, unplanned night in Santa Cruz.  
We finally got a ride at the usual por puesto price, less than $1.00 each for a 85 minute trip.

For the slightly more aggressive, Merida offers walking, fishing and rides in the teleferico (gondola, provided it is working).  Moving up the scale of adventure ambition are kayaking, rafting, back packing, rappelling, canyoning (rappelling down the face of a water fall) and mountaineering, all available for just the number of days that suits the traveler.  Our biggest adventure was a two night trip to Los Nevados (2700 meters, definitely the headache zone, at least after a few days) by jeep, the last two hours over a dirt mountain road having space for one vehicle and drop offs which are fodder for night mares.  We got to know Lynne and Gerry on this trip.  We kept ourselves occupied, and our anxiety low, by continuous talking and joking.  Lynne is with The Associated Press.  She won a Pulitzer Prize in 1992 for a candid  photo of Hillary Clinton. She is from near Cleveland. Gerry is a retired British naval officer, born and raised in Ireland.  At one point, he was a United Nations observer for peace keeping efforts in Haiti, which is where they met.  Though we had not seen them earlier, their boat, ERIU, is docked near ours at Bahia Redonda.  At Los Nevados, we stayed at The Guamanchi  Posada, whose smiling hostess/owner/cook/cleaner/washer provided breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as nursing services to John and Chichi.  Mule trips to the hacienda and to the working water-driven mill were worth the time and effort.  Guide Giovanni was pleasant, knowledgeable and caring, especially when Chichi almost did not make it up the hill.  At meals, we met couples from The Netherlands and France.  Raphael is from Venezuela, his wife from Chili.  They run restaurants, and manufacture packaged food for sailors.  They own a 75 foot boat.  The Venezuelan photography student was preparing his senior show, like a thesis.  His subject is the women of Los Nevados who seem to do everything.  

Merida is home to La Universidad de Los Andes, with more than 40,000 students.  As semesters move on, cultural life becomes more active, with music, shows, expositions and films almost every week.  Also located here are several institutions that teach Spanish to travelers and to others.  The Iowa Institute is the most well known.  Planes fly regularly to Merida from Caracas, with connections everywhere.  The one hour flight over--and through--The Andes is a special treat.  Modern, air conditioned buses also make the trip daily.  

Living in Merida is economical.  We stayed in a private home .  Anywhere in town, travelers must stretch to luxury to spend more than $10 per night for two.  Dinners rarely run over $15.  Most are less than $7, for two.  Our hostess was  Gioia Arellano Spinetti. She picked us up and delivered us to the airport,.  On another day, she took us up the valley to Paramos for a mule ride to La Laguna Negra and a stop to see Venezuela's two captive condors, spectacular birds.  Only 7 remain in this country.