A couple weeks ago My Man decided that the Saturday he was scheduled to fly out to Baku for a 3-week work trip would be the perfect time to check out a rumored paragliding hill a few hours out of Kyiv (afterall, he didn't need to be at the airport until 6pm and packing wouldn't take that long. Besides--Google Maps obviously didn't know how well he drives--that time estimate was way too high. My Man thought he could cut it in half, easy.). So we all piled into the car (along with a new friend from summer camp, an expat who has lived her practically forever and is pretty awesome), cranked up the music, and set off.
We drove through stunning sunflower fields under dramatic clouds and blue skies. It was so beautiful I hated to blink. The fields of sunflowers, even mile after mile, never got old.
At last, we turned off the main road to find the paragliding hill. We spotted the tell-tale flag at the top of a hill and excitedly unloaded our picnic supplies, started a reluctant fire (the wind was so strong it kept trying to put it out), and My Man got out his glider to try to get a flight.
To be honest, it was a tiny bit of a let-down. The hill was basically just a little mound in the middle of a big cow field. It was pretty, sure, but we'd traveled almost 3 hours to get there and it definitely wasn't going to be a new amazing flying spot. My Man jumped off the hill for a quick sled run and the kids and I roasted hot dogs, played catch, and laughed as the wind blew our hair wild. We were definitely going to make the most of it.
Then I looked over and saw My Man flying over a distant ridge. What in the world? How did he get there?! He'd just landed at the bottom of our hill, hadn't he? Where was I going to pick him up? I looked down and there was My Man walking toward us across the field. I looked up and the wing in the air was gone. Had I imagined it? No, wait, there it was again. Turns out there was another glider flying on the next ridge over (at the actual flying spot!). Excitedly, we hurriedly put out our fire, packed up our picnic and hurried back down the hill to the car to try to find the launch. It was tricky, but eventually we did find it. And it was awesome.
A long soarable ridge with several other pilots, a big open area for the kids to play soccer, catch bugs, and hang out. We didn't have as much time there as we'd have liked (I could have happily stayed all day), but still we had plenty of time to soak up the sunshine, the wildflowers, and the fresh wild scents of the wind.
And this, ladies and gents, is why I married My Man. I would never think something like this was a good idea--too stressful and risky to even think about squeezing in an outing like this the day of a flight, especially without packing first--but because I married an optimistic, spontaneous, carefree man (and because he's slowly but surely wearing off on me), we did go and we had a great time, made some awesome memories, and got back in plenty of time for My Man to pack and catch his flight.
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