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I awoke to the sound of trumpets and drums. Unsure if it was real at first, I quickly realized that despite all of the weird fantasies my subconscious mind was able to conjure up, a full fledged marching band was out of its scope.

I went to the window of my small, shared room to witness a procession of villagers following a band that led them to Sunday morning church service.

This experience best describes the ambiance of the Tyrol region of Austria, where the only bar (O2) keeps the free flow of Schnapps in check (on Saturday night), and where no services, besides those of the church, are available on Sunday.

Well, that of the church and tour companies, since exceptions are often made for economic stimulating activities such as tourism. This exception worked to my advantage, as I spent my only day in the Tyrol “paraponting“.

When I signed up for the morning excursion I had never before heard of “paraponting”. All I knew was that for 100 euros I would be given the opportunity to jump off a mountain.

To my relief, I learned that the jump would be made in tandem. Dressed in my Montreal suit (jeans and jean jacket… sigh) I waited outside of the guest house with two other Canadian tourists. A van pulled up with three tall, blue-eyed Austrians; an older man, a younger one, and a woman around the same age as the latter. They would be our guides and guardians before, during and after the jump.

It was cold, and I was very grateful for the lambskin coat that the older guide loaned me. We climbed into the van and set out for a 45 minute drive up the mountain. When the car reached its limit, our designated guide saddled up with the required gear, and we made the rest of the way to the cliff on foot.

The air was so thin I ended up zig-zagging more than following a straight path upwards to the mountain’s edge. Unable to do it on my own, the guide had to drag/push me up most of the way.

Once at the cliff’s edge, we peered over the landscape of pointed mountain tops encircled by a thick ring of cloud. This is Avalon, no cartoon could have described it better…although I never thought it would be in central Europe.

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but I do not remember going over the edge. I was instructed by the older guide (whom I was strapped to) to run, but I could barely feel my legs at that point. Despite my effort and struggles, I was undoubtedly moving very slowly; everything around  me a blur.

Then I was falling.  Still buzzing on my elevated altitude- induced high, there was no time for fear to take hold. It was all quiet, and the ground was very far away.

I nodded in excitement when asked if I would like to do loops, and with the fine skill of my guide I was upside down and right side up again before I could protest. Thrilled by the experience, we repeated it three more times, my throat and groin playing ping pong with my stomach.

When the ground came into view, I was told to brace myself for the landing. Unsure of what that required, I bent my knees and assumed a squatting position in mid air- looking more ready to take a tackle than land from the sky.

The impact with the ground was soft, and we didn’t lose our balance and topple over. I was dizzy, disoriented and it took a long time to get my land legs back. When I was re-oriented, the adrenaline kicked in and I felt both excited and invincible.

I chattered in senseless excitement the entire drive back to the hotel and thanked the guides profusely before setting out to find a snack to settle my stomach. If ever given the chance, I will definitely do this again!