Straits Times 8 March 2013 - Taking Flight

Long time readers of my blog will know that I am a paragliding pilot.

Last Saturday, a Straits Times journalist who had found our club's Facebook page requested for a photo shoot and an interview. Fortunately, the wind at the field next to Marina Bay Cruise Center was accommodating. =)

The article was published in today's Life!, along with some pretty pictures.

To all my earthbound friends who have not seen me strapped into my wing, well, I'm the one with the silver and azure glider, circled in yellow above. It's a Gin Bolero III model.

The secretary of our club told me that he expects a flood of enquiries after the publication of this article, given the large number of adventure sports enthusiasts in Singapore.

Me? I'm not so sure. The sport has traditionally been small and mostly limited to those comfortable with the risks inherent in an air sport. It's very much a self-selected sport, especially given the constraints faced by paragliding pilots in Singapore. Most Singaporeans in the community had to find ways to learn and practice the sport on their own. I, for example, traveled to Nepal by myself in Winter 2009 to learn.

Incidentally, that's one of the things I love best about the sport. The pilots that I've met have tended to be the independent and free-spirited types that I identify most strongly with. Many of the people I've met through the sport are true kindred spirits.

Still, it would be interesting to see the response to wider publicity of our community in the coming weeks ahead.

An eventful few months

This is a personal post, meant to update the people who actually read my blog whom I may not have met in some time.

[Yes, as odd as it may seem to the people who read my blog for my insights into current affairs, this blog still does serve the purpose of a journal of my thoughts and experiences =)]

I ended a brief relationship a few months ago. It was my first real relationship. I learnt a little about myself, but more importantly, I learnt with certainty that I need not be in a relationship to be happy. It would be nice to have someone of course, but to be with someone with whom things are not working out should not be a goal to aspire to in itself.

M., if you are reading this, I do treasure the moments we spent together. It is rare for me to put into words in the public domain an intensely private experience, but here it is. I should not allow the moment to pass before the desire leaves me.

It means something to me that you touched my life in a positive way. If nothing else, being with you gave me a push to move forward in my life. When things ended between us, I told you that I did not learn much about myself that I did not know already, and that is true, but I did grow from our time together.

Perhaps it is true that we prepare our previous partners for better relationships ahead of them in the future. If so, I hope that I left you with something that will enrich the relationship with whomever you will be (or are) with.

___


I passed another one of the actuarial exams which I had taken in October 2012. Results were released less than two weeks ago. Another step to qualification as a Fellow in my plan to complete a career transition from research engineer to actuary.

The result was not unexpected; I generally know once I see the exam paper on test day itself whether a pass is in the offing or not.

___


I found a new job. Surprisingly enough, it was the job with the very selective requirements that I blogged about in a previous post.

Turns out one interview (albeit a very long one at two hours) was enough to cement their confidence in me.

After a number of career setbacks, it was a strangely affirming experience to have someone else validate my view of my own abilities. It also didn't hurt that the new job came with a large pay rise that exceeded what I used to draw as an engineer.

Then again, perhaps it was because my new bosses are American and new to Singapore. Unlike other hiring managers in the industry, they did not have the convenient fallback of hiring only from a pool of people of known quality that they already knew, as I blogged about previously.

___


I'm currently in progress on a personal project that may or may not help in my new job. Learning Python and the Django framework to allow me to build database driven websites.

This was related to a project proposal that I had submitted which unfortunately did not get funded. However, that doesn't necessarily mean the project will die.

In time to come, with the skills that I intend to acquire, I may embark on the project on my own anyway.

___


After a hiatus of a few years, I returned to the Pokhara valley in Nepal for two weeks of advanced paragliding lessons. Sarangkot beckoned.

I was originally signed up for an SIV course (Simulation d'Incidents de Vol -- french for Simulated Incidents in the Air).

For a good idea of SIV, see this video. It's not a course for the faint of heart; it involves simulating adverse incidents in the air and learning to recover from them under radio instruction. Basically, doing all the things you are NOT supposed to do while in the air. Ironically, this makes you a much a safer and more confident pilot, now that you know the limits of your glider.

For safety reasons, SIV is almost always done over a large water body, like a lake.

Well, I bailed on the two friends of mine who were also doing the SIV course. Instead, I found out about and switched to a concurrently running thermalling course which I thought would be better for my development as a pilot.

As it turned out, the thermalling course involved learning some SIV maneuvers as well. Looks like I would get plenty of opportunity to scare myself as well.

Only the SIV pilots got to do the really scary stuff: spins/SAT, full stall/backfly and reserve parachute deployment.

However, I had the same opportunities to do frontal collapses, asymmetric collapses, B-stall, dynamic turns and wingovers.

Bottom line: Amusement theme park rides now hold absolutely zero appeal. My adrenaline threshold just got raised again.

"It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

Earthbound, but practice makes perfect.

Ground handling at Woodlands Drive 17. Light winds, overcast.

Credit to J. for the pic.

For the love of flying...my heart belongs to the sky.

Lake Maninjau, West Sumatra, May 2012.

(That's me in the top right, sharing airspace with my friend N. Credit to T. for the pic.)

Lake Maninjau FunFly 2010

I was out of town a few weeks ago for a paragliding event, and spent the last couple of weeks catching up on work after that.

Despite being in a scenic, culturally rich and diverse region, I've always found it somewhat surprising that most Singaporeans do not venture beyond a few familiar destinations for their holidays. Perhaps it has to do with not wanting to leave their comfort zone, or the desire for a fuss-free vacation, but most Singaporeans generally would limit themselves to Phuket, Bali, Bangkok, Hong Kong and a few other places. The more adventurous might head to the Indochina region or to places in the Philipines. And the favorite activities of Singaporean tourists are typically shopping and eating, which is something of a pity since that's pretty much what most Singaporeans do on weekends in Singapore too.

On some level, I can identify with Singaporeans on this, but fortunately, as a result of taking up paragliding, I've had my eyes opened to the diversity of the region. There are just so many great places to fly in the region and as a result of my flying habit, I've been pushed to explore the region a bit more thoroughly.

I travelled to Lake Maninjau on Sumatra, Indonesia, for the annual FunFly festival a few weeks ago. As a novice pilot, the range of sites suitable for me to fly is limited and I had been told that Lake Maninjau offered wonderful flying even for novices.

And it was wonderful indeed. I logged 8 flights and doubled my airtime to date. And met some wonderful people as well.

Lake Maninjau is diminutive, but a real gem of a lake. See for yourself. These are views from Puncak Lawang, the launch site. 

What made my holiday unusual was that the annual paragliding event is billed as an "International Festival", which is really just an excuse for the local Indonesian authorities to throw a big shebang of a party to get media coverage, increase tourism exposure, and get some facetime for the local officials. The pilots (all seven of us) were just the accessories for the event. Not that I wasn't bemused by it all. It was funny when the officials had clearly recycled their speeches from previous years, as there were obviously no pilots from Hong Kong this year, contrary to their grandiose speechs at the podium. For the record, there were 2 Singaporeans, a Malaysian, a German, an American, and 2 Australians this year. Here's a pic of the procession at the opening of the Festival.

It wasn't all flying at Lake Maninjau though; on days with bad weather, like fog for instance in the morning:

we did other things, like drive around the lake. The earthquake devastation from the Padang earthquake of 2009 was still evident in some places.

And relaxing by the lake in the evenings with a Bintang was simply great.

The hotel was built right by the lake, so going for a dip at anytime was no problem at all, though the water was far from clear. Kind of like swimming in an aquarium. All green and murky with fish everywhere.

But as far as a tourist destination goes, I have to say that Lake Maninjau, while beautiful, has much less to offer to the non-pilot. There are no other activities there other than flying, and even Internet access is to be found only in small roadside shops. Tellingly, none of the other pilots had brought their spouses or significant others with them. For destinations with activities for non-pilots, Phuket and Bali (typical Singaporean tourist destinations), are still better bets.

Notes for pilots:

I went to Maninjau in May and the weather was ok, though comments from other pilots had it that the weather was better the previous year. There was a fair bit of parawaiting, but that's par for the course in this sport. One has to pay one's dues on occasion. The season doesn't end in May but extends for a few more months. Contact Sumatra Paragliding for details.

Launch is from Puncak Lawang, about 1000 m above the lake, and is relatively easy, even for a novice like myself. The pics at the beginning of this post of the lake were taken from Puncak Lawang. The LZ is a grass patch, muddy in some places, demarcated by a road, the lakeshore, and fish ponds/rice paddies on the other two sides. It is fairly large and landing is generally ok when there is wind coming from the lake. When the wind is cross or when there is no wind, it can get a little tricky, but is still manageable. Note that the LZ lies beyond powerlines, so it is imperative to fly over the power lines first. It is generally a bad idea to cross back over the power lines once one is over the LZ. Altitude can be lost over the lake before the final approach. Below is a zoomed in view of the LZ from Puncak Lawang. It is the grass patch 2 o'clock from the 4 red-roofed houses in the centre of the pic.

The flying is mostly ridge soaring, but thermic flying is possible. The air can be bumpy in some places, but the flying is mostly safe. On good days, the air just got really lifty and it was possible to see the volcanoes behind the launch far in the distance. No pics for that though; I like my hands on the controls when I'm flying.

At the time of my visit, a new launch site was being developed as an alternative to Puncak Lawang. Here is a pic of the lake from the new launch site, a zoomed in view of the same LZ from the new launch site, and finally, a zoomed in view of the Puncak Lawang launch site from the new launch site. Note that Puncak Lawang in the pic is at the grass patch at the very top of the pic, bordered by trees. The open field slightly below it, bordering the winding road up the mountain, is an LZ suitable for top landing, for those with the requisite skills.

Getting there:

Tigerair used to have direct flights from Changi to Padang Minangkabau Airport, but these were discontinued during the Great Recession of 2009. No word on when flights will resume, but I'm not holding my breath. Airasia still flies to Padang from Kuala Lumpur, for those based in KL.

The most direct way to get to Lake Maninjau if you're based in Singapore is to take the Penguin ferry to Batam Centre from Harborfront, then a taxi from Batam Centre to Batam Hang Nadim Airport, then a flight to Padang on Mandala Airlines. From Padang, it's about a three hour drive to Maninjau. The total journey time takes something like 7-9 hours inclusive of waiting time, which is amazing when you consider that on an atlas, Maninjau and Singapore are sooo close to each other.

A long interlude

I haven’t blogged in a while, and that’s because I’ve been busy with work, and also nursing an injury.

In December, I traveled to Nepal to learn paragliding, and right after I returned to Singapore, I purchased my new wing in January and went on my first flight after leaving paragliding school. It didn’t go too well, to put it lightly.

It’s not possible to fly in Singapore, which makes paragliding somewhat of an inconvenient sport. The closest place to Singapore to fly is this little town in Malaysia called Bahau. You can watch Malaysian pilots flying there in this Youtube video.

Bahau isn’t an easy site to fly for beginner pilots. The top of the hill is relatively small and steep, and winds can be very strong. On the day that we flew, we took off only after four o’clock in the afternoon.

The bigger problem however, is the lack of suitable LZs. There are three possible LZs at Bahau: back on the top of the hill itself (which requires top landing skills most beginners lack), the foot of the hill which is another smaller hill which is decidedly not flat (and pilots risk tumbling over the top of that hill and getting into trouble), and two school fields quite a distance away, behind the hill and in the town of Bahau itself. The school fields are relatively large and ideal for landing, except that getting there requires the pilot to attain enough altitude to be able to glide into town, and the fact that the schools lie downwind behind the hill means pilots risk rotors and turbulence while flying there. Pitch control is absolutely essential.

In short, none of the LZs are very suitable for beginners. And any pilot will tell you the most dangerous parts of flying are take-off and landing. I was warned prior to arrival at Bahau that it was not an easy site to fly. I was a new pilot, flying a new wing, unfamiliar with a new site. Probably not the best situation to be in.

Take-off was ok, with some assistance, and Bahau was a ridge soaring site, so I got some practice benching the ridge. When it came time to land though, I was in a dilemma. Which LZ to choose?

The two friends I had travelled to Bahau with were both more experienced pilots than me, and both had headed for the school fields to land. I was the last one still on the ridge. Top landing was out; I had no practice with that. It was a choice between the foot of the hill and the school fields.

Just prior to take-off, one of my friends had informed me that a previous pilot on the most recent excursion to Bahau had badly sprained his ankle landing on the uneven surface at the foot of the hill. 2 torn ligaments apparently. That was enough to sway me towards the school fields, which were large and flat, despite me being unsure of whether I had sufficient altitude to attempt to reach them (I wasn’t flying with a vario).

I could do large and flat; that was what I had been trained for.

To mitigate the risk of not having enough altitude to glide to the school fields, I decided to follow the ridge, which ran sideways. I thought that would get me closer to the school fields before I needed to leave the ridge and lose ridge lift.

But what I hadn’t counted on was that I started rapidly losing lift as I flew down the ridge, which became progressively lower.

That was a bad situation. I was too far from the low LZ, too far from the schools, and I vacillated between just trying for the school fields anyway, and turning back onto the ridge to try to regain lift.

In the end, I returned back onto the ridge, but the damage had been done already. The window to climb above the ridge had closed. I was permanently losing lift, unable to climb, and would either have to glide down off the ridge into the trees (Bahau is surrounded by trees, which is bad), or try to land onto the ridge as quickly as possible.

I chose, or rather, the situation turned out, into the latter. I crash-landed hard in a tree stump on the ridge, my knees and ankles buckling on direct impact. Kind of like landing feet first after jumping off the second storey. That stopped me from flying off the ridge, which was a good thing. On hindsight, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I had braked harder on the control lines before crashing. That would have reduced the momentum and impact sharply. In fact, I might even have gotten away without ANY injuries if I had done that.

As it was, I got away with one badly contused ankle and some superficial scratchs. No broken bones (I had X-rays done).

That was one helluva harrowing experience, and not one I would want to repeat anytime soon. 

Still, I’m not giving up on paragliding. It wasn’t so much the dangerous nature of the sport as the bad decision-making on my part that time. I can deal with the bad decision-making. It takes time and experience, but I can deal with it.

And that explains why I haven’t been blogging for a while. 3 weeks of MC and another 3 weeks of no physical activity and lots of catching up to do at work. And I’m *still* not back to normal. Dorsi and plantar flexion of the ankle are giving me issues. Jumping is still painful. I haven’t gone running in almost 7 weeks. Highly irregular for me. But I’m getting better, and hopefully should be back to normal activities soon enough. 

Nepal, Winter 2009, Part 4

As transcendent an experience as my first flight was, I flubbed my first landing in a most inelegant way.

Throughout the course, we flew under instructions communicated to us via small radios clipped to our harnesses.

On the final glide of my first flight, I veered too far right despite repeated instructions from my instructor to head left. Looking back, I think it was because I had fixated my gaze on a couple of horses in front of me diagonally on my left. Thinking that I would crash into them, I maintained my course when on hindsight, my instructor probably meant for me to head left, which would eventually put me farther left of the horses.

The end result was I landed in a less than ideal patch of rice paddies. Well, more like ankle deep in mud rather. Oh, and I startled a *huge* water buffalo resting in a muddy rice paddy on the way down. That was quite a sight, according to my fellow students watching from the hilltop. I had just a few seconds to appreciate the sight of the buffalo lurching to its feet and lumbering away from the intimidating red and black glider that was hurtling towards it. Too bad I couldn’t take any pictures of that. Too busy landing.

Despite that initial flubbed landing, the rest of the paragliding course proceeded smoothly enough. We never returned to Kahun Danda after that day, and the rest of our flights were from atop a high ridge called Torrepani, near the main take-off sites for experienced pilots at Sarangkot.

Here are some pictures of the view from the take-off point.

This is one of Fishtail Mountain (Macchapucchre), the iconic peak associated with the Pokhara Valley.



This is one of the Pokhara Lakeside, close to the LZ, a rice paddy field far down the ridge. A flight from Torrepani takes approximately 25 minutes to glide down to the LZ. Longer if the pilot engages in soaring flight.



This is a pic of the us at the LZ heading back to the jeep after an afternoon flight.



A pic of the take-off point from the LZ.



In total, I logged 13 flights during the course, over 6 flying days, for the total of about 3 hours of airtime. After learning how to get into the air safely on the first day of flying at Kahun Danda, the rest of the course was spent doing 2 flights a day from Torrepani, with each flight focusing on a specific set of exercises. We did turns, pitch control, roll control, rear-riser steering, big ears … all the exercises beginner pilots perform to get their licence. Everything proceeded smoothly.

There was a bit of a scare one day though, when one of the students experienced a spontaneous asymmetric collapse of her wing; part of one side of her wing deflated and lost pressure. Naturally, this is a BAD THING to happen. But fortunately, student wings are very forgiving and the wing spontaneously re-inflated after a few seconds, with no change in course. That certainly gave everyone something to think about on the final day though, when we ourselves deliberately simulated an asymmetric wing collapse by pulling hard on the front riser. As safe as the procedure is to attempt on a student wing, one student’s opinion that “I was shitting my pants when I was doing it” wasn’t exactly exclusive to him. It did make for a great confidence building exercise though.

All in all, paragliding in Nepal was everything I had expected of it and more. Nepal really is paragliding heaven. It wasn’t just the perfect conditions and the beautiful scenery or the fact that it was in Nepal, one of the world’s great adventure destinations. What made the trip so enjoyable were also the great people I met on the trip: the students, the instructors, other travelers, and the other more experienced pilots. The world’s best pilots come to Nepal to fly every season, and sitting in Maya Devi Village, the place where pilots chill out between and after flights, one is often treated to amazing acro displays by skilled pilots. Sometimes even with birds of prey. Despite originally starting out with the intention of just attending a student course to learn how to fly, it was inspiring to see so many good pilots honing their skills in the mountains of Nepal.

It was a good trip indeed.

Nepal, Winter 2009, Part 3

I wanted to learn how to fly.

My last trip to learn paragliding was beset by problems with the weather and the site conditions. These will always be challenges no matter where a pilot flies (even in paragliding meccas as vaunted as Annecy, France), but they are especially vexing for student pilots just learning to fly.

I chose to learn how to fly in Nepal as I had heard that weather conditions there were “super consistent”. I was not disappointed. My fellow students and I flew every day of the course after our first maiden flight (excepting the three day strike, bandh as it is called in Nepal).

Frankly, the first day of our course did not start too auspiciously. But first, here's a picture of where we spent the first day of our course: the training hill for ground handling.



The main flying sites in Pokhara is are Sarangkot, a small mountain community. On the first morning, en route to the training hill to learn ground handling, we heard news of a terrible bus crash.

Apparently, an (overloaded) bus had toppled off the highway between Sarangkot and Pokhara. Of about 40 over passengers onboard, one third were killed and the rest seriously injured. And the crash site was right in the middle of most of the paragliding take-off sites.

I heard stories from fellow pilots in Pokhara about mangled bodies and crushed limbs when they rushed over to help. It was not pretty. Our instructor (British), commented that while tragic, these things happen all too often in Nepal because of chronic overloading, old buses with dysfunctional brakes, and any number of bad things that are par for the course in a poor country like Nepal. [Mental note to self: Taking a local bus in a third world country is probably a bad idea, even if you are totally into the whole immerse-yourself-in-the-local-culture experience].

The bus accident started our course on a somber note, but in the days to come, the tragedy receded as we concentrated on learning how to fly.

I met lots of interesting people during my course. My fellow students were a Londoner documentary maker/investment analyst, a Canadian Quebecois Twin Otter pilot for a small commercial airline, a German who was the hotel manager for the Hyatt Regency in Kathmandu, and later on, an Icelandic graphic designer and a French girl (who I never found out did what in her day job).

The first day of flying was momentous. After 2 days of ground handling, we headed to a place called Kahun Danda, where we climbed a 130m tall hill (exhausting when you carry the 20 kg glider and harness up) and took off from near the top.

Nothing truly prepares you for the emotions of your first flight. Your technique may be sound, and the muscle memory may be ingrained, but the emotions that accompany the first launch are incredible. I am sure it is the same for a first-time skydiver or base jumper.

In truth, I didn’t learn paragliding just solely because it seemed tremendously cool and fun. This is going to sound very weird to a lot of people but one important reason why I wanted to learn how to fly was that I felt that I needed to step out of my comfort zone, at least for a while. I felt that I had become too comfortable in my routines, and that I wasn’t taking enough risks in my life. Part of me wondered if I was even still capable of shaking up my life a little. The last time I did that was when I attempted my first marathon, but I have 5 marathons behind me now, the most recent one literally the day before I departed for Nepal.

Completing marathons was no longer a way to challenge myself. It no longer had the call of adventure. Call it a quarter-life crisis or what you will. Middle-aged men take up ballroom dancing; I was a twenty something who felt the need to hurl myself off a cliff, if only to prove something to myself.

OK, philosophizing moment over. Back to the nice touristy pics. =)

Here’s a picture from the Kahun Danda take-off site looking onto the LZ: rice paddy fields after harvest.


I traveled to Nepal for one reason and one reason only. Everything else was peripheral and incidental.

It looks high, but it takes only between two and three minutes to glide down to the LZ.

When it was my turn to launch, I was all excited and got myself ready in the forward take-off position, waiting for the winds to be right, and then I started running forward strongly once my instructor said “Towards me.”

I ran forward, feeling the pull of the risers against the harness as the wing came up over and above me. My heart was pumping hard...then my instructor said “Stop.”

I could feel my heart sinking to the ground as my legs came to a standstill. I could feel the wing above me maintain pressure but it would soon deflate and collapse. Did I do something wrong? Would I ever be able to fly?

Then my instructor shouted “KEEP RUNNING!!!”

My body reacted before my brain did, but by the time I got to the point of being confused why my instructor had changed his mind mid-launch, I was already in the air.

It was a wondrous feeling.

[Later on, my instructor told me that one of the lines in my wing had got tangled up as the glider inflated and came up over my head, which was why he had told me to stop mid-launch. But just as the words left his mouth, the line spontaneously untangled in the wind, and I was good to go.]

Bali, May 2008

I went to Bali for the first time for a 9-day vacation in early May. It was supposed to be a 10-day vacation, but I changed my return flight to fly back early. It was without doubt, the least fun holiday I have ever taken. This marks the first time ever that I changed my return flight while on a vacation.

Bali's a nice enough place, I suppose, if you're into the surfing, lying-on-a-beach-getting-a-tan-with-a-bintang kind of vacation. It's also reasonably cheap, although I think the whole island of the gods on USD10 a day notion is a bit far-fetched. Being a terribly popular tourist location located in the exotic Far East, it's also stuffed with Australians, Europeans, Japanese, Koreans and increasingly, mainland Chinese (who I hear are also buying property in Bali).

Anyways, I didn't go to Bali for the surfing, the beach (Seminyak good, Kuta not so good, really), the diving, the massages (which were incidentally, great value), the food, or god forbid, the culture. My opinion is that if you've seen one temple/cathedral/mosque/torii, you're seen 'em all. In any case, I'm a flaneur by nature. Walking the streets is how I really get to know the feel of a place, and not just through visiting the canned tourist attractions. I once footed it from Canal Street to the Met when I was in Manhattan.

I went to Bali for one very simple reason: I wanted to learn how to paraglide, and Bali's the most convenient, accessible and reasonably priced location close to Singapore to learn how to do so. Seeing as how I knew no one else who wanted to throw themselves off a cliff (!), I travelled alone to Bali. Not an issue though; there are just some of us that have always dreamt of flying.

The learning site was at Timbis beach (more accurately, the cliff above Timbis beach that pilots step off after inflating the canopy), and the views were spectacular. Definitely not a part of Bali many tourists visit. The closest place to Timbis that most people would recognize is Nusa Dua, but in truth, Timbis is nowhere near Nusa Dua. It's actually closer to the temple at Pura Gunung Payung. Timbis lies along the southeastern edge of the Bukit peninsula.

The instructor was experienced, competent and safety conscious. Those are all good things. Unfortunately, he wasn't such a great teacher. There were of course practical handling lessons, but no theory or classroom lessons. We were just expected to read the textbook he gave us.

The real issue was the weather. Although I was there for nine days, I flew all of one day. That's right, one day. The instructor claimed that the weather wasn't typically so bad, that they would normally fly more than twenty days in a single month. But I wasn't so sure. I can personally attest that Bali is a great place to fly, if you already know how. But is it a great place to learn?

Beginner pilots can only fly in light, steady (non-gusty) winds of less than 15 mph. That by itself already doesn't happen consistently everywhere, not just Timbis in Bali. But what complicates matters at Timbis is that Timbis isn't a training hill. Instead, it's a cliff site that relies on sea breezes and ridge lift. That makes for spectacular views and pictures for sure, which is attractive to someone new to the sport. But what the splashy websites don't say is that while everyone takes off from the cliff, only advanced pilots are skilled enough to land back on the cliff (a difficult and dangerous feat for a beginner to attempt). In contrast, the beginners like me are supposed to take off from the cliff, but land on the beach at the foot of the cliff, where the L-Z is a long narrow stretch of sand (cushions falls, just in case). The problem is, at high tide, there is no beach.

Every morning I spent in Bali was spent bumming around in Kuta or Jimbaran, while waiting for the all-important phone call at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon telling us

(the other Singaporeans I met there and I) if the wind conditions were right for that day. Why 3 o'clock? Because that's when the tide starts to recede. And if wind conditions weren't right from 3 pm till 6:30 pm (when it gets dark), there would basically be no flying for that day. So we couldn't leave the vicinity of south Bali for a day trip anywhere (for instance, to Ubud) because we had to be available for the phone call, but there would be no guarantee of flying for that day even if we set the day aside. 

Both the wind and tide conditions have to be just right for student pilots in Bali. Most days, we spent the afternoons from 3pm onwards at the cliff, hoping for the winds to die down before it got dark, while more experienced pilots circled overhead. Most days, the wind didn't didn't die down. It wasn't very fun sitting there watching the instructor give tandem flights to the gawking tourists for USD75 a pop. I got so frustrated I cut my trip short and came home early.

While waiting for the winds to die down, I was entertained by stories by one of the Singaporeans (who apparently loves Bali enough to want to retire there) who saw, on her previous trip to Bali, a bunch of Filipinos and an American complete the entire 8 day course in one week.

I thought that was a fascinating story and how lucky indeed the Filipinos were! I was even kind enough not to point out that this was her fourth trip to Bali without completing the course. She's going to be back in Bali in August again, apparently on a month-long trip.

So, what's a landbound Singaporean with a yen for flying, living on an island where the national pastimes are really, let's face it, just eating, shopping and chillin', to do? Now that Bali's not really an option, I guess I'll just have to look for some place else that really does have reliable conditions for students.