$10.
That's the price of fear; at least that's what fear cost me in South Africa.
I am North of Knysna, on South Africa's Garden route, in a very special place.
The view from the lookout at the Bloukran's Bungee Jumping Bridge - the world's highest, is both scary and spectacular.
To the left, in the far distance, two massive rocks give way to a small opening through which a glimpse of the ocean can be seen.
Directly ahead, a cement bridge lays at least 750 meters long - in other words, a ten minute walk to cross.
To my right, huge mountains covered with tall, lush, magestic pine trees as far as the eye can see. And 800 meters below, a tiny spec of a serpentine river, barely visible, leading to the ocean.
The five brave kamikazes in our party of twenty paid the fee to jump up front. Once their weight had been indicated on their right arm with a Sharpee, and a harness strapped around their bodies, they were certified ok to jump.
The distance from the bridge to the ground was frightening, but it was the weighing in that cemented by decision not to Bungee. I didn't want the impact of a week of fried calamari's and caipirinha's branded on my arm for the world to see.
Thankfully, there was a compromise - I didn't have to pay to jump, and could purchase, for a small fee, a walk to the platform to watch the brave ones dive off the bridge.
Our African guide gave us precise marching orders onto the bridge, and once on the platform - he looked at us gravely, as if our lives depended on following his instructions.
We walked slowly and cautiously through the clouds on a man-made bridge of steel and rope. Above us, the sound of cars whizzing by. Below us, gigantic rocks in the distance, appearing no bigger than tiny specs of sand.
One thousand babysteps later, we reach the giant cement platform equipped with ropes, rescuers, a TV and a DJ Booth.
"Welcome to Bloukrans!" smiles a twenty year old broadly, his two gold front teeth flashing us. "Feel safe and secure among us....: his voice is drowned by the whistling wind.
The five jumpers are excited, my husband among them. His hand is branded J5/74, and I wrongly assume he'll be the fifth to jump.
They call his name first. My heart sinks into my chest as I wonder how many have perished jumping off this bridge before him. I don't want him to be the first to 'test' the equipment today!
He looks serene as velcro weights are anchored to his calves, and various ropes and belts fitted to his body.
"It's best not to look down", cautions the guide. "It's best not to wait. Do not hesitate. 5-4-3-2-1 and you jump Mister. ok?"
"How do I jump?" He asks.
"Stick your chest out. Spread your arms and jump forward, gracefully flying like an eagle soaring in the wind".
Oh my God.
I hug him tightly, wondering if this is the last time.
The DJ hits play, and a booming African beat echoes on the platform, booming rythmically and competing with the hissing wind.
The crowd starts clapping and dancing. 5-4-3-2-1! He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them again, spreads his arms, and leaps gracefully, his body freefalling at 120 miles per hour for 10 seconds.
He falls fast, for what feels like forever. Then the string tightens and he bounces upwards only to fall down again. Twice.
Minutes later, he is hoisted back onto the platform, and freed from the ropes and velcro. I rush to hug him. "It felt peaceful", he tells me, his eyes glowing. "It felt like freedom; like bliss".
One by one, the other four jumpers live their experience.
Suddenly, Melanie, one of the observers who is as adamant as me about how crazy one must be to attempt this, decides to change her mind. When I ask her why, she simply tells me that it feels right, and that she views this as the opportunity to let go of some old baggage.
As she gets weighed and harnessed in, I start thinking about some of the baggage I'd like to leave behind. My control issues, for one. My bad habit of always wanting to be in control of how things happen, and when they happen - just so I can protect myself from any surprises. Imagine if I could jump, and leave that behind! Sounds tempting!
But, being me, I need guarantees, and need to understand precisely how the letting go of control will happen if I jump. Melanie just smiles and tells me just to choose it to be so. "That's all Darling", she says in her sign song voice. "Just choose to leave it behind and see what happens".
It's crazy, I know. But with the music beating rythmically, the friends clapping, the husband glowing, and my lack of ability to see the ground below me, the whole idea feels risk free.
"Fear is temporary, regret is forever", reads the advertisement above the DJ booth. The voice in my head reminds me that life is not a dress rehearsal, and that I won't be able to decide next week to jump of the tallest bridge in the world.
The voice of reason, the one whose like a chicken who has only ever coveted two eggs, remind me it's a pointless risk to take - my two chickies still need their mother.
The two voices banter back and forth, caught up in a fast and furious game of ping pong thoughts. How much will this cost? Will we have enough? What if I throw up my breakfast? Am I wearing the right clothes? Is my last will and testament up to date? Enough! I decide. I feel safe. It feels right. I want to - no, I need to leave control on this bridge. I am jumping.
As the African kid fasten the velcro straps onto my calves, he repeats a few mantra's in broken english which sound to me like : "you are beautiful. You are the safest woman in the world". Or is he saying: "The weather is beautiful, you are the bravest woman in the world?". No matter, his voice is calm and soothing.
A dozen thoughts cross my mind. Am I ready to leave control behind? Will it happen automatically? Can people see the numbers on my arm? Can they tell I've gained five pounds? What do I need to do to make sure I look elegant when I jump? Is someone filming this? How do I want to experience this moment? What do I need to do to shut up my thoughts?
The two guides raise me up and help me hobble to the ledge, pushing me forward quickly. I can't look straight down, so I look straight ahead.
"Focus", I tell myself." "Look Elegant, and leave control behind".
5-4-3-2-1...whoosh! I jump forward and swan dive head first at 120 miles per hour.
"Oh my God", I think in the first second. And then my mind goes blank. I fall faster than my consciousness can register. I force myself to look straight down at the river getting nearer and wider.
The tug at the end of the ten seconds is gentle. I bounce back up and fall down twice more, light as a feather swaying in the wind gently and gracefully.
When the motion stops, it's so quiet around me that all I hear in the vast forest is the thumping of my heart.
The sun is casting a golden glow over the ocean peering in the opening directly in front of me.
Peace. Freedom. Bliss.
"Hello down there!" says the voice of an angel. "How was your jump?" I raise two thumbs in the air, still face down, unable to talk.
"My name is Jacques. I am coming to get you and hoist you back up to your friends".
Midway up, Jacques turns me right side up and I hang on to his leg until we reach the platform.
I am unhooked, photographed, and hugged by my new family of brave jumpers.
When we skip accross the road bridge back to the mainland, it's time to pay up.
"That will $110, says the guide. It's $100 if you pay before you jump, and $110 if you pay after. We take Cash, Visa, MasterCard and even American Express."
I hand over my credit card without saying a word,
On the bus back to the hotel, It dawns on me that the argument to pay more after the jump makes no rational sense to me. And how did they come up with $10? Just then, I also realize that I didn't argue with the guide, nor did I question.
I smile to myself. The experience was worth every penny.
