I’m not a real big fan of hotel tours. Everyone loads into a van and you get shepherded around on someone else’s time frame. And if it’s raining or hot or real, the group wants to leave and you get dragged along too. So, when Olivier mentioned that he had taken the bus to Divisadero instead of a regular tour, Haruka, Yoko, Yuka, and I wanted all the details (it also didn’t hurt that he’s hot and French, so we would have politely stared and listened to pretty much anything he said). Olivier also showed us video he had taken of the canyon with his phone, that sealed it, we were going the next day.
We took the 10:30 bus which picked us up around 10:50 and I can’t sufficiently express my joy at the lovely padded seats, after our bicycling adventure. We arrived in Divisadero around noon and began scouting the comedores. Each food stall had red, blue, and yellow corn gorditas and quesadillas with carne asada and potatoes. Also on offer were chiles rellenos, aguas frescas, and fruit cups. When you’re there, pick what ever you want, it’s all wonderful.
After sating our bellies we started following the stone path around the canyon, walking to each lookout point and taking photos. Really, you can’t do justice to something this magnificent with a still shot, or even video. It’s like describing a wedding by taking home a slice of cake.
As we walked around the path, we noticed that the guardrail disappeared. You could walk right out on the rocks that made up the edge of the canyon. So, we did. Inches from a vast and probably deadly drop, without any sort of lawsuit preventing barrier. At first, stepping gingerly forward I walked out on my first precipice, in the most literal sense. Periodically, along the way we found more gaps in the rail, often stretching so far you couldn’t see one rail when standing at the end of another. And again we would venture a little further down the rocks, just because we could. The photos weren’t any better, in fact, at the lookout points, we had an even less obstructed view, as they hang over the actual canyon.
The sense of rebellion itself motivated us. Like little kids, sticking their toes in the lake when their parents aren’t looking. Knowing that in our respective countries this type of opportunity wouldn’t exist, we *had* to try it. I’ve never been particularly daring. And really, I’m still not. But sometimes, our shrink-wrapped, hand-sanitized, lawsuit-proof world is too much. Sometimes you have to stand on the edge of the canyon, knowing you could jump and just letting the wind blow.
Tags: anxiety, Awareness, Experiment, perceptions, risk, travel
