What better way to spend a Monday afternoon than jumping out of a plane at 12,000 feet?
I had done a skydive once before, about four years ago in Spain, and loved it. Ever since then I've been hoping to do another, and when I spoke to a couple in Mendoza who had been in Cordoba and done one, my mind was made up.
The hard part was persuading Shaun and Sam to come along with me. But that didn't take long. Both guys are out here for similar reasons as me: see the world, meet new people, try new things, push some boundaries.
And as Sam's favourite saying goes: you're here for a good time, not a long time.
We shared a silent car journey out to Alta Gracia, a small town known for being a place of Jesuit settlements and the place where Che Guevara grew up.
Unfortunately we didn't actually go into the town, instead pulling into the sparse aerodrome field on the outskirts. Our driver 'Bob' was monosyllabic all the way there but soon sparked into life when we pulled into the aircraft hangar.
The plane taking us to ourdeaths jumps was sitting silently outside the hangar, a small Cessna that thankfully looked to be in decent nick. I tested the strength of the wing, just to make sure:
Even by saying nothing, Bob was reassuring me that this was just another day, just another safe skydive. He was humming a tune, tapping away on his knee without a care in the world.
We later found out that the Alta Gracia Paracenter had been at the centre of a paparazzi storm just a month previously when Katie Price, of all people, showed up with her Argentinian boyfriend to do a jump with Bob & Co.
The irony is that had I been in England for the past month I would have known about this thrilling fact, what with my job (covering celebrity tittle tattle) and everything. But out here I somehow find better things to do with my time than read The Sun online, and this earth-shattering news had passed me by.
For posterity's sake, here is Bob with Katie Price:
He showed me a picture on his phone that he'd taken on the way down with her - her boobs taking up half the shot and Bob behind her with a big grin on his face. Naughty man.
In our plane, the pilot was circling ever higher and the town of Alta Gracia was getting ever smaller. From up there we could see for miles: a large mountain range with a lake beyond, and a patchwork quilt of fields for as far as the eye could see.
When we reached 11,000ft the two instructors told us to sit up on their laps. Shaun is quite a big lad, and his instructor winced a bit as he was sat upon by a yellow-suited Aussie. But, wincing over, we were soon in position to do what we'd come to do: jump out of a plane.
At 12,000ft Shaun's instructor lifted open the hatch to the wobbly little Cessna. Immediately the force of the air, and its sound, took over the aircraft. It was like being in a particularly ferocious wind tunnel.
Shaun and instructor inched their way towards the open hatch, the instructor yelling some last minute tips into his ear as I pretended to shoot him in the head:
I wasn't really pretending to that. I can't remember what I was doing, but it makes for a good pic.
Shaun soon departed the plane and plummeted to his death.
We held his funeral the next day.
The End.
Ha bloody ha!
No, Shaun jumped from the plane like a pro and, once he had gone, Bob quickly shifted us towards the exit.
As I said before, I'd already done a skydive once in my life so knew what to expect. But even so, the rush of air that hits you as you perch precariously over the earth below is an intense feeling.
If you were to ask me a question at that specific point, like 'what is 7x9?' or 'name the capital of Bulgaria' I probably couldn't have told you the answer. At that point in time, literally the only thing on your mind is 'Shit! I'm about to fall out of a plane.'
I had done a skydive once before, about four years ago in Spain, and loved it. Ever since then I've been hoping to do another, and when I spoke to a couple in Mendoza who had been in Cordoba and done one, my mind was made up.
The hard part was persuading Shaun and Sam to come along with me. But that didn't take long. Both guys are out here for similar reasons as me: see the world, meet new people, try new things, push some boundaries.
And as Sam's favourite saying goes: you're here for a good time, not a long time.
We shared a silent car journey out to Alta Gracia, a small town known for being a place of Jesuit settlements and the place where Che Guevara grew up.
Unfortunately we didn't actually go into the town, instead pulling into the sparse aerodrome field on the outskirts. Our driver 'Bob' was monosyllabic all the way there but soon sparked into life when we pulled into the aircraft hangar.
The plane taking us to our
We were then asked to sign a waiver, which basically said if we plummet to earth and die in a bloody mess, it's our own stupid fault and no-one else's.
Fair enough. Where do I sign?
We had a choice of heights from where we could jump. Obviously the higher the height, the longer we'd get to freefall. It was a no brainer: we all wanted the maximum of 12,000ft - which would mean 45 seconds of freefall.
Next we had to pick out a jumpsuit that fitted our various body shapes. The only one that fitted my small frame made me look like something out of a 1970s Top of the Pops dance troupe, or Evel Knievel's long lost brother:
Next we had to pick out a jumpsuit that fitted our various body shapes. The only one that fitted my small frame made me look like something out of a 1970s Top of the Pops dance troupe, or Evel Knievel's long lost brother:
Form an orderly queue, ladies...
With that natty look complete, we were taken through the briefest of safety briefings on a crashmat in the hangar. Lie like this, bend your legs up to your bum, cross your arms, uncross them when I tap, and keep breathing.
With that natty look complete, we were taken through the briefest of safety briefings on a crashmat in the hangar. Lie like this, bend your legs up to your bum, cross your arms, uncross them when I tap, and keep breathing.
And with that, it was time to go.
The Cessna was a small plane, which meant only two of us - plus our instructors - could go in one journey. First up were Shaun and I.
We headed out towards the plane where Bob (driver-turned-instructor) gave me a last-minute briefing on how to jump. Legs like this, arms like this, etc. I was ready to roll.
Bob and I squeezed into the back of the plane, me leaning back on his large belly, and Shaun clambered into the front with his instructor. The smiley pilot put the throttle down and we were soon bouncing along the dry grass and lifting into the air.
Here's me pulling an unintentional silly face, as recorded by Bob's handheld camera:
I've had more comfortable journeys on the Tube in rush hour, but it was only 20 minutes and we killed the time by watching the altometer rising higher and higher.
5,000ft, 6,000ft, 7,000ft...
Even by saying nothing, Bob was reassuring me that this was just another day, just another safe skydive. He was humming a tune, tapping away on his knee without a care in the world.
We later found out that the Alta Gracia Paracenter had been at the centre of a paparazzi storm just a month previously when Katie Price, of all people, showed up with her Argentinian boyfriend to do a jump with Bob & Co.
The irony is that had I been in England for the past month I would have known about this thrilling fact, what with my job (covering celebrity tittle tattle) and everything. But out here I somehow find better things to do with my time than read The Sun online, and this earth-shattering news had passed me by.
For posterity's sake, here is Bob with Katie Price:
He showed me a picture on his phone that he'd taken on the way down with her - her boobs taking up half the shot and Bob behind her with a big grin on his face. Naughty man.
In our plane, the pilot was circling ever higher and the town of Alta Gracia was getting ever smaller. From up there we could see for miles: a large mountain range with a lake beyond, and a patchwork quilt of fields for as far as the eye could see.
When we reached 11,000ft the two instructors told us to sit up on their laps. Shaun is quite a big lad, and his instructor winced a bit as he was sat upon by a yellow-suited Aussie. But, wincing over, we were soon in position to do what we'd come to do: jump out of a plane.
At 12,000ft Shaun's instructor lifted open the hatch to the wobbly little Cessna. Immediately the force of the air, and its sound, took over the aircraft. It was like being in a particularly ferocious wind tunnel.
Shaun and instructor inched their way towards the open hatch, the instructor yelling some last minute tips into his ear as I pretended to shoot him in the head:
I wasn't really pretending to that. I can't remember what I was doing, but it makes for a good pic.
Shaun soon departed the plane and plummeted to his death.
We held his funeral the next day.
The End.
Ha bloody ha!
No, Shaun jumped from the plane like a pro and, once he had gone, Bob quickly shifted us towards the exit.
As I said before, I'd already done a skydive once in my life so knew what to expect. But even so, the rush of air that hits you as you perch precariously over the earth below is an intense feeling.
If you were to ask me a question at that specific point, like 'what is 7x9?' or 'name the capital of Bulgaria' I probably couldn't have told you the answer. At that point in time, literally the only thing on your mind is 'Shit! I'm about to fall out of a plane.'
And then we did the deed and left the aircraft. A small shove of Bob's large frame in my back and we were tumbling towards the brown fields below.
If you're reading this and have never done a skydive, I really urge you to do one. The freefall - a glorious, memorable 45 seconds - is one of the biggest rushes you can ever have.
With the G-force sapping your face, all you can do is hold your body in position and enjoy the ride. It's quite difficult to put the feeling into words, but the speed, the force, the wind and the view all combine to give you an incredible feeling - impossible to replicate on earth.
Now if you have small children present, are eating your dinner, or are easily scared, please avert your eyes from the following picture:
I could probably sell the excess skin on my face to some backstreet surgeon in Bangkok. And there are far more disturbing pictures than that in my possession but I thought I'd spare you the trauma.
But that is me, being blown around by mother nature at the ripe old age of 34, enjoying one of the best buzzes of my life.
After the oh-so-quick 45 seconds Bob pulled the cord and we shot up as if suspended on a giant catapult. The yank of the harness tears into your loins and waist, but it's over in a flash and suddenly you experience a completely different sensation than before.
My first reaction was to gasp for air, as I don't remember breathing much during freefall, and then let out a few exclamations.
The rush of freefall is such an amazing feeling that I could hardly stop smiling all the way down once the parachute had been opened.
Bob had pulled the cord at 5,000ft which gave us four or five minutes of parachute time as we headed down towards the aerodrome.
The view, which I could finally take in in a relaxed way, was great - and the feeling of floating through the air above the tiny people and houses below was sensational.
Bob was using me as a guinea pig of sorts, as he had a new head-mounted camera that had a special HD quality and gave a different perspective of the jump than the normal wrist-mounted camera.
Afterwards, when we looked at the video, he seemed pleased with his new toy. I couldn't see a huge amount of difference - and it mainly seemed to focus on my balding spot on the back of my head - but I was happy to help him test it.
As we circled down to earth, Bob told me to brace myself. He then did an amazing 360 degree spin, which was better than any theme park ride I've been on. Another great rush to the head.
We moved closer and closer to the fields below and Bob took us on a low, sweeping turn before bringing us into land like the expert he is (5,600 jumps and counting). I pulled my legs up as instructed and we enjoyed a soft landing on the parched grass.
We toppled over after finding our feet, as the wind took the parachute with it, but soon got up and got a snap:
One of the best five minutes of my life.
Still beaming, Shaun and I sent Sam on his way. He repeated what we'd done and landed some 30 minutes later smiling from ear to ear. If you could bottle the feeling of a skydive, you'd be a rich man.
We shared a couple of drinks and had a good chat with the instructors and some guys who were doing courses at the aerodrome. Bob and his team quickly made our CDs and DVDs, including adding some great soundtracks to the video, and we were driven back to Cordoba on a high.
Here is the video. If you are scared of heights, or scared of men with flapping facial skin, please look away now:
Go and do a skydive. It'll be one of the best things you ever do.