Another paraglider lands. And another. Friends film everything, smiling cheerfully. I wonder what the view must be like up there, because the mountains surrounding us are very, very high.
Although I envy every one of those people, I would never have the courage to jump.
The doorbell rings. The waiter enters with a silver tray, a vase with a rose, coffee (for my husband), tea (for me), croissants, hot toast, rye bread, jams of various flavors, eggs, orange juice, the local newspaper, and everything else that makes us happy.
I wake him up with a kiss. I don't remember the last time I did that. He is startled, but then smiles. We sit at the table and savor the treats in front of us. We talk a bit about our drinking spree last night.
"I think I needed that. But don't take what I said too seriously. When a balloon bursts, it startles everyone, but it's nothing more than that: a bursting balloon. Harmless."
I want to say it felt great to discover all his weaknesses, but I just smile and keep eating my croissant.
He also notices the paragliders. His eyes light up. We get dressed and go downstairs to enjoy the morning.
We go straight to the front desk. He says we'll be leaving today, asks them to bring down our suitcases, and pays the bill.
Are you sure? Can't we stay until tomorrow morning?
"I'm sure. Last night was enough for me to understand that it's impossible to go back in time."
We head to the door crossing the long, glass-ceilinged lobby. I read in one of the brochures that there used to be a street here; now they've joined the two buildings that stood on either side. Tourism is apparently thriving, even without ski slopes.
But instead of going out the door, my husband turns left and approaches the concierge.
"How can we go paragliding?"
We? I don't have the slightest intention of doing that.
The concierge hands him a brochure. It's all there.
"And how do we get up top?"
The concierge explains that we don't have to go all the way up. The road is very treacherous. All we have to do is set a time and they'll pick us up from the hotel.
Isn't it very dangerous? Jumping into the nothing between two mountain ranges without ever having done it before? Who is in charge? Are there any government controls on the instructors and their equipment?
"Madam, I've been working here for ten years. I paraglide at least once a year. I've never seen a single accident."
He is smiling. He must have repeated those words thousands of times over those ten years.
"Shall we?"
What? Why don't you go alone?
"Sure, I can go by myself. You can wait for me down here with the camera. But I need and want to have this experience in life. It's always terrified me. Just yesterday we talked about when everything gets stuck in a rut and how we no longer test our limits. It was a very sad night for me."
I know. He asks the concierge to set a time.
"Now, this morning, or in the afternoon, when you can see the sunset reflected on the surrounding snow?"
Now, I reply.
"So, will it be one person or two?"
Two, if we do it now. If I don't have a chance to think about what I'm doing. If I don't have time to open the box and let the demons out--fear of heights, of the unknown, of death, of life, of extreme feelings. Now or never.
"We have the option of twenty-minute, half-hour, and one-hour flights."
Are there ten-minute flights?