Rafael Hanuman

I don't have any photos of myself flying.

I haven't done a tandem paragliding flight like they do in tourism.

I took the course in Jaraguá do Sul, in a system that started from a low height.

The longer a person wanted to stay in the air, they obviously had to take off from a higher point.

And taking off like that, from the ground, I went high. And I never feared heights as long as I checked every rope, every strap.

There were skydiving friends who insisted that I jump, and I never did.

I said I would only go out with the parachute open.


But I don't have any photos.

Partly because it was harder back then.
We had film, you couldn't mess up the pose, etc...

Now what was decisive was that a flight colleague died.

He was a drinking buddy of mine and the son of a friend of my mother.

And the guy died at Jaraguá peak, in the city of Jaraguá do Sul, Santa Catarina.

And I made one flight there. Just one flight in that city where he died.

And I almost went to the grave too. My mother never knew.

Well, she never knew about the hundred times I could have died.

Returning to the story topic,

At the moment of landing,... the landing was at a school.

It was so long ago that I don't even remember well.

The landing was in the middle of a bunch of wires.

I thought: it's over.

Big poles.

I aimed for the center of the football field and landed.