27 Sep 2025 5 min read

Rafting and Paragliding Through the Soča Valley

Fueled by instant coffee, a wine hangover, and a little pre-adventure worrying.

After two gorgeous days in Osp, we rose before dawn, packed our backpacks, and left for the Soča Valley. The drive wound through mountains and meadows, past tiny red-roofed villages. It should have been relaxing, but my stomach was already in a knot, and the anticipation kept building with each turn through the mountains.

The Soča Valley, nestled between the crystal-clear river and the Julian Alps, is a haven for outdoor adventure. Our first stop was Maya Team, a local outfitter in Tolmin. Tony is the fearless one in our relationship. He went skydiving on his 18th birthday (I watched). I get vertigo near most edges and motion sickness on a swing set. We were fully in Tony territory. But this time, I was joining him. To celebrate the end of more than a decade of his medical training, we’d promised each other: this trip would be about big, shared adventures. Even if that meant facing my fear of heights.

Rafting: The Warm Up

The water was snowmelt—icy and impossibly clear—framed by picturesque hills at the base of the mountains. Our small group included a Swiss couple, Cedric and Tanja, who were on summer holiday. They kayaked while we rafted, and within minutes we shared a laugh about how we had to track this activity on Strava or it wouldn't count.

Halfway downriver, our guide encouraged us to climb a rock and jump in.

Tony was the first to scale the rock and front-flip into the water. I was last and took some convincing. I stalled, took one shaky leap, and called it a victory. It wasn’t graceful, but I did it.

When we finished, the paragliding company informed us that our flight would be delayed due to wind. Over lunch and a couple of nerve-busting beers with Cedric and Tanja, we compared notes on medicine, finance, and the similar absurdities of American and Swiss healthcare. We left as friends, promising to meet again in Zürich one day. Then it was time. No more delays.

The Shuttle Ride

At the meeting point, the paragliding shuttle sat waiting, crammed with pilots and their gear. We squeezed into the front seat beside the driver, who gripped the wheel with one hand and a phone with the other as the van lurched up one-lane mountain roads.

No railing. No air conditioning. Constant switchbacks.

Tony and I held hands and traded glances, wondering which we feared more: the ride or the flight. Finally, the road ended at the top of the mountain in a clearing with picnic tables and a view that made my stomach drop—we were surrounded by the tops of the jagged Julian Alps. Gorgeous. And f*cking terrifying.

Three Steps

“Who wants to go first?” a pilot asked.

Before I could hesitate, Tony nudged me and whispered, “This is your guy. Confident. Speaks great English.” I stepped forward.

Next thing I knew, I was being strapped into a harness. “There’s only one thing you need to know,” he said. “When I say ‘GO,’ take three steps. That’s it.”

Three steps? That seemed startlingly simple for what we were about to do. When would we do the safety briefing? But I nodded. Three steps.

He counted down. I managed two steps before I felt like I couldn’t move my legs. Luckily, at that moment, our red canopy caught the wind, lifted me into the tandem seat, and we were airborne. I couldn't help but let out a "woooooo!" as the ground dropped away and trees rushed beneath our feet.

We were flying.

In The Air

The valley stretched wide below us, the Soča River a thin turquoise ribbon threading through tiny red-roofed towns. My pilot laughed: his instruments had died. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve been flying since you were four. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way today.” Strangely, I wasn’t worried. The air was smooth, the motion sickness patch was holding, and for the first time all day, I felt surprisingly calm.

We caught a thermal and began to rise. Suddenly, we were inundated with the sweet smell of flowers rushing up to meet our noses.

“Do you smell that?” my pilot asked. “Yes! It smells lovely,” I answered. “That’s one of my favorite parts of flying. In the thermals, you can smell the flowering trees below.”

It was magic. Floating above the treetops, a lifelong fear melted into wonder for that moment. Attention came easily. There were so many textures, colors, scents, and sounds - inviting me to notice them.

Below, Tony had launched. His blue canopy drifted close until our wings touched. “A little kiss,” his pilot joked. Tony yelled down, “I wasn’t sure if we’d still be married after this, but when you waved, I knew we were good.” We laughed across the valley, suspended in air.

Six Steps

An hour passed in what felt like minutes. As we circled back to land, Tony's pilot spiraled down in a playful dive while my pilot spared me the spins.

Three steps to take off, three steps to land, and we were safely on the grass.

Six steps total. That’s all it took.

I was shaky and a little nauseated, but buzzing. After years of freezing up on hikes and refusing to go near cliff edges, I had finally chosen to live with my fear instead of avoiding it. And it rewarded me with a perspective I'd never had before.

Tony hugged me at the landing field. His hug was full of pride. We shook it out and cooled off with a dip in the Soča River. I was still buzzing with adrenaline.

That night, we drove north into another mountain valley. But something had shifted. I felt lighter and more open to whatever came next.