daredevil

It's amazing what you can find on Google. Every four to six months I google my great-grandfather's name, John Tranum, to see what the world wide web might have on him. For you new readers, my great-grandad was a famous Danish stuntman, daredevil and pioneer of parachuting and BASE jumping during the twenties and early thirties. He was the real deal— a man who fearlessly followed his dream with a devilish grin and a gleam in his eye.

I came upon this Danish site of historical press photos and found what are probably the last photos of my great-grandad alive before his 10,000 metre— yes, 10,000 metre, record-breaking jump. Sadly, he never made it out of plane. On March 7th in 1935, at around 8,500 metres, his oxygen apparatus failed.

family history

I left the comfort and warmth of Sue's beautiful farmhouse to bump and sway down the rail road tracks to Esbjerg, my grandad's hometown. There I met Steen, a kind and generous archaeologist who offered his sofa to a cold and sleepy artist who still hadn't drawn much. Steen was my second Couchsurfing experience— Sue being my first, though we had previously met in Istanbul. Couchsurfing is a wonderful way to see the world and meet people, based fundamentally on trust and the goodness of strangers. You visit the website, search for someone with a couch or a bed to sleep on in the city you are travelling to, et voilà: somewhere to lay your wandering head and possibly, a new friend.

I asked Steen, knower of many, many things, if he had heard of my grandad's dad, John Tranum. With a tilt of his head he said he knew of a road with such a name, and almost simultaneously we both added, "by the airport." Since my great grandad was a famous parachutist, stuntman and daredevil, it was only fitting that the road to the airport be named John Tranum's Way. We spent the dark afternoon and evening discussing my adventurous relative, the history of Esbjerg, and what it's like to dig in the mud for ancient homes.

In the morning I met my grandad's cousin Maria, whom I had never met but felt an instant connection to. Maria took me to the place where John Tranum now rests, as he has ever since his final record-breaking jump attempt in 1935, which sadly, he never got to perform. His oxygen tank failed, and he never made it out of the plane.



Before Maria and I ran off to catch a ferry to the island of Fanø, just across the Esbjerg harbour, she showed me a veritable treasure-trove of old photos— pictures of my grinning grandad, of beautiful Maria as a Fanø calendar girl in traditional costume, of Chieftan, her legendary Alsatian, of our ancestors The Captain and his wife Anna, who had seven daughters named after the seven seas. Among these books of faded photos, a calendar of Esbjerg history contained one photo that captivated me and my child-like sense of wonder:

the next one

It's raining like a monsoon outside, the wind is howling, it's past midnight and I'm exhausted from a busy, busy week. I've tipped over the point where tiredness becomes a mild insomnia. I don't feel like drawing, knitting or reading, so I thought I'd write briefly about my next upcoming adventure, a trip to Denmark. My grandad is one tough Dane, with a penchant for smelly cheese and blue china plates. I love him dearly, and want to visit his homeland (he lives in California).

Having been raised moving from place to place and always feeling the foreigner, I wonder what connection I might feel to Danish culture, if any. I've never had a sense of nationality or belonging, I've always adopted the elements of the cultures I was enveloped in that spoke to me most. I had visited Copenhagen once with my mum when I was five, and don't remember much except gleefully playing in a public fountain with a bunch of semi-nude blonde kids. I'm eager to learn more about where those drops of Scandinavian blood that run through me are from, and to visit the town where my grandad ate his first piece of smelly cheese. I'm also looking forward to seeing where his dad, John Tranum, parachuting and base jumping pioneer and famed stuntman of the 20s and early 30s, lived and was buried.

Here's a fabulous picture of my great-grandad from a Danish site:



I love this photo. Among his long list of record-breaking jumps, this daring Dane hopped off the Eiffel Tower, the Pasadena Bridge, and successfully rode a motorcycle off a thousand foot cliff. I wonder if I've inherited a bit of his wild streak with my passion for swinging from trapezes.

It's a wonderful feeling, looking forward to a trip. I've got a couple of others that I'm tossing around in my head, but nothing set in stone. Right, now. I'm going to try and shut my eyes.