First Time at Empuriabrava: A Diary from an Italian Novice with 80 Jumps in the Bag

Sunday morning, 7:40 a.m. The sun is already high over the Costa Brava and the asphalt of the parking lot outside the Skydive Empuriabrava manifest building is already hot enough to feel through the soles of my shoes. I have 80 jumps in my logbook, an ENAC license in my pocket, and the distinct feeling that I have absolutely no idea what to do.

It's not fear of the jump. It's that specific feeling of being a child on the first day of school in a foreign country — you know how to read, you know how to write, but you don't know any of the unwritten rules. This diary is for anyone considering making the same leap — not the one from the plane, but the one away from their home DZ.

The Journey and the Paperwork: What I Would Have Prepared Better

Let's start with the practical side, because that's where I made my first mistake. I had my ENAC license, an up-to-date logbook, and a valid Class 2 medical certificate. What I didn't have was an English translation of my logbook — or at least a summary sheet listing my jumps with date, altitude, discipline, and the supervising instructor's signature.

At Empuriabrava — as at almost every international-level European DZ — the manifest check-in for a visiting jumper involves a profile review: how many jumps, when was the last one, what canopy are you flying, what's your wing loading. Showing your license isn't enough: they want to understand who you are as a skydiver, not just that you're compliant with your home country's paperwork.

My logbook is written in Italian, with Italian annotations, and the guy at the manifest — friendly, used to everything — simply photographed the last few pages and asked me to fill out a visiting jumper form. Nothing dramatic, but it cost me twenty minutes and, more importantly, made me realize I could have arrived better prepared.

What to bring when jumping abroad for the first time:

Original ENAC license (a photo on your phone isn't accepted at many DZs)

Up-to-date logbook with at least the last 20–30 entries legible

A one-page summary in English: name, total jump count, date of last jump, canopy type, wing loading

Insurance certificate if you have one (some foreign DZs require it for visiting jumpers)

Your AAD serial number and date of last service — some DZs will check it

The Manifest: A Different System from What You Know

If you come from a mid-sized Italian DZ, you're used to a fairly informal manifest: you walk up to the desk, give your name, and you're on the load. At Empuriabrava — one of the highest-volume DZs in Europe — the system is structured more like an operation, and that can be disorienting.

First thing: there's an app. Or rather, there are multiple digital systems, and during my visit the setup was a combination of a real-time load board on a screen in the hangar and a desk booking system. Local coaches and organized groups book loads in advance. Visiting jumpers like me queue for available slots, which are posted on the board.

On my first day I missed two loads simply because I hadn't understood that I needed to confirm my presence at the desk at least 20–30 minutes before the estimated takeoff. Putting your name down isn't enough: you need to be physically visible, rig on your back or right next to you, ready to go. If you're not there, your slot goes to the next person on the list.

The language at the manifest is English and Spanish, with the occasional slip into Catalan. My technical English was good enough for basic operations, but I discovered that some DZ slang terms I didn't know in English — even though I knew the concept perfectly well in Italian.

A concrete example: when they asked for my canopy size and wing loading I answered correctly, but when they asked if I was current I hesitated for a moment. Current, in DZ slang, means you're in recency — you've jumped recently enough to be considered active without needing any re-qualification jumps. I was — but I didn't know that was the word.

Practical tip: before you leave home, spend half an hour on an English-language skydiving forum (Dropzone.com is the go-to) and get familiar with the basic operational vocabulary. You don't need to speak perfect English; you need to know the twenty words you actually use at a DZ.

The Hangar: The First Hour of Disorientation

The Empuriabrava hangar is big. Very big. There are separate areas for packing, a briefing area, a gear rental section, a bar, and a constant flow of people arriving, packing, going up, landing, and packing again.

The first impression is of a place that runs perfectly well without you. Not in a hostile way — people are friendly — but in the sense that nobody comes over to tell you where to put your rig, where to sit, or where to wait for the call. Every DZ has its own unwritten geography, and here you don't know it.

I spent the first forty minutes watching more than doing. It was the right call. I figured out where to pack (numbered mats — you take a free one), where to wait for the load call (near the side door, not the main entrance), and what the rhythm was: during the busy hours of our visit, loads were going up every 20–25 minutes or so, with multiple aircraft in rotation.

One thing that pleasantly surprised me: the packing check culture. At my home DZ, the rig packing check is done by me or by a rigger I've known for years. Here, with an unfamiliar rig and an anonymous visiting jumper, I was offered — not required, but clearly offered — a gear check by one of the duty riggers.

I welcomed it. Five minutes: they looked at the container, the AAD (Cypres 2, service current), the pin, the closing loop. No issues, everything fine. But it made me realize that at a serious DZ, a gear check for a visiting jumper is standard practice, not a comment on your competence. If it happens to you, don't take it personally.

The First Solo Jump: The Moment You Realize How Used to Your Home DZ You Are

The exit from the aircraft doesn't change. The physics are the same. But everything around it is different, and that weighs on you more than you'd expect.

The briefing on the plane — which at my home DZ is often a quick chat in Italian with people I know — was here in English, with people I'd never met, about a landing pattern I didn't know. The spot is different, the ground references are different, the radio channel (if you use an audible) needed to be reconfigured to the local frequency.

Most importantly: the landing pattern. Every DZ has its own, with its own rules about where to fly the base leg, where to turn final, which obstacles to avoid. At Empuriabrava there's the canal, there are houses, there's coastal air traffic. Before jumping solo, I'd done a briefing session with a local coach — twenty minutes, pattern diagram on an A4 sheet, ground reference points. Twenty minutes well spent.

Debriefing with a Foreign Coach: Communicating Technique Without Your Native Language

On the second day I booked a session with a coach — a French instructor with fluent English and zero Italian. The goal was to work on my freefall stability and my exit from the aircraft, two things I was already working on back home.

Debriefing after a jump in a foreign language is an interesting experience. Some technical things come across perfectly well with just a few words: arch, head position, leg pressure, delta position. They're short, visual terms that pair naturally with body language. The coach would show me the position with his hands, and I understood.

Other things were more complex. When he tried to explain a nuance about shoulder tension on exit, we ended up using Google Translate for a single term. Ridiculous and functional at the same time.

The most valuable thing about debriefing with a coach who doesn't know you is that they have no bias toward you. My home instructor knows how I jump, knows my long-standing habits, and sometimes — unconsciously — anticipates them in his feedback. The French coach looked at me with fresh eyes and told me something nobody had ever said to me with that precision: that my exit was technically correct but too hesitant. Not wrong. Hesitant. A nuance that changed the way I think about the exit.

This is the hidden value of jumping at a foreign DZ with a coach who doesn't know you: you get feedback that isn't filtered through familiarity.

The Real Friction: What Nobody Tells You Before You Leave

Let's talk about the uncomfortable stuff, which enthusiastic trip reports tend to leave out.

The cost is higher than it looks. Not just the jump itself, but renting an audible altimeter if yours needs a firmware update or configuration you didn't sort out before leaving, a formal gear check if you request one, the coach, packing if you're tired. Budget at least 30% more than you'd normally spend at home.

The social isolation is real. My home DZ is a place where I know everyone, where there's always someone to pack with and chat. Here, for the first two days, I was essentially invisible. Not out of unfriendliness — it's just that everyone has their own groups, their own friends, their own coaches. It takes time to work your way into conversations, and you have to be willing to invest that time.

The cultural time-zone lag. There's no real time difference between Italy and Spain (well, technically one hour), but there's a difference in the rhythm of the day. In Spain, people eat late, stay up late, and the evening loads finish when you'd already be heading to bed in Italy. After three days I was tired in a way I hadn't anticipated.

Traveling with your rig is a serious topic. I drove, which simplified everything. Anyone flying needs to deal with airline rules for transporting an AAD — some carriers require the AAD to be in ship mode or have the battery removed, others have different procedures. This needs to be verified with your specific airline and with the AAD manufacturer's instructions before you leave, not on the day you board. Rules change, airline policies vary, and an AAD held up at customs is a scenario nobody wants to deal with.

Emergency communication. It wasn't until the third day that I realized I didn't know how to say cutaway in Spanish, didn't know where the defibrillator was in the hangar, and didn't know the local emergency number. These are things I know automatically at my home DZ. Abroad, you have to actively look them up — ideally on day one.

What I'd Do the Same and What I'd Change

I'd do again: going. Without question. Three days at Empuriabrava gave more perspective on progression than the same time at home would have. The foreign coach's feedback, the exposure to skydivers from different backgrounds, the need to communicate in English — all of it compressed a lot of learning into a short time.

I'd do again: the landing pattern briefing before my first solo jump. Twenty minutes that kept me from doing something stupid.

I'd do again: quietly observing on the first day instead of immediately trying to fit in. Understanding the DZ's rhythm before inserting yourself into it is time well spent.

I'd change: I'd arrive with the English summary sheet already prepared. It takes ten minutes to put together at home and saves you twenty minutes of awkwardness at the manifest.

I'd change: I'd book the coach from home, by email, at least for the second day. Good coaches fill up fast during peak season weeks.

I'd change: I'd bring a backup analog altimeter. My digital one needed a firmware update I hadn't done, and for one load I jumped with a borrowed one. Not an ideal situation.

For Jumpers with Fewer Than 100 Jumps: Is It the Right Time?

A question many people ask. The honest answer is: it depends on what you want to get out of it.

If you simply want to jump somewhere beautiful with excellent infrastructure, then yes — Empuriabrava with 50–80 jumps is absolutely doable. Large DZs are used to visiting jumpers of every level, the safety systems are well established, and the technical level of the environment will push you.

If, on the other hand, you're still working on fundamentals like freefall stability, landing pattern, or emergency procedures — consider consolidating those foundations at your home DZ, where you have instructors who know you and a familiar environment. Not because Empuriabrava is dangerous, but because learning in a new environment adds a layer of cognitive stress that can interfere with technical progress.

The sweet spot, in our editorial team's view and based on the experience of those who've made this journey, is around 80–100 jumps with solid fundamentals: a stable exit, a reliable landing pattern, and automatized emergency procedures. This is a common-sense editorial assessment, not an official regulatory threshold. At that point, a foreign DZ stops being a source of stress and becomes what it should be: an opportunity.

A final note on paperwork. Before you leave, make sure your ENAC license is current with the recency requirements: 15 jumps in the last 12 months, at least 1 in the last 3 months, 10 minutes of freefall in the last 12 months, valid Class 2 medical certificate. Not because the Empuriabrava manifest will necessarily check all of this with that level of detail — but because jumping out of recency, even abroad, is your problem before it's theirs.

And if you have questions about what to bring, how to prepare, or how to communicate with a foreign DZ, your ENAC-certified skydiving school is the first place to ask. Not Google. Not the forums. Your school — the people who know you and know where you are in your progression.