I would like to introduce my friend of 20 years, Julius Charles Serrano, a coach, speaker, accessibility consultant and an adventurer.
We met in person the first and only time in Malaysia in 2008, when I taught the first group of blind people in South-East Asia to become accessibility consultants. Since then we worked together on many projects. Julius now lives in New Zealand.
Each time we talk he tells me about an adventure I admit I get the shivers in my spine just to hear about it. He likes heights, jumps, out of the box ideas and experiences which he relates with the coaching and consulting work he does. I thought he would be a great person for my readers to meet. The following is an interview with Julius.
He shared a few videos with me which require some description for those who are not able to see it. I took an unconventional approach to the descriptions, I asked Monika Kulcsar to describe them, who creates detailed descriptions of videos with much more information than an audio described video would contain. I wrote about them previously. For this for each video please follow the link to read the descriptions. I would recommend reading the descriptions even if you can see the video so that you get a sense of this new and creative way of describing content.
Below is my interview:
Tell me about your adventures
Adventure, for me, is not a hobby. It is a language. And New Zealand has given me a spectacular vocabulary.
My very first adventure activity was bunjy jumping. The Taupo Bungy is New Zealand’s highest cliff-top bungy jump, sitting 47 metres (154 feet) above the Waikato River. Standing on the platform, heart hammering, a cool breeze wrapping around you, your body simply knows the height and the space. Then you go. The air tears past you, the river rushes up, the cord grabs you just before the water claims you, and snaps you back skyward. The whole thing is over in seconds. The adrenaline lasts considerably longer.
Tandem Skydiving over Taupo takes everything several thousand feet further. Strapped to an instructor, you climb inside a small, rattling plane to 12,000 feet (3,658 metres) above Lake Taupo. The door slides open, the wind roars like a freight train, and then you are out! The atmosphere pressing against your face at terminal velocity, every sound swallowed by the rush of air… before the parachute opens and an enormous silence wraps around everything.
Skydive 12000 feet description
ZORB in Rotorua is pure, joyful madness. You climb inside a giant inflatable ball filled with 40 litres of warm, clean water, and then the ball rolls down the hill — taking you, the water, and your sense of direction completely with it. You spin, tumble, and roll, warm water sloshing over you from every direction, your body completely surrendering to momentum, with no idea what is coming next. The moment you stumble out, soaking, dizzy, and breathless with laughter, you understand exactly why New Zealanders are so proud of this Rotorua invention.
Vertigo in Rotorua strips everything back to one brutal, beautiful moment. You stand on a platform 43 metres (141 feet) above a safety net, a harness connecting you to an anchor point above. The instructor guides your body into the precise position for a safe fall. Then detaches the connection. Four seconds of pure freefall! Wind screaming, stomach somewhere above your head, before the net catches you with a firm, definitive embrace. Those four seconds feel longer than most meetings I have ever sat through.
Indoor Rock Climbing at Fergs in Wellington is where adventure gets intimate and technical. Guided to the wall, your fingers find the handholds by touch, reading the surface like a map. A harness holds you, a rope runs to a belayer below, and the only way is up. Several stories of wall rise above as your arms burn, your fingers strain, and your entire body becomes a problem-solving machine. Just you, the wall, and the question of whether you have one more move left in you.
The SkyWalk on Auckland’s Sky Tower redefines the word outside. At 192 metres (629 feet) above the city, you step onto a narrow walkway circling the entire outside of New Zealand’s tallest building. No handrails, just open air, a harness, and wind as your constant companion. The city hums far below, and 360-degree views stretch all the way to two separate oceans. You can even lean out over the edge with nothing but sky between you and the streets below.
The SkyJump from the Sky Tower begins where the SkyWalk leaves off — except this time, you go over. At 192 metres, you step off the platform in a controlled BASE jump, accelerating to 85 kilometres per hour (52 mph) in seconds. Eleven seconds of wind, noise, and pure animal instinct. It is not a bungy — there is no bounce, no return journey. You fall, you land safely, and you spend the rest of the day buzzing. 
Have you always been adventurous or is this something you discovered recently?
The honest answer is that the seed was planted a long time ago. Back in 2013, newly settled in New Zealand, I first heard about bungy jumping. The idea landed somewhere in my mind and refused to leave quietly. It didn’t shout. It didn’t demand. It just nudged. Quietly, persistently, with the patience of someone who knew it would eventually get its way.
But at the time, I chose other priorities. Work, speaking engagements, coaching, the general business of being alive — ten years went by.
But here is the thing about ten years. It is not always hesitation. Sometimes it is simply waiting for the moment when everything aligns: the mindset, the motivation, and the sheer refusal to let another year pass with that nudge still unanswered.
And then, in 2023, I finally answered it.
I stood on that platform above the Waikato River, heart hammering, cool breeze on my face, and jumped. And something shifted. Not just in the moment, but afterwards. It was as though that one jump unlocked a door I hadn’t known was closed.
Because here is what nobody tells you about your first adventure: it is rarely your last. One experience leads to another, then another, with a kind of delicious momentum that is hard to explain and impossible to stop.
Skydiving followed. Then ZORB. Then Vertigo. Then the Sky Tower — first the walk, then the jump. Then the climbing wall. Each one arrived with its own rush, its own story, its own proof that the nudge had been right all along.
Ten years between the idea and the action. A lifetime of adventure in everything that followed.
How did your adventures change your life?
In ways I did not fully anticipate.
The first shift was in how I think about spending. I used to accumulate things. The latest gadget, the newest piece of equipment, more stuff.
Adventures taught me that experiences deliver something possessions simply cannot. The memory of standing on the edge of the Sky Tower, the wind moving around me, the city humming below. No purchase has ever given me that. I invest differently now.
The second shift was learning to let go. Not metaphorically, but literally. When you step off a platform 43 metres above a safety net with no cord attached, letting go is not optional. It is the only move available.
And that lesson travels. It shows up in how I handle uncertainty, how I respond to situations I cannot control, and how I lead the people I coach. Letting go, it turns out, is one of the most powerful things a person can do.
It also rewired my relationship with hesitation. If I can throw myself out of a plane at 12,000 feet, I can make the difficult phone call. I can have the uncomfortable conversation. And I can write an entire book! Adventures have a way of reordering your fears and reminding you that most of the things you are avoiding are considerably less terrifying than freefall.
Then there are the stories. Every adventure comes home with me, and those stories have become some of the richest currency in my relationships.
Friends, family, the people closest to me — their priceless reactions when I describe rolling down a hill inside a giant ball of warm water, or stepping off the Sky Tower. That connection, that shared laughter and disbelief, is something no gift could replicate.
And finally, through my YouTube channel, the adventures reach further than I ever expected. People watch the videos, feel the energy, and find their own courage. The jump changes me. The video changes someone else. That ripple effect might be the greatest adventure of all.
What did you find that you didn’t expect when preparing?
Two things caught me off guard.
The first was the operators. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I called to make bookings, whether there would be hesitation, extra hoops to jump through, or awkward silences on the other end of the line.
Instead I found openness. Genuine enthusiasm. Not the kind of welcome that feels like obligation, but the kind that made my excitement climb even before I had booked anything.
The second was my friends. I am fortunate to be surrounded by crazy adventurous people, and when I needed someone to get me to these places, nobody had to be convinced. They showed up. That made the whole experience not just possible, but genuinely enjoyable from the very first step.
As a blind person are you finding any challenges? During events, setting them up, making modifications or accommodations?
Yes. And I will start with one that might surprise you. It happens before the adventure even begins.
I am totally blind and use a screen reader to navigate the internet. A screen reader is software that reads everything on the screen aloud, allowing me to interact with websites using only my keyboard. No mouse. Just keystrokes, and whatever the website allows me to reach.
Many adventure websites, it turns out, don’t allow me to reach very much. Buttons that cannot be activated by keyboard. Date and time calendars that are completely unresponsive to anything but a mouse click.
And the waiver (that document you must sign before they let you do anything remotely exciting) requiring a finger signature on a screen, which meant a family member had to physically guide my hand to the right spot. Independence, in that moment, was not available.
The phone call was always a good option. Every operator I spoke to was warm, helpful, and efficient. But here is the thing — and I say this with the same energy I bring to every platform I stand on — a phone call should be a choice, not a necessity. In 2026, with everything we know about inclusive design, there is no reasonable excuse for a website that has accessibility barriers preventing users with access needs from fully and independently engaging with it.
Accessibility is not a feature. It is a responsibility. And it applies to every business, in every industry, that wants to serve every customer.
Then there was the zipline. I had been looking forward to it. I made the enquiry, and the operator came back via email with news I had not anticipated.
The activity required the participant to see hand signals from staff at the other end of the line. No workaround. No modification. Just a door that could not be opened. I was disappointed. Briefly, genuinely disappointed. And then I moved on, because dwelling on the closed doors has never been my style when there are so many open ones.
Now. With that said.
Every jump still happened. Every harness was still fastened. Every instructor still counted me down and every single time, I still went. The challenges were real, but they were never bigger than the adventure waiting on the other side of them. And that, perhaps more than anything else, is the point.
Thank you
Julius, thank you for sharing your experiences with me and with my reader.
Find out more about Julius on his web site, where you can also buy his new book, the Resilience code, and subscribe to his Youtube channel.
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