All Our World Seems to Be in the Clouds

Or, Balloons Enjoyed Three Ways 

Our overnight bus trundled into the sunrise, the broad horizon grew more defined as the minutes passed. I wondered where we might be. There was always a worry of sleeping through our stop. I nudged Rob, hoping for a position check on the GPS map, but he was confident that the bus attendant would provide warning. Outside the window, several blocks of high-rise apartment buildings stood awkwardly in the middle of the desert. Who would live there? Why would they live there? I was mid-thought when they appeared. As the high-rises slipped out of sight, a hundred hot air balloons were revealed, hovering in the distance, looking like colourful defects in the sky, little floating map pins marking our destination: Göreme, Cappadocia. We drew nearer and circled under the balloons, and they seemed frozen in the air, as if a magician had suspended time to allow us to view all angles of the spectacle. Every inch the bus moved was a new vision, and the breaking dawn added to the magical quality of that moment. Our first minute in town had set the bar high for Göreme.

Image courtesy The Arcae Project

Again, I awoke before sunrise, this time, to the alarm set for 05:15am. An insistent buzzing droned outside, and I threw on some warm clothes. Rob was already dressed, and he pulled the curtains aside before uttering, "Oh my god, they're right outside the hostel." We stepped into the crisp air to see giant fans forcing air into saggy hot air balloons. Propane burners blasted 18 foot jets of flame until the balloon rose enough for the basket to righten, allowing excited tourists to clamber in. We could count more than a dozen balloons in the dusty field outside our hostel, and lost count of the ones lifting off from behind the surrounding rock formations. Intermittent bursts from the burners turned each balloon into a mammoth flickering lantern. They silently ascended, one by one, sailing over us as we watched, the cold, sleepiness, and hunger, forgotten.

A cold breeze blushed my cheeks and played with the fly-away strands of my hair. I cringed. We would soon be in the basket, awaiting take-off, but would we be heartbroken with a last minute cancellation due to the wind? Exactly two mornings before, we were disturbed from sleep by the absence of buzzing fans and igniting burners. The emptiness of the skies that morning had enveloped the whole town, stealing its magic. "Come on!" yelled one of the crewmen, and suddenly, we were in the basket, receiving instructions from our pilot about the landing brace position. The burners blasted white flames into the balloon, and Rob and I looked nervously at each other. Neither of us was very comfortable about heights. We found some looped rope handles and gripped them, anticipating lift-off. And then we were moving, lifting off, and the other passengers shouted with glee. We ascended at an alarming rate, but there was a unique calmness and steadiness that we felt no fear.

The landscape was surreal; valleys and fairy chimneys had the appearance of an alien land, but there, Rob pointed, was the trail we walked. And way yonder, the town we had also hiked to. Hot air balloons seemed to fill the sky but never drew close. We reached 800m to witness sunrise before descending into a valley. "I'm bored," pouted a 10-year old passenger. Our pilot merely smirked, pulled some ropes and fired the burners, steering the balloon towards a cliff face. A tweak of rope and we spun around and floated into a cul-de-sac. We were surrounded by rock. Our pilot pointed at the cliff face. "Want me to touch?" he asked, daring us to dare him, but we trusted that 10 years of training would have made it possible. Indeed, the skills of our pilot was highlighted during landing. Bracing for impact, we were almost disappointed with the slightest of jolts. But when we stood again, we saw that he had landed the basket perfectly onto the trailer! We recounted the experience over and over the rest of the day.

The view from above the valleys and over other hot air balloons.

"The term balloon is not only in the mouth of every one, but all our world seems to be in the clouds." - William Allard, 1785