HIGH ON CAPPADOCIA

"BEEP, BEEP, BEEP". My dream is shattered by the incessant noise. Momentarily disoriented, I realize that the alarm on my cell phone is going off. I flip open my phone and look at the time…4:20 AM. I groan. It is pitch black and way too early but I toggle the light switch and roust Kate and Deb, "Wakey, wakey! Time to wake up." I am rewarded with dirty looks and groans to equal my own.

Dawn in Cappadocia

Bleary eyed, we stagger around grabbing our clothes and dressing for the Arctic. We step outside into the pre-dawn darkness with our cheeks stinging from the early morning chill. We find the waiting van and climb in. The dancing LED lights on the ceiling are too much like a disco...especially at this hour of the morning. I close my eyes and groan again. After a 30 minute ride we bounce up a rough dirt road to arrive at a freshly plowed field. Car headlights shine on a table set up with tea, coffee, and cookies. In the first light of day I quickly grab a cup of tea and notice silhouettes of other trucks and farm tractors with trailers containing large strangely shaped objects. I wander over to see wicker baskets of Brobdingnagian proportions topped by what looks like the engines from small rockets.

A tinge of pink on the horizon energizes a crew who start unrolling hay bale sized bundles. The giant baskets are tipped on their sides and cabled to the bundles. A five foot diameter fan powered by a gas motor starts blowing air at the bundles that inflate to reveal giant balloons.

The day is brightening with clouds inflamed by the light of the rising sun while the brightly colored balloons dwarf a small crowd standing in awe below the burgeoning mass. A jet of flame roars into the mouth of one balloon and heats the air within, inflating the balloon to its full height. 

Our pilot, Carlos, waves eight passengers over to the basket and instructs them to lay down in the tipped compartments to ballast the balloon against the brisk morning breeze. Shortly the basket and balloon comes to a full upright position and Carlos waves us over to quickly climb in the basket.

Our basket holds twenty people plus pilot in a six compartment grid. Four to a grid, there is standing room only. I am the last one in and just as my feet touch the floor of the basket, the balloon bumps a few times across the field before lifting off. With the gas jets roaring we quickly gain altitude swept along by the wind as the sun pops over the horizon. It is freezing cold but as we rise, the rays of the morning sun soon warm us.

We float above the bizarre landscape of Cappadocia. An ancient plateau, laid down by multiple volcanic eruptions, has eroded over thousands of years to create a phantasmagoria of towers, chimneys, canyons and valleys that are unlike anything else on earth. (Think Bryce Canyon through the eyes of Salvador Dali) This tortured landscape of multicolored sand and rocks seems to come alive in the light of early day.

I can’t seem to wipe a giant grin off my face as our expert pilot drops us into a valley to float below spires towering all around us. Just as I think we will collide with the side of the valley a blast of the jet lifts us above the rim with only inches to spare. My grin grows even wider.

When we pop out of the valley, I can see at least 30 giant multi-colored balloons in the air around us. Ballooning is big business in Cappadocia. Carlos informs us that in the summer season there are over one hundred balloons in the air every day. This is all with good reason as there is no better way to appreciate the dramatic scenery of Cappadocia.

It seems we are only in the air a few minutes when Carlos points out our landing site. (It has been over an hour but you know what they say about how time flies when you are having fun. Seems appropriate in this instance.) The early morning wind has died down and we touch the ground as gently as falling on a down pillow. We crawl out of the basket for the traditional champagne toast to commemorate a successful flight.

Deb gets in touch with her inner wizard