Flying high over Cappadocia

I'd watched videos, I'd scrolled through a bazillion photos, I'd made half a dozen attempts to get here, but finally on August 15th, 2010, I was on my way to board a hot air balloon and soar over the surrealist landscape of Cappadocia, Turkey.  It was something I had been wanting to do for so long, and it was so disturbingly early (5am!), that I remained in a perpetual haze as a Spanish couple and I made our way to the Voyager Balloons office.

I assumed I had an idea as to what would take place next. We would be served coffee and hopefully pastries (the presence of pastries was, for me, to be the determining factor into whether the hostel had steered me towards a legitimate or a Mickey Mouse balloon company), asked to sign some releases and be given a safety briefing that most of us would snooze through. I was joyfully right on  the one count that mattered.  There were pastries, some kind of cheese rolls, Turkish breads...Yasin's Backpackers Cave had done me right.  It soon became clear that there was some concern on the part of the staff, but it had nothing to do with releases or safety briefings, neither of which materialized.  They were agitated to the point of fixation on the unlikely topic of penmanship.  We had been asked to write our names, and this was stressed, neatly on a sign-in sheet.  The Spaniards had not complied to the staff's satisfaction and were now being asked to re-write their names. It was suggested that the female half of the duo give it a shot this time. The reason for such consternation was that there were to be certificates handed out at the end of the flight. They did not want to take any chances on having typos on said certificates.
All of the travel agencies in Turkey, and there are almost as many as of them as there are kiosks selling evil eye trinkets in Istanbul, advertise balloon rides in Cappadocia. They all, when making their sales pitch, stress these certificates. They will not let you walk past them without insisting that their chosen company will provide you with a certificate...a nice one. I even asked one guy what purpose, exactly, this certificate serves, other than its obvious souvenir value. Does it bestow college credit of some kind? Can I claim flight hours if I ever choose to become a balloon pilot? Will it help my credit? Nope, it is intended to prove to friends that the recipient was truly in a Cappadocian hot air balloon. I explained to him that I have a pretty good record for honesty amongst my circle. If I said I was in a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, they were likely to take my word for it. He looked befuddled.

Handwriting issues resolved, sixteen of us were loaded into a mini-van and shuttled past open fields, all of which were quickly sprouting hot-air balloons.  The balloons were in various stages of inflation, some lying limp on the ground while crews worked feverishly to bring them to life, others already taking flight. Ours was somewhere in between.  We watched as what appeared to be an over-sized zippo was used to inflate it.

At this point, I was certain there would be something approximating a safety briefing and I was partially right. As we all climbed into the basket, which was divided into four compartments, each holding four people, a man off in the distance yelled something about a brace position we were to assume when landing.  He yelled this in English, which was great for me, but not so much for the three Japanese people I was sharing a compartment with. I figured once it was time to land, we would review this once more.

This being my first time in a hot air balloon, I had no idea what the take-off would be like.  I imagined that the crew, hanging onto ropes all around us, would start running with us, kite-style until we caught some air. Turns out I know woefully little about inflatable aviation.

We rose up so gently that the Spaniard, who had his camera ready to videotape our departure, missed the whole thing.  I was only certain that we were off the ground because the Japanese trio in my little "space" had all huddled together into a corner, leaving me a large area to maneuver around in, and I was using it to hang over the side and check for balloon to ground contact.

Our Captain, the first female balloon captain in all of Turkey, introduced herself and pointed out all the different valleys we were floating over.  I  was busy putting my camera into overdrive to catch everything she said, but one thing that was clear was that she was enjoying the hell out of that balloon.  She told us the wind controls all the horizontal movement of the balloon, while she is in charge of the vertical positioning.  This troubled me when I saw that we were smoothly, gently careening into the side of a valley and there was another balloon directly above us.  Foolishly, I had not counted on the state of the arts technology at our disposal.  Derya, our Captain, put two fingers into her mouth and let out a whistle that would have made a steam engine proud.  Now with the full attention our overhead neighbor, she waved him away.  He climbed higher, we climbed higher and a wall to balloon collision was successfully avoided.

About 30 minutes into our flight, the sun began peaking out over the mountain range.  What was already a spectacular sight was getting even better.  I began to wonder when was the last time I had re-charged my camera batteries. 

Flying over Love Valley, named as such presumably because the name "Cock Canyon" was already taken.

As we moved away from the valley and its fairy chimneys, we soared over hotels, parks and one very conveniently situated campground.  Up on a rooftop, were about 15 people slumbering away in sleeping bags.  Derya bought the balloon so low over their accommodations, that it was easy to make out the surprised and/ or horrified faces on the campers as they awoke to find a big-ass balloon almost resting on their foreheads.  It was impressive how much control Derya had over this unwieldy-looking thing.

After approximately an hour, I noticed the landscape was becoming littered with deflating balloons.  At one point, I had looked around and counted 41 balloons in the air with us, but now, most were choosing landing spots.  The benefit of having a Captain with such an infectious passion for flying is that while others' fun had come to an end, we continued onward, passing by the ghost village of Cavusin, with its now abandoned cave dwellings. It was like looking at a collaboration between Hieronymous Bosch and Salvador Dali come to life.

Eventually, Derya chose her spot, radioed to her crew and began the final descent.  Someone on board read my mind and asked her about this bracing position we were supposed to assume.  She laughed and pointed out that the winds were good. As if to further confirm the state of the winds, I glanced down in time to see one of her assistants on the ground bend down, pick up a handful of dirt and toss it in the air.  This, in balloon world, is how you measure wind direction.  It may not sound very scientific, but there certainly is a science to it.  With Derya's expert handling and her crew's fervent rope pulling, they managed to gently land us directly onto the back of a waiting flat bed truck.  Amazing!!  I have seen so many airline pilots with multi-million dollar machines, miles long runways and every kind of technological gadget at their disposal totally screw up simple landings, yet this woman with a zippo, some ropes and a reading of dirt nailed it.

But, of course, this, one of the coolest experiences ever, would not be complete without a celebration...

...or a certificate to prove to one and all that after wanting to do this for so long, I had finally taken a hot-air balloon flight over Cappadocia.