Balloons

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

First, let me say this. I have a fear of heights. Now, let’s go back to the photo.

My reason for flying to Cappadocia was to reproduce that iconic photo. Instead of some random black girl posing on the terrace, with a sky full of colorful hot air balls, it would be ME! Yvette, the spectator, who feared heights, arranged the trip. She had no desire to fly. Never even considered it. It was just about the photograph.

My plan was clear, check into the hotel, hang out for the night, wake up before sunrise, put on my favorite Camilla dress (I packed for the occasion), get my three cameras tripod-ready to shoot, climb the terrace and pose. I booked a three day stay at the hotel. I had two, possibly three, opportunities to pull this off.

But then, the front desk receptionist asked a question. “Is hot air ballooning in your plans?” Without hesitation, Participator Yvette, decided to speak up. “Yes, of course.”  Yvette, the participator, showed up and changed the well thought out plans of the spectator. ‘Now, I had only two remaining chances for my photo op.’

People come from all over the world, to get that perfectly staged photograph, but it comes with some risks. Unpredictable winds and inclement weather, make the flight too risky. If Cappadocia experiences heavy winds or bad weather, it’s probably the worst news these far away travelers could possibly hear.

I heard some chatter about the possibility of mother not cooperating. The Australian couple, who checked in right before me, shared their concerns about the morning being too windy. “I’m afraid of the possibility of missing it. We only have three days,” the woman said. “We’ll see.”

“The phone, in my suite, rang at 5:30 am. It was the wake up call I’ve been anticipating. I was already awake and in the shower. “Butterfly Balloon Company will arrive soon for a 5:50 am pick up,” said the voice on the other end.

I hardly slept. I quickly dressed and joined about fourteen other hotel guests, in the lobby. The balloon company arrived and loaded us in a minivan. We were transported, about a quarter mile to their headquarters, for processing. More people, from neighboring hotels, arrived. We were all assigned a mini bus, identified by the pilot’s name, to transport us to the launch site. Each bus carried sixteen passengers, the exact number of the balloon’s maximum capacity. My balloon pilot’s name was Mustafa.

The crew at Butterfly Balloon headquarters served a continental breakfast. It was not a meal I desired. I sat at a table, with a cup of black coffee, instead. ‘What if I have to go to the bathroom.’ I slid the coffee cup away. “Okay, everybody go to your assigned van!” shouted the organizer.

After a short drive to our launching location, we exited the minivan. At sunrise, sixteen of us climbed into Mustafa’s air balloon and ascended. It was an incredible experience, no words could explain, so I’ll show you.