Flying high on Turkish delights

I am looking forward to the hot-air balloon ride in Cappadocia,” said my journalist colleague. “I think that’s going to be the high point of our Turkey trip.” “You can count on that,” I told her. “It’s one thing I have wanted to do all my life, but never got the chance before.”

“Hypocrite, hypocrite,” shrilled my conscience. “You are scared stiff about it, but you don’t have the guts to admit it to this woman. Trying to make an impression, are you?”

Three of us, scribes, from Mumbai were waiting to board the early morning Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul on June 2, going as guests of the Turkish government on a familiarisation tour. The Bosporus, the Blue mosque, the surrealistic landscapes of Cappadocia, the sapphire-blue Mediterranean in Antalya beckoned. But the hot-air balloon... instead of taking me soaring, it was weighing me down.

The warmth of Gurkan Adali, our guide, waiting for us at Ataturk airport, Istanbul was an instant hit with us. A shower later, we were off on our tour of Istanbul. I was keen to know more about the balloon ride from Gurkan.

Joining her for a smoke after lunch, and gazing into the green of Bosporus, I asked her the question that was nagging me: “The balloon ride is absolutely safe, right?” “I would have said yes,” said Gurkan, “but for a mishap last week. Two balloons collided and two died. It is the first accident in 10 years.” I should have finished my grilled mackerel before asking the question.

Cappadocia’s enchanting Pigeon Valley, the fabulous open-air museum, the mystic of the dervishes and three pegs of Istanblue, Turkey’s most popular vodka, and, of course, the beautiful Turkish girls were all spectacular. I was drowsy on the cocktail while returning to the hotel, but Gurkan’s announcement jolted me.

“Guys, ensure you are ready by 5am. Kapadokia Balloons will send pickup. Don’t miss the ride.”

Going to bed, I decided that I wouldn’t respond. But the alarm woke me at 4am! 
At the office of Kapadokia Balloons, Kaili, one of our pilots, welcomed us. The other pilot was Serhan, who looked real cool.

Twenty-two of us headed for the site from where the balloons were to take off. Both Kaili and Serhan told us that the conditions were perfect for the ride. I sent up a silent prayer: “Let it remain so for at least the one hour we would be airborne.”

Reaching the takeoff site, the support staff rushed off to start inflating the balloons with high-powered hand-held fans. From a safe distance we saw them sending flames shooting from gas burners to heat up the air inside the balloons. Kaili showed us how to brace ourselves for a bumpy landing.

I suddenly felt the urge to speak to my parents. “It could be for the last time,” I thought. Father picked it up. I told him I was going up in the balloon. “Call me back after two hours,” I told him and hung up.

Eleven of us clambered into Serhan’s balloon. It was a wonder that I managed to land on my feet in spite of my formidable tummy.

Up we went. Up, up and away. Seeing the sweep of the enchanting landscapes, the jitters made way for ecstasy. Gliding over the Pigeon Valley, I realised what it was like to have wings.

The villages and the greenery below, the brightly coloured balloons all around — some soaring, some floating lazily in the wind. I stood dazed, guzzling the scene more intoxicating than the Cappadocian wine. My only wish was, “Don’t bring me down to the ground.” How’s that for a turnaround?

One hour and 25 minutes later, we were descending. No bumps, it was just a soft thud as Serhan touched down — throwing the ropes to the support staff, who held on for dear life to keep us grounded while Serhan started the process of deflating the balloon. In 10 minutes, we were out of the basket.

With the balloons deflated, the support staff laid out tables for the champagne. Just as Serhan and Kaili sent the corks popping, I heard my cellphone ringing. It was my father calling. Receiving it, I told him, “I have my feet back on the ground again.”

I think he knew that I was nervous. After all, he is my father.