Balloon sunrise- Cappadocia

I lay in the dark, unappreciative of the quiet, warmed to discomfort by the heater. Padding, first to the bathroom and then to turn off the heater, I laid down and waited for 5am –the time I was supposed to wake up. When 5am came and went, I waited for 5:45, when the balloon tour was supposed to pick me, and the three Argentinians, up. I sat outside in the brisk predawn air. My Kindle glowed a slight blue light and my head swiveled every time I saw headlights bounce over the stone gate.

By 6, I began to wonder who to call and if we'd miss sunrise. By 6:15 I was certain we'd been forgotten. Ten minutes later and a gruff driver pulled up with a dull and slightly impatient expression plastered to his face.

The ride to the launch site was short, a few turns and the balloons -in various stages of life - emerged. A few were already high over the horizon, their bright colors washed out in the emerging light. Some were mostly flat, their baskets the only upright form to them. Mine was almost filled, the balloon expanded and bobbing above a basket already filled with people.

I waited until last to climb in, a seeming generosity that was actually self-serving. The last person in, someone shared with me the previous day, ensures the coveted corner spot - ripe for pictures.

The cool air and quiet morning were intermittently shattered by the flash of blue flame roaring in our ears and singeing the exposed parts of my scalp; a welcome and terrifying warmth that made me wonder if my hair would have gone up in spiraled flame had I worn it loose.

Balloons all around us began to drift skyward, graceful like children’s bubbles caught in the wind.

My balloon finally joined them...rising, barely at first, then more steadily…with a collective inhalation of breath- joy and excitement and wonder. More roaring blue flame, more height.

I watched the horizon, broken by the jagged landscape of fairy chimneys, waiting for the sun to escape skyward. And it did, balloons dotted in front of it like party favors. We floated that way for a while, sometimes high in the clear blue sky, sometimes skirting the valleys below-close enough, it seemed, to touch the grass and rock, to jump out uninjured. And when the time came to land, we were pulled down into a field of oats. men who had been following us in a van since we first floated skyward, pulled on heavy ropes, held us steady, dragged the basket- making erratic crop designs in the field.

Champagne topped off our flight- champagne and it wasn't even 7am.