It was an early call that morning again - the whole trip has been plagued with early starts so we were used to it by now. We were told to be at the reception at a quarter to six in the morning so that the 'Balloon people" could pick us up. We came 15 minutes earlier - we're just weird that way, not wanting to be left behind - punctuality being our most sacred act while travelling and apart from that, we were also self-conscious not to be tagged as a travelling moron who could not tell time.
When the bus arrived, we were tickled pink...not knowing whether this was the real deal or were we going to be pleasantly surprised when confronted with the not so 'state of the art' balloons with baskets made out of twigs? A Burmese boy in a longyi came out looking like he just got kicked out of bed welcomed us, hair unkempt. It is very hard to explain how it looked like this bus of ours but if you remember Ms Penelope Pit stop and the Ant Hill Mob - just imagine the Mob in a bus. "Sorry sir we do not actually have propane, you will need to manually blow the balloons up with your mouth the old fashioned way and yes that is part of the experience".
As we stepped into our old colonial people carrier accosted by a makeshift step-upper to get into the cavity, I thought to myself that this was going to be exciting/refreshing. A small part of me was also a little anxious. After 5 minutes in the bus, we understood the reason - it was the novelty of travelling in the days where Bagan was Bagan, making this experience even more tantalising - my expectations heightened. "Excuse me sir, can I have some more?"
The bus swung around from new Bagan to old Bagan where we picked up more people.... a late 20s German couple, an English couple (one uptight male - I assumed to be a public servant), 2 German men with diapers on and ourselves plus a mid to late 40s French couple. A real eclectic bunch - strange that everyone was rugged up as I would think that it would be winter where they came from while we wore shorts. Maybe, we're the insane ones - Aussies....
So here we are being thrown left, right and centre in the middle of the dark - rushing through the morning mist not knowing where we were being herded to. No one spoke in the bus and if they did well it would have been amongst themselves or they were just too cold, too snobbish or just too nervous to say a word. I sat there on the vinyl seats thinking who these people are and why are they here? Are they as excited as I am? Why are Europeans so uptight?
About 15 minutes later, after being rattled and jolted a little by the bus ride, we arrived to an open field and there was Mr. Lee Hooper at the door cajoling us to step out of the blender. It was going to be light soon and in the distance we could see the balloons all laid out flat waiting to be inflated. I had a rather quizzical look by one of the locals...one of those 'you look like Myanmar people' exchanges but could only smile. As long as I was not mistaken as Indian, I am fine with that. I said "Champagne" as we got closer to the group and a measured reply from nowhere came "after the flight". Chief Pilots are no fun sometimes. Mimosas?
The pilots with their torches then began introducing themselves - it was still a little dark then. Coffee/Tea and Croissants were being served by some smiling Burmese boys while we were being addressed on the do's and don'ts followed by a roll call which I totally misunderstood as a checklist. The partner started nudging me to say "yes" to my name while I was happily sipping my tea and making eye contact with the other tourists - totally oblivious. "Ishak! Ishak!Ishak", Mr Lee said. "Oh YES! Here!" raising my hands like some illiterate fool...it was just too early for any cognitive function to kick in. Anyway Ishak was my dad's name.
As they started cranking up the fans all 3 balloons came to life, impregnated by propaned driven hot air, it did not take long before they were beginning to look like lollipops while the basket lay on its side. Chuppachup chup, 8 people in a tub + 1 pilot (PS refer to vids). I was glad that we were going to be with the Chief Pilot - Mum and Dad had said that he was excellent when they took their ride 2 months ago. I was confident that he was not going to send us spiralling down 2,000ft screaming I want my money back or you promised us the ride of our lives. I hope my confidence was not misplaced.
When they were ready for us, we were called over and like clockwork climbed into the basket. We began the climb within a few minutes...it was a very odd Alice in Wonderland sensation. You know how you feel when you dream yourself flying and everything moves very slowly, it was almost we were moving up frame by frame. I felt like a giant as everything else became apparently smaller. The plains slowly beckoned us as we lifted higher and higher. Although we were unable to fully control our final touch down destination, the balloon was extremely agile in changing its altitude at the hands of its pilot.
Bagan finally introduced itself to us in all its glory. REM REM REM - we could not get enough. The memory card began working overtime as we were apprised of the various pagodas that were in our path. Bagan I have to say has its days. Today though we were blanketed by a little smog due to back burning. Of course, my camera had to pack up then - the manual operation just didn't like the polariser filter but luckily the partner was also trigger happy which was rare indeed.
We virtually glided across the plains flanked by 2 other balloons - one which went up and disappeared into the sky while the other was caressing the contours of the land. Pierce was his name - the famous pilot that took his client up into the sky for an aerial view of the clouds. We kind of lost him for awhile and only caught sight of his balloon 10 minutes before landing on an open field.
One might expect some familiarity in terms of being up in the air but ballooning is entirely different. Time just stood still and you seem to wash yourself across the plains without fear or reservations. Maybe that is why people love ballooning - the science is pretty straightforward but the control that is required though subtle is an art in itself.
Our final 5 minutes saw us gliding across tree-tops which I presume is a method of slowing the descent. Small owls made famous by the lucky papier mache ones sold at markets around Bagan, scattered around us, looking for an alternative spot to nestle after being rudely interrupted by our wicker work. We finally understood that this was a local species in Burma - we saw them again in Mandalay being sold by a vendor as good luck charms - the homing owl they're called. You buy them, make a wish and release them - to see them again in the same basket the next day being sold to some other foolish tourist for twice the price.
As we were told earlier, once the basket is on land, we should only step out when it has made a complete stop and signalled to do so by the pilot. The winds are unpredictable and deflating the balloons required a little more time. We were dragged for a minute or 2 and finally came to a full-stop. I have to say that I wanted to go again but alas that was it. Almost an hour went by but the experience was worth every minute.
Our champagne was waiting for us and I relented to a glass though it would have been great to be able to go again. We were then herded back to the human cocktail shaker and were promptly whisked off to our hotel.
It was wonderful from start to finish.....
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