In the wake of the global economic crisis and the ensuing devaluation of many of the world’s leading currencies, many stock market traders and financial speculators are deciding to minimise the risk of depreciation by investing in safe and tangible commodities, with gold or platinum the preferred values. Today however, it is not in precious metal that I am investing my life savings but modest wicker, for the simple reason that is the only material that will be separating me from an almighty splat onto the volcanic landscape of Turkey’s Cappadoccia mountains from an altitude of 1,300m.
It is 5:30am and I am standing in a remote field with a complete group of strangers for the first time since my last year at university. This time however, it is the sound of liquid propane being ignited rather than electronic music that is filling the fresh morning air. Despite the fact that I have only had four and a half hours sleep, I feel as though I have knocked back a dozen Turkish coffees and a petrol tanker of Red Bull and adrenaline is buzzing through my veins: I feel electric. As my oversized shopping basket follows several dozen other hot air balloons into the clear summer skies, the morning sun starts to warm the striking central Anatolian landscape. With each loud whoosh of hot air that is released into the thick canvas of the balloon, my heart both skips and adds a dozen beats: a traveller’s dream is coming true.
The main topic of conversation that can be overheard in the many backpacker bars and cafés of Göreme is whether the 120€ invested in a dawn flight represents decent value for money, with many travellers baulking at a budget-blowing expense that provides a mere sixty minutes of entertainment. But there can be no debate for me: of the many travel dreams I am hoping to fulfil before punching my clock for the very last time, soaring high above the striking geological features of Cappadoccia has long topped my adventure wishlist. That this is now a commonplace activity popular with tour groups of French and German pensioners rather than a white-knuckle ride and ‘real’ travel experience matters not one bit: today my extensive bucket list will see its highest-ranking entry ticked gleefully off the list.
As I jostle for position within my quarter section of the balloon basket with four middle-aged Spanish señoras equally eager to secure the best viewing position, I count no fewer than fifty-five other balloons rising gracefully into the dawn skies. Within ten minutes of being airborne, I have tuned my internal frequency modulator to cancel out the incessant Hispanic yelps of delight that Fernanda and her three excitable companions are exchanging and can finally set about enjoying the astonishing natural beauty of the unique terrain unfolding beneath my eyes and feet.
It was the eruptions of three volcanoes – Erciyes, Hasan and Melendiz Dağlan – a mere thirty million years ago that covered the plateau of Ürgüp in ash and mud, creating the region’s organic raw material: tuff. This soft stone was then easily eroded to create the valleys and gorges for which the region is so famous. Where the tuff mixed with harder rock, however, only the sides gradually disappeared, leaving hundreds of spectacular cone-like chimneys to litter the landscape. Various civilisations subsequently exploited the porous properties of the tuff to excavate numerous cave dwellings, pigeon holes and monastic settlements, many of which still feature perfectly preserved religious frescoes dating back over 800 years.
Four hours of hiking through the canyons, culverts and chimneys on the previous day provided enough photographic material to wear down the shutter release button on my camera to a smooth polish. Seen from the sky today however, I am moved to silence and have to keep reminding myself to digitally immortalise the occasion, particularly as my habitual verbosity appears to have deserted me momentarily.
To my great surprise, and in stark contrast to my only previous aeronautical escapade throwing myself out of an airplane, I find that time has slowed down whilst at altitude, and I can enjoy the sixty minutes in the unhurried serenity that such stunning scenery deserves. Drawing some enthusiastic cooing sounds from his middle-aged flock, our pilot alternates between rapid ascent to our flight ceiling of 1,500m and some adroit manoeuvres within touching distance of the fairy chimney cones. It is a magical experience. For once, the burden of expectation has not been too much to bear and the hopeful dream has become fantastic reality.
.jpg)
.jpg)