Floating Above Pamukkale: Sunrise Views and Serenity: Part 1

A country where it's a steady thirty degrees Celsius day in, day out, with the sun shining hot as hell (in a good way), shouldn't have ice-glacier-looking pools in the middle of a mountain. So, when I stumbled upon them, I immediately booked it. To top it off, they threw in a hot air balloon ride too. With probably the earliest pickup for a tour I've ever had—at two o'clock in the morning—I found myself waiting at the reception for my tour guide. It was so early that the receptionist flashed a sweet smile and asked, "Taxi for the airport?" "No, thank you. Waiting for my driver. Off to see Santa," I replied. (A North Pole joke). Her confusion was palpable, so after a brief pause, I clarified, "Pamukkale," in my admittedly terrible pronunciation. She smiled again and nodded understandingly.

A three-hour drive in the dark through another country, where all you can see are the silhouettes of mountain peaks stretching out for miles, is both beautiful and kind of scary at the same time. I've always harbored a paranoid fear of being randomly airdropped somewhere, like these mountains or sometimes even Jupiter. About half an hour away from the destination, we made a stop at a petrol station to grab something to eat or drink. While others took care of their needs, my attention was immediately stolen by a giant teddy bear on display. Did I want to buy it? Absolutely. Could I? No, considering I already have one at home that's bigger than me. Next, in search of caffeine, I tend to avoid Red Bull because I find its taste vile. However, when I spot a new flavour in another country, I cannot resist giving it a try. This was 'Peach' flavour.

Once we arrived at the hot air balloon site, half of our group disembarked and boarded another bus, myself included. However, there seemed to be an oversight, and my tour guide approached to sort out the confusion. She pointed to a man and asked him to step out, to which he responded desperately, "But she is my wife," gesturing towards her. It was clear that separating them would be out of the question. The tour guide glanced at me, smiled, and declared (more than asked), "You are single." Her English was still a work in progress. I chuckled and replied, "Yes, yes I am." The rest of the van erupted in giggles as I joined the remaining few to wait for the next bus. It hurts a little more when someone who's English is not the best can still violate you without the intention to do so.

The hot air balloons dotted the sky, turning the landscape into a canvas of floating, colorful shapes resembling sweets. Ours was the last to take off, and the fiery spectacle that lifted us (don't judge my grasp of physics here) looked nothing short of epic against the morning sky. Stepping into the basket, I immediately felt the comforting warmth of the fire's heat, soothing my skin like a gentle massage. Our flight instructor, a Turkish man named Ismail with unbelievably clear skin (this is important to mention), guided us as we ascended. The view unfolded before us—vast green fields stretching into the distance, scattered homes nestled among the landscape, and as we gently rotated, the iconic 'Travertines of Pamukkale' emerged like glacier mountains amidst the natural beauty.

Beneath us lay a clear, greenish-blue lake where foot-long fish gracefully swam. A group of swans moved in perfect harmony, almost as if they were dancing (or twerking) as they entered the water. In the center of the lake, a large rock-like structure was surrounded by stunning pink and green leafy trees, with the Turkish flag proudly displayed at its heart. It was a sight to behold, whether admired from afar or from high above in the balloon.

As we ascended to seven hundred meters, we were greeted by another one of Mother Nature's breathtaking spectacles—the sunrise. Peeking out from behind the mountains, the sun rose in tandem with us, casting a serene and awe-inspiring glow over our hot air balloon flight. The atmosphere was so tranquil that silence enveloped us all; everyone was entranced, their only concern being to capture the moment without dropping their phones. Despite being over one thousand meters high now, my heart rate slowed, and a sense of calm washed over me as I gazed down at the mesmerizing view below. This peaceful reverie continued for about ten to fifteen minutes before we began our gentle descent back to earth.

Once safely back on the ground, the instructors popped open a couple of bottles of non-alcoholic "champagne" to mark our successful flight—or perhaps just our survival. They politely asked for tips, and when no one stepped forward, I dropped a tenner into their tip jar. Turks took any currency you would give them; Lira, Pounds, Dollars, Euros. Gratefully, they offered me the Insta360 video that Ismail had recorded, focusing on me, for a small fee. Without haggling, I gladly paid twenty pounds for this memorable keepsake. Before leaving, I requested a photo with Ismail and the other instructor, which they happily agreed to. "Thank you, brother," they said warmly. As a final touch, they presented us each with a "Hot Air Balloon Certificate" to commemorate our adventure. It was truly an unforgettable experience, though I still couldn't shake the desire for that teddy bear back at the petrol station.