Floating above fairy chimneys: the balloon ride of a lifetime

I'm still processing what happened this morning. The world looks different when you're suspended in a wicker basket 800 meters above the ground, floating silently as the sun paints the landscape below in shades of pink and gold.

My alarm went off at 5:30am, though I was already awake. I'd slept fitfully, partly from excitement and partly from worry about oversleeping. The hotel had promised a wake-up call, but I set three alarms anyway. At 5:50, I was in the lobby - ten minutes before the scheduled 6:00am pickup. The night manager smiled knowingly and offered me a quick cup of tea while I waited.

The van arrived precisely at 6:00, already half-full with sleepy tourists clutching cameras. Our pilot, Hakan, greeted us with surprising energy for the early hour. "Perfect conditions today," he announced. "Almost no wind. Very good for photos."

We drove to an open field where dozens of balloons were being inflated, their envelopes slowly rising from horizontal to vertical as massive propane burners roared into life. The scene was chaos and coordination simultaneously - crews scurrying around, flames shooting upward, and captains shouting instructions.

"Quick, quick," Hakan ushered us toward our balloon. "We want to be among first in air."

Climbing into the basket was less graceful than I'd imagined. I had to awkwardly hoist myself over the edge while ducking to avoid the burner above. Our basket held 16 people divided into four compartments, with Hakan commanding the center. After a brief safety demonstration that didn't exactly inspire confidence ("If we crash, bend knees and hold rope"), we were ready.

Then came that extraordinary moment when the ground crew released the tethers and we simply... drifted upward. No engine noise, no dramatic thrust - just a gentle, almost imperceptible ascent. The quiet was profound, interrupted only by occasional bursts from the burner above.

As we rose, Cappadocia revealed itself in the dawn light. The landscape below looked like something from another planet - conical formations called fairy chimneys, rippling valleys, and rock-carved dwellings spread across the terrain. Other balloons dotted the sky around us, their colorful envelopes creating a surreal scene against the pastel horizon.

"We are at 250 meters now," Hakan announced. "Look there - Göreme Open Air Museum. And there - Pigeon Valley. Later we go higher, maybe 800 meters if conditions good."

I found myself transfixed by the shadows of our balloon and others stretching across the valleys as the sun continued its ascent. The rock formations below cast their own long shadows, creating a constantly shifting pattern of light and dark.

Hakan proved remarkably skilled at controlling our altitude, sometimes bringing us so low that we nearly skimmed the tops of apricot trees, then rising high above the valleys for panoramic views. The precision was impressive - at one point, he guided us between two fairy chimneys with what seemed like mere meters to spare on either side.

"How do you control direction?" I asked him during a quiet moment.

"We don't," he laughed. "Only up and down. Wind decides direction. Good pilot knows which altitude has which wind."

For nearly 90 minutes, we floated across the landscape. I took hundreds of photos but knew they couldn't possibly capture the feeling of being suspended in that silent world between earth and sky. As the sun climbed higher, the colors changed, the shadows shortened, and the fairy chimneys revealed their true colors - whites, pinks, and subtle ochres.

The landing was surprisingly gentle. Hakan directed us into landing position - knees bent, backs against the padded walls, holding onto the rope handles. The basket touched down, dragged slightly, then settled. Ground crew appeared from nowhere to secure us while we climbed out, slightly wobbly-legged, onto solid earth.

A small table with champagne glasses awaited us. "Ballooning tradition," Hakan explained as he popped a bottle. "Dating back to first French balloonists in 1780s." We toasted our flight and received certificates commemorating our journey.

By 9:30, I was back at my hotel, feeling strangely disoriented. The experience had been so dreamlike that returning to normal activities seemed jarring. I sat on my hotel terrace with a strong coffee, watching as the last of the morning's balloons descended in the distance.

After breakfast, I decided to explore the Göreme Open Air Museum, which we'd seen from above. It's a UNESCO World Heritage site featuring rock-cut churches and monasteries from the 10th-12th centuries. The complex was only about a 20-minute walk from town, and I arrived just as it opened, finding myself among the first visitors of the day.

The museum is essentially a Byzantine monastic settlement carved into the soft volcanic rock. Walking through the site, I marveled at the elaborate frescoes that have survived inside these churches for centuries. The Dark Church (Karanlık Kilise) was particularly impressive - its name comes from the small window that limited light exposure, helping preserve the vibrant colors of its biblical scenes.

I spent about two hours exploring the complex, fascinated by how these early Christians had adapted the natural landscape to create their sacred spaces. The acoustics inside the churches were remarkable - designed for chanting and prayer, they created an atmosphere of profound stillness.

By midday, the site had grown crowded with tour groups, so I headed back toward town, stopping at a small café for lunch. I ordered a traditional dish called testi kebab - meat and vegetables slow-cooked in a sealed clay pot that's dramatically broken open at your table. The owner smiled at my surprise when he cracked the pot with a small hammer, releasing a cloud of aromatic steam.

"First time in Cappadocia?" he asked.

When I nodded, he continued, "You must see underground cities next. Derinkuyu or Kaymakli - very impressive. Eight levels below ground!"

I'm considering his suggestion for tomorrow. The idea of exploring these ancient underground refuges is both fascinating and slightly claustrophobic. For now, though, I'm content to rest in my cave room, processing the morning's balloon adventure and planning my next moves in this extraordinary landscape.

Day 166 of 500. I've completed exactly one-third of my journey now, and moments like this morning remind me why I left everything behind to travel. Some experiences simply can't be described - they must be lived.

!Dozens of colorful hot air balloons floating above the rocky landscape of Cappadocia at sunrise Sunrise over Cappadocia, with the landscape slowly revealing itself below our balloon