Nothing truly prepares you for a flight in a hot air balloon.

Waking up before 5 in the morning, five time zones away from home, is just the first of many steps one takes to try to have some measure of control. The tour operator said we would be picked up at 5:15 for the short ride to where the balloons would lift off. They will only fly at sunrise, and we still had to await word from the aviation authorities whether flights would be allowed on that day. It is the weather, specifically wind speed, that would determine if we could go.

By “we” I mean me, my BFF-since-Grade-3 Bates, and seven other members of our tour group from Manila. We had been touring Turkey for a week, starting from Istanbul and driving on a coaster to Canakkale, then Bergama, Kusadasi, Ephesus, Pamukkale, and then for at least eight hours to the final stop in Cappadocia in the central part of the country. I did not realize until then how massive Turkey really was. 

We were starting the long journey back to Manila the next day. I had finally decided to take the balloon ride despite its price being higher than what I had expected. I figured I was already there – when else, where else would I be able to take that ride? It’s once in lifetime – twice if you’re lucky, or if you’re wealthy. 

The regulators’ clearance finally came. We alighted from the van to an open field to walk to our balloon. Instantly, there was another surprise: we had to walk on mud. The weather might have been perfect that morning, but there was rain the previous night. I was thankful I did not wear my favorite canvas sneakers. 

By the time we got to the where our balloon was being inflated, the mud on our shoes had made our feet heavier. “Heavy” is not what you wanted to be when you find out you have to climb into the giant basket – ours was as tall as my chest. There was no door, apparently for safety purposes. There were only small square openings the width of your foot, which you can step on as you haul your behind – your entire body – into the basket. To this day, I can’t imagine how I was able to do it on my own. Perhaps my companions who were already in reached out to pull me. Perhaps somebody discreetly pushed me from outside. I am just thankful everybody was too busy climbing and too excited about the ride to take photos. I imagine they would be, ugh, unflattering.

We were told that our balloon, divided into four sections, could carry anywhere from 22 to 27 people. Where do you position yourself in a giant basket with this many people standing so close to you? I was glad to be on the outer edge of the basket; it would make for a better view. But at the last minute two other tourists joined us, and I had to scoot inward. I did not mind so much, knowing I could scoot back out later, but I remember being amazed at how their long legs made them get into the basket effortlessly, as if they were crossing a small puddle.

Our pilot was young, confident, and most importantly, licensed. Their licenses are renewed every two years and the pilots’ performance and competence are tested regularly, says the tourism website GoTurkiye.com. Still, for a brief moment, when the balloon was almost ready to go and the pilot started making his speech about how high he could take us and what we could expect to see, I panicked. What if there was some mishap? What if we lost control and fell? What if I didn’t make it back and didn’t see my loved ones ever again? But when you finally feel that you are ascending, you realize such thoughts are useless. You are already there, and there is nothing you can do about it. And even if you did fall, anyway, would it not be better to go down doing something cool? 

The emerging view distracts you. You stop worrying and start gawking at how the dozens of other balloons around you are starting to take off. Balloons in various colors dot the clear morning sky. “Two hundred feet,” the pilot says, as he continues to pull the burner, getting more hot gas into the balloon. “Six hundred…seven hundred fifty…get ready, we are going to go higher!”

At that point, you shed all illusions of having control. 

It is this feeling of utter abandonment that allows you to be awed as you behold Cappadocia’s stunning rock formations – also called fairy chimneys. They were the result of volcanic eruptions: lava, over centuries, sculpted by time and wind and rain. It is impossible that anything other than nature could fashion them that way.

By this time, everybody is holding up a camera, not knowing which direction to face since the beauty stretched in all directions. The chimneys are on one side; on the other, the sight of our balloon among others in the sky. My companions are taking selfies – their own or with friends. At times during the trip, the balloon moved lower and closer to some valleys where couples were posing for photos. There was even a “Will you marry me?” in block letters, close to which a picnic mat and basket were laid out. I found myself wondering whether she said yes, and if she would still have said yes even if the surroundings were not as stunning. 

I inched closer to the edge of the basket for an unobstructed view – but held back, fearful that the loose grip of my icy hands could make me drop my phone. After a while, I stopped giving in to the compulsion to document everything with my camera. I put the phone in my bag and simply took everything in. I will remember this forever, I said to myself. Remember as many scenes, as many colors, as many thoughts. 

I am always reminded of my insignificance when I am amid such vastness and such beauty. It’s nice to be reminded of your smallness. We pretentious, self-important humans tend to think our concerns are everything; they are all that rule our days. Those fairy chimneys, however, have been there for ages – and they will continue to be there long after we are gone. How dare we think we are the center or our world? 

I looked back on the past few days of the tour when I realized, yet again, that our minds are finite, that we can never know or remember everything – and that it is all right. The trip had been so culturally, religiously educational. But what made the experience compelling were the stories of the people I met but will likely never see again – that vendor who said she had fled Afghanistan with her family years ago and seemed interested in the daughters for whom I was buying a bracelet, that driver who never understood a word of English but who made sure we were safe and comfortable all day, that tour guide who patiently answered our questions even though he must have heard it numerous times from other previous visitors. 

I also remembered previous conversations with newfound friends about making memories when you can instead of waiting for retirement, about losing the desire to accumulate physical things, about staying healthy. Losing loved ones. Moving on. Looking forward to future adventures. 

The flight could have easily been an hour, but all too soon, we were descending. We landed perfectly on the back of a truck, but alighting from the basket was, as expected, perfectly awkward. We were given champagne and certificates to celebrate our experience. And then we were driven back to our hotel for a late breakfast. I looked at the photos I managed to take: somehow they paled in comparison to what I thought I saw up there. 

My balloon ride occasioned thoughts I would never have had if I stayed on the ground. I am small and fleeting and insignificant. I am at the mercy of many things and I can only plan as much. And to experience true wonder, I should trust the universe’s capacity to surprise me, give me beyond what I can ever expect, or hope for, or imagine. – Rappler.com

Adelle Chua teaches journalism at the University of the Philippines College of Mass Communication. She was opinion editor, editorial writer, and opinion columnist for Manila Standard for 15 years.