The Travelling Fairy DancerHot Air Ballooning
August 5th 2008 09:20
4am is time for vampires to venture indoors and farm animals to start to stir. In winter, the sun is far from rising and so, usually, am I.
But, numerous, "Don't be scared", remarks, combined with excitement spurred me out of bed and onwards, towards adventure and Canungra, a 45 minute drive from Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast, Queensland.
The icy grass of a large paddock greeted us as the cold air took our breath away. But, in the distance, rising slowly like a finger beckoning us to follow, the orange balloon awaited. Ungracefully, we climbed into the brown, padded basket, our only protection against the elements.
Briefly, I wondered where the belts or straps were, incase we plummeted from the sky. But before I could ask what the odds of living were, we gently, gradually rose from the ground. And it was blissful.
Deafening for seconds, the flame blasting the innards of the balloon bursts into life then fades to complete silence. Nothing but the sky, views of surrounding mountains and the tiny basket stand in the way of your peaceful,flying experience.
If you stopped to think, it could be scary. On landing we did bounce off a ridge and land precariously to one side, before sliding rather fast to a stop on the dewy grass.
Afterwards, we had the pleasure (a dubious one to some) of helping to pack the balloon up. This involved jumping on it, lying on it and down right bashing it until the air was released, before rolling it up tight like a sleeping bag.
A champagne breakfast at O'Reilly's vineyard was the reward. Not that reward was required after drifting towards the heavens as the sun rose: a most worthy reason to wake at 4am.
But, numerous, "Don't be scared", remarks, combined with excitement spurred me out of bed and onwards, towards adventure and Canungra, a 45 minute drive from Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast, Queensland.
The icy grass of a large paddock greeted us as the cold air took our breath away. But, in the distance, rising slowly like a finger beckoning us to follow, the orange balloon awaited. Ungracefully, we climbed into the brown, padded basket, our only protection against the elements.
Briefly, I wondered where the belts or straps were, incase we plummeted from the sky. But before I could ask what the odds of living were, we gently, gradually rose from the ground. And it was blissful.
Deafening for seconds, the flame blasting the innards of the balloon bursts into life then fades to complete silence. Nothing but the sky, views of surrounding mountains and the tiny basket stand in the way of your peaceful,flying experience.
If you stopped to think, it could be scary. On landing we did bounce off a ridge and land precariously to one side, before sliding rather fast to a stop on the dewy grass.
Afterwards, we had the pleasure (a dubious one to some) of helping to pack the balloon up. This involved jumping on it, lying on it and down right bashing it until the air was released, before rolling it up tight like a sleeping bag.
A champagne breakfast at O'Reilly's vineyard was the reward. Not that reward was required after drifting towards the heavens as the sun rose: a most worthy reason to wake at 4am.
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