Searching High and Low

Jenni and I woke at the ungodly hour of 4am to experience one of the most enchanting forms of flight. Hot-air ballooning. The most spectacular golden moon embraced us. There was no sign of life as we stood in silence on the meagre strips of dirt. After what seemed an eternity, the welcoming headlights of a jeep pierced the darkness. We bounced around for forty minutes into a vast open space. There in the savannah, lay our sixteen-man basket. The crew busily preparing for the flight. Despite the warning of a lone lion in the vicinity, we braved the wilderness and found a bush. The call of nature pleading … 

Amidst stifled giggles we positioned our bodies into the basket. It lay on its side, requiring us to lie down on our backs. Much like the astronauts do in preparation for a lift-off. Moments of silent anxiety seeped into our thoughts. Lingering. My palms were damp as I reminded myself of earlier balloon flights I had undertaken. And loved. The huge flames seemed way too close for comfort now. 

Within seconds, I felt the basket beneath my back scraping gently over the African soil. The basket had righted itself in an effortless motion. Much like a ballerina when rising off the floor. A combination of elegance and power. We were gliding over the grasslands. 

I fail to find the words to describe that experience. The silence. The proximity of wild animals in natural habitat. The sensation of oneness with nature. The setting moon watched over us whilst the new sun greeted us from across the horizon. I will forever feel gratitude for having witnessed the magnificence of the Serengeti from a hot-air balloon. It must surely be the ultimate ‘Out of Africa’ experience. 

Moments of sheer terror shattered my serene one-with-nature journey. My limited knowledge of flying and aerodynamics worsened the incident. Increasing my stress. I had previously mentioned my love of fever trees to the pilot. Not only did we get good close-up shots of these magnificent trees. We experienced flying through a fever tree. A miscalculation was made with regards to the distance between us and the splendid tree. There was also a serious lack of altitude. The raucous sound of massive branches wrenching at parts of the basket was terrifying. Snapping like twigs. Imagine the force created by a moving basket holding the weight of sixteen adults. And full gas tanks. 

As we lurched forward through the top branches of the tree, our basket began to tip slightly. My palms were dripping wet. Passengers yelled. Some giggled nervously. The captain calmly managed to control the situation. He redeemed himself by landing the balloon with an acute gentleness. During breakfast, he added with a smile, “That is actually why all the fever trees have flat tops!

Our balloon flight was celebrated in true style and tradition. Champagne flowed as we felt the security of Mother Earth beneath our feet. A scrumptious English breakfast was served underneath an acacia tree. The table adorned with pressed linen. Silver and porcelain too. The coffee served piping hot. Waiters in flowing white robes and turbans attended to our every need. The essence of Africa captured. I was in heaven. Elegance and style. To be found in the heart of the Serengeti. Under a tree.

To be continued ...