cruising attitude
'GOOD MORNING everybody. This is your captain speaking. We are commencing our descent and will be landing in approximately five minutes. Would all passengers hold on very tight and remember to bend their knees.' Not the most reassuring words when descending from 3,600 metres. But this was no run-of-the-mill flight. Standing room only, with no movie, meal or complimentary drinks, there is no better way to fly than by hot-air balloon. And no more spectacular backdrop for such a once-in-a-lifetime flight than the breathtaking Himalayan kingdom of Nepal.
The breathtaking trip was the brainchild of pioneering Australian pilot Chris Dewhirst, the first man to drift a balloon over Mount Everest, in 1991; and the billowing red, blue and gold Balloon Sunrise Nepal canopy is now a familiar sight on most mornings from October to May as it floats gracefully over the patchwork Kathmandu valley. But the lucky ones, squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in its creaking whicker gondola, all agree: there's nothing commonplace about ballooning in 'the land of the gods'.
THE FUN began in a rice paddy bordering the medieval village of Kirtipur, the ground crew straining at guy ropes as four roaring butane burners blasted the primitive aircraft to life. With the first hint of sun straining through the huge nylon envelope, Lord Buddha's all-seeing eyes - incorporated in the canopy design - rose as butterflies danced in 10 tourists' stomachs. Suddenly it was all systems go. With no time to dwell on any lingering fear of heights, the cosmopolitan payload, from Hong Kong, Australia, Britain, Denmark and India, clambered in, jostled for position ... and held on for dear life. The shout was heard and we were up, up and away, rising silently and rapidly. Far below, the crew relaxed, waved and shrank, before disappearing under the last thin veil of morning mist.
Cutting through wisps of fine cloud, remnants of vertigo were dispelled by a marvellous sense of calm. All was still as the basket drifted with the wind towards sprawling Kathmandu, providing a panoramic and hypnotic bird's-eye view of scattered, red-brick villages, and of the geometric maze of rice terraces and butter-coloured, oil-seed rape fields. The occasional roar of the burners aside, the only sound as the dazzling, snow-tipped Himalaya came into view was from whispered 'wow's' and sharp, gasping intakes of breath. Far from the fumes, dust and hubbub of bustling Kathmandu, the passengers inhaled hard, savouring the crisp, thin, fresh air.
Tugging on the steering cables, British pilot Nigel Pogmore carefully spun the 3,000-cubic metre balloon to give everybody an uninterrupted prospect of the roof of the world. From the ultimate viewing platform, we watched as the sun's early rays illuminated the highest mountains on the planet. Gosaithan, Phurbi-Gyachu, Gauri Shanker, Chhoba-Bhamare, Melungste and 8,201-metre Cho Oyu - every peak is regarded as a god in Nepalese folklore, having been revered by the first mortals to settle the valley, as far back as 700 BC. The most celebrated of all - 8,848-metre Mount Everest, also known as Qomolangma, and 8,516-metre Lhotse - were regrettably coy, preferring to hide behind a dense bank of swirling black storm clouds.
Below the vessel, the fertile expanse of the subtropical valley lay in hazy sunshine, the fields dissected by winding rivers on a long pilgrimage to India and an audience with the holy Ganges. Rice terraces carved into rolling, violet foothills built a stairway to the heavens. Levelling out at 3,500 metres, Pogmore edged Rebecca (he has named the balloon after his 14-year-old daughter) over the Nepalese capital, all eyes searching for landmarks and points of reference. The wide-brimmed hats issued as flight souvenirs helped to cut out the glare - and provided essential protection from the blistering heat of the burners. The magnificent 'monkey temple' of Swayambhunath was easily spotted, perched high on a forested hill northwest of the city. The mesmerising, all-seeing eyes that grace the whitewashed stupa of one of Kathmandu's most celebrated religious sites stare out from a million postcards, and have become the unofficial symbol of Nepal. They are even mirrored in the design of the balloon canopy.
The tiered pagoda rooftops of the famed Durbar Square were also unmistakeable among the low, crumbling brick buildings of old Kathmandu. One of three such squares under UNESCO World Heritage protection in the valley, the compound is a labyrinth of ornate 14th-18th century temples and palaces, as well as home to more Hindu effigies, gods and icons than any neighbourhood on the planet. On the banks of the winding Bagmati river, the gilt roofs of Pashupatinath, Nepal's most important Hindu temple, reflected the sunlight. Two columns of pungent black smoke rose, indicating that the first of the morning's open-air cremation ceremonies was in progress on the steps leading to the river. At Bodhnath stupa nearby, tiny, ambling figures could be seen. Tibetan refugees, they circled the huge, bleached mound, clockwise as always, stopping occasionally to prostrate themselves or twirl prayer wheels while chanting immortal mantras.