BALLOONS IN EGYPT

Three years ago this very week, I woke up on a boat on the River Nile, opened the curtains and saw the most astonishingly beautiful sight as a large group of balloons drifted across the early morning skies above one of the most beautiful landscapes and amazing places with regards to its place in human history.

A week later, after the most relaxing week I can remember ever having, I awoke in much the same place on the final morning of our river cruise (as it was something of a “round trip” of sorts) and, before we went off for a rather sombre “last breakfast” on board with the friends we had made, and before all of us all went our separate ways as that part of our holiday ended, some of our fellow passengers were heading off on a farewell early morning balloon trip.

We had decided against it…

Perhaps it was the earliness of the appointed hour, or the fact that we might have thought that our funds were being stretched a bit too far at that point, but I imagine that it was mostly due to me having one of my “Not for me…” moments, having always had a slightly dubious relationship with anything involving great heights.

And so, full of excitement and anticipation, off they went in a minibus and, within the hour I was able to point my camera at the sky and watch the silent majesty of a line of balloons drifting slowly across the sky as the dawn’s light gave way to the bright sunshine of another Egyptian morning.

I suppose that for a lot of people it’s the opportunity to make one more beautiful memory at the end of a beautiful week, or, for those of us thinking that this really could be a “once in a lifetime” opportunity to be there and do such a thing, perhaps there’s just an air of “Why the hell not?” in that giddy and hugely relaxed and excited “end-of-term” way that the ends of holidays can bring with them.

All I know is that I was very envois of the exciting tales that got told over breakfast that day of astonishing vistas and breathtaking views, even though I knew that I personally would have been weeping in the bottom of the basket and asking repeatedly whether we were back on the ground yet…

Plus, of course, I couldn’t have pointed my camera at the balloons in the sky if I’d been inside one of them.

You pays your money and you takes your choice.

I thought of that particular morning again this week when I heard of the terrible tragedy in Luxor, because, whilst I know that for someone, somewhere, a “special moment” is turning into a horribly tragic memory all the time, somehow this just seemed so damned unfair.