Let your spirits soar

The first public demonstration of a hot-air balloon took place on September 19, 1783 in the presence of King Louis XVI; a duck, a rooster and a sheep were sent up in the basket. According to the historical chronicles, the king was not particularly impressed by the marvel of the balloon's ascent to the skies, but of all people, it is hard to rely on the last French monarch when it comes to vision or a broad historical perspective. The experiences of the first passengers were not recorded. We can only imagine the sheep bleating its prayers as the land receded and the sky approached, with the duck and the rooster joining in.

In the past, one might take to the skies in a hot-air balloon in order, for example, to discover the sources of the Nile. In the American Civil War, the Union Army Balloon Corps employed hot-air balloons to conduct aerial reconnaissance of the Confederate army. Today, hot-air balloons are used mainly for recreation, a breathtaking activity that brings people together, laughing with childlike pleasure.

"Please enter the basket immediately, and fasten it with the weight," roared the energetic pilot at a woman who looked frightened the moment the straw basket started rising. The woman searched her pockets anxiously; if something goes wrong in a hot-air balloon flight the passengers have to empty their pockets and throw any surplus weight to the ground. She lowered her head and pressed herself into the corner of the basket. Unlike the heroes of Jules Verne novels, determined scientists who trusted in God and rationality and never had to heed nature's call during their adventures, her thoughts centered on the mysteries of bladder function during a trip in the sky.

When our fearful hands stopped grabbing the arched support bars, and when our ears were released from the pressure of anxiety, we began to absorb the quiet that prevailed at 200 feet, to calm down and enjoy ourselves. There is silence up there, an unreal silence that grows sharper as we regard the miniature world revealed below: quiet toy bulldozers, a herd of tiny donkeys, the hills of Gilboa and the mosaic of the Jezreel Valley, the turquoise rectangles of fish ponds, the carpets of green-yellow wheat fields, the fiery red dots of wild poppies and fields of buttercups.

Our sense of time was also confused. After a few minutes, drunk with our newfound courage and the feeling of sailing lazily in an ocean of sky, the passengers became very demanding. "Forward, above the Gilboa chain!" demanded one, surely picturing Phileas Fogg and Passepartout crossing the Alps and stretching out their hands for a handful of snow to cool their Champagne. If not champagne bubbles, then at least a leaf from a mallow plant. "Above the walls of Shata Prison," demanded another, no doubt imagining himself sailing above the restricted sky of the prisoners' yard, like Napoleon's spies.

But the hot-air balloon has a pace of its own and a route dictated by the wind. The only navigation possible is vertical, upward or downward. After a while, even before it had managed to reach the small hillock of Givat Hamoreh, sudden gusts of wind worried the pilot, and he decided to land, to the chagrin of the passengers. "Look for a deserted field for landing," he pleaded, as the balloon descended for a landing toward what looked from above like an uncultivated field. The wind attacked at low altitude, too, causing the basket to bounce around merrily and chew up an innocent wheat field. May all the farmers of the world, including the growers of the eternal cornfields of Iowa be aware: If you wake up in the morning to the mysterious sight of round bald spots that appeared overnight in your field, without any visible sign of entry, don't suspect UFOs or invading aliens. It was a hot-air balloon that did it.

The pilot pumped the fire-spitting burners once or twice more in order to escape the farmers' fields, but in the end he surrendered to the laws of gravity. For a split second, the basket almost managed to stabilize, but then the wind blew the balloon over on its side and the three passengers were piled up in a melange of limbs, with the pilot on top. Less elegant landing scenes than this probably exist only in books. But the giggling passengers crawled out in high spirits. After all, the life of a foolish romantic is full of disappointments, and reality almost never reaches the level of one's fantasies, but why deny it? Flying in a hot-air balloon fulfills all the promises and cliches associated with it.

Laga'at Bashamayim, Almog Amir, NIS 1,200 per person, tel: 054-4761704, www.hotairballoon.co.il

	(Eyal Toueg)