Getting Schooled by a Moroccan Hot Air Balloon
Sometimes travel shows you not just new places, but how wrong your own imagination can be.
For many, a hot air balloon ride is a bucket list dream. Having never done it, I had crafted a neat little story in my head about what it would be like: drive up, hop into a tiny basket fit for a litter of kittens, and float away. The landing never once crossed my mind.
On a recent trip to Morocco with seven fellow travel advisors, hosted by a Moroccan tour provider, we visited multiple cities, toured extraordinary hotels, and immersed ourselves in unforgettable experiences. The sunrise balloon ride outside Marrakech was one of them.
We gathered hours before dawn in the sleek Oberoi lobby, then drove an hour into the desert. As the headlights cut across the sand, my preconceptions unraveled. Instead of a bare-bones setup, we arrived at a desert camp with hassocks, decorative cushions and colorful rugs for lounging. Men scurried about lighting fires and arranging tiny wooden stools in circles. Three-sided huts stood behind the seating areas with glass lanterns casting shadows on the wall-hung tapestries and bench seats plush with pillows and blankets. A man served hot ‘nous nous’ (espresso with milk) and slices of cake at a central bar. The scene was far more enchanting than I had imagined.
Bundled under blankets against the desert chill, we waited. The sun rose without us in the air, but we amused ourselves with photoshoots against the chic desert backdrop. Then suddenly, the vans returned. Too windy at this site, we were told - we’d drive to another launch point nearby. Along the way, balloons already floated like paper lanterns against the morning sky.
At the second basecamp, I realized just how wrong my mental picture had been. Balloons are massive with great swaths of checkered fabric rising like cathedrals. I also never considered the amount of manpower required to hoist a balloon. A dozen men held ropes to steady the balloon as it filled. Others rolled gas tanks into place, swapping out the empties. Several more grounded the basket - far from the kitten-sized cradle I had imagined, this one was nearly ten feet long and wide enough for fifteen adults. In the center stood our pilot, operating levers that unleashed roaring flames. The noise was chaotic, the energy electric until, in an instant, we lifted off and floated.
“Suspended in stillness, my fear of heights dissolved. It was too peaceful to worry.”
The ascent felt like slipping into another world. When the burners paused, the silence was profound. The Atlas Mountains glowed pink behind us; the desert stretched endlessly below; villages reduced to toy blocks and roads filled with cars the size of ants. Suspended in that stillness, my fear of heights dissolved. It was too peaceful to worry.
At one point, a guest pulled a saxophone from its case and began to play. Pop hits and dance anthems floated into the morning air as the basket turned into a mid-sky celebration. We sang and swayed, but in between the laughter I savored the quiet, too- the mindfulness of simply being there, present and weightless.
But soon, I was about to be schooled on the landing. In my imagination, balloons touched down gently on soft fields cushioned with moss and flowers. In reality: desert rock and sand, and the unpredictability of wherever the wind carried us.
“It’s easy to see how this could be the ultimate proposal setting or an unforgettable private breakfast above the desert.”
Our ginger-haired Egyptian pilot, who had been joking and singing through the ride, suddenly grew serious. He barked instructions: sit on the bench, head down, hands gripping the ropes, and do not move until told. With no view of what was happening, we braced. The basket slammed down at an angle, jarring us. We lifted, then hit again, dragged across sand and rocks as the ground crew sprinted to catch and steady us. A dozen men wrestled the balloon under control, shouting, tying, deflating, and folding the fabric into itself. It was chaotic, athletic, and strangely spectacular. When we were finally allowed to climb out, we gave the team a standing ovation.
Moments like these- when travel reveals just how naïve my expectations are - remind me why I love it so much. Hot air ballooning deserves its bucket list status, not only for the thrill but for the profound peace it delivers. I’d do it again, but only if the views are as breathtaking as they were over Morocco.
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