Getting High In Dubai
[This article was written for publication but because of an editorial mistake I was asked to cut my 1,500-word piece down to 300 words, which I refused to do. This feature has, as yet, never been published... (drum beat)... until now!]
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My Name is Bob
“R U ON UR WAY?”
As I read the message illuminated on my phone through a solitary, sleep-filled eye, it takes me a second to focus. Having flinched and physically recoiled as the previous night’s conversation came flooding back to me, I spring out of bed in a panic and quickly text back a reply: “ON MY WAY… NOW”
I had agreed to pick up my friend and fellow Emirates Today journalist Aimee Greaves at 6am. I look at my watch: it’s 6.05am.
I, like most people on this Earth, have my flaws. While some people smoke and others bite their nails, my Achilles heel tends to land me in trouble and create unnecessary hassle for my friends. My problem? I love my bed too much. I’ve missed flights from Glasgow, Paris, London, California and The Bahamas, I’ve been late to interviews, football matches and lunch meetings. And now I’ve slept in for a trip in a hot air balloon.
As I scurry around my bedroom in the dark, I conclude that there is no time for a shower and so climb into some clean clothes, brush my teeth and I am out the door. So just 10 minutes after my rude awakening – and the mandatory trip back into the villa to grab some forgotten items (camera, wallet, screw-on head) – I’m on my way.
With Aimee now in tow I speed down Emirates Road towards Global Village. I decide to phone Reyaz, the man who is organising our flight as part of the Dubai International Balloon Festival.
“Reyaz, I took a wrong turn but will be there in five minutes.” Translation: Reyaz, I hit my snooze button one too many times and will be there in 10-15 minutes.
“Ah, no problem Mr Gary, I am running a little behind schedule myself, I will be there soon though. I will meet you next to the tent in 15 minutes.” Perfect.
As Aimee and I pull into the car park, I can’t help but gawk. Ahead of me, rising from the sands of this barren desert, sit more than 12 hot air balloons, all different colours and all at different stages of preparation for take off. Aimee says she’s always wanted to fly in a hot air balloon, for, like, months. I miss the opportunity to pick her up on the ridiculousness of her remark and instead mumble something unintelligibly. Eyes remain locked straight ahead, on these beacons of wonder.
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My Name is Bob“R U ON UR WAY?”
As I read the message illuminated on my phone through a solitary, sleep-filled eye, it takes me a second to focus. Having flinched and physically recoiled as the previous night’s conversation came flooding back to me, I spring out of bed in a panic and quickly text back a reply: “ON MY WAY… NOW”
I had agreed to pick up my friend and fellow Emirates Today journalist Aimee Greaves at 6am. I look at my watch: it’s 6.05am.
I, like most people on this Earth, have my flaws. While some people smoke and others bite their nails, my Achilles heel tends to land me in trouble and create unnecessary hassle for my friends. My problem? I love my bed too much. I’ve missed flights from Glasgow, Paris, London, California and The Bahamas, I’ve been late to interviews, football matches and lunch meetings. And now I’ve slept in for a trip in a hot air balloon.
As I scurry around my bedroom in the dark, I conclude that there is no time for a shower and so climb into some clean clothes, brush my teeth and I am out the door. So just 10 minutes after my rude awakening – and the mandatory trip back into the villa to grab some forgotten items (camera, wallet, screw-on head) – I’m on my way.
With Aimee now in tow I speed down Emirates Road towards Global Village. I decide to phone Reyaz, the man who is organising our flight as part of the Dubai International Balloon Festival.
“Reyaz, I took a wrong turn but will be there in five minutes.” Translation: Reyaz, I hit my snooze button one too many times and will be there in 10-15 minutes.
“Ah, no problem Mr Gary, I am running a little behind schedule myself, I will be there soon though. I will meet you next to the tent in 15 minutes.” Perfect.
As Aimee and I pull into the car park, I can’t help but gawk. Ahead of me, rising from the sands of this barren desert, sit more than 12 hot air balloons, all different colours and all at different stages of preparation for take off. Aimee says she’s always wanted to fly in a hot air balloon, for, like, months. I miss the opportunity to pick her up on the ridiculousness of her remark and instead mumble something unintelligibly. Eyes remain locked straight ahead, on these beacons of wonder.At the tent Reyaz introduces us to our pilot for the day. Al Muir is a big bearded Texan who wears, amongst other things, a black cap, white T-shirt and black body-warmer. Each item is emblazoned with the motif “Bear Creek Balloons”.
“OK, in a minute I’m going to tell y’all to climb into the basket. We’ll do this one at a time, and only when I tell you,” he says in his southern drawl. The basket he is speaking about is currently lying on its side like a wounded rhinosceros and the balloon that it is adjoined to is being filled up with air by a high-powered, heavy duty fan. A few minutes later, following an extended blast of propane from the gas burner and some forceful tugs on some guy-ropes by Al’s team, the rhino stumbles to its feet and the balloon sits upright. On Al’s word, and with great difficulty and little gracefulness, I clamber in to join him in the wicker basket. Seconds later, Aimee gymnastically squeezes herself in as well and as we prepare to ascend I’m glad I brushed my teeth; it’s going to be a snug flight.
Al’s been flying hot air balloons for more than 30 years but he only bought BOB about two years ago from his friend, Bowie. (hence the acronym Bowie’s Old Balloon). Bob stands at roughly 30 metres tall and weighs 5,000lbs when in the air. He is predominantly blue in colour however has square patches of purple, red, yellow, orange and green to complete an almost rainbow-like effect.
Bear Creek Balloons, the company that Al runs from a little town in Houston, Texas, often sees around 150 flights each year. Remarkable when you consider the weather conditions must be near-perfect in order to hit the highways of the sky. Sunrise and sunset are ideal times to fly as temperatures are more favourable and winds tend to be a lot calmer. Incidentally, weather reports indicated that strong winds were expected by afternoon and so that’s how I landed the sunrise flight and the arduous task of getting out of bed pre-noon.
Balloons work on the simple physics premise that hot air rises. By heating the air in Bob’s belly the balloon tugs at the guy-ropes that keep him grounded. Remove the ropes and Bob floats up into the sky
It’s a strange sensation at first. Because it is a gradual process there is no noticeable change in air pressure and your feet remain firmly on the base of the wicker basket at all times. It is actually less like taking a flight on a plane and more like riding an elevator – only with much better views and no uninspiring muzak.
“OK, in a minute I’m going to tell y’all to climb into the basket. We’ll do this one at a time, and only when I tell you,” he says in his southern drawl. The basket he is speaking about is currently lying on its side like a wounded rhinosceros and the balloon that it is adjoined to is being filled up with air by a high-powered, heavy duty fan. A few minutes later, following an extended blast of propane from the gas burner and some forceful tugs on some guy-ropes by Al’s team, the rhino stumbles to its feet and the balloon sits upright. On Al’s word, and with great difficulty and little gracefulness, I clamber in to join him in the wicker basket. Seconds later, Aimee gymnastically squeezes herself in as well and as we prepare to ascend I’m glad I brushed my teeth; it’s going to be a snug flight.
Al’s been flying hot air balloons for more than 30 years but he only bought BOB about two years ago from his friend, Bowie. (hence the acronym Bowie’s Old Balloon). Bob stands at roughly 30 metres tall and weighs 5,000lbs when in the air. He is predominantly blue in colour however has square patches of purple, red, yellow, orange and green to complete an almost rainbow-like effect.
Bear Creek Balloons, the company that Al runs from a little town in Houston, Texas, often sees around 150 flights each year. Remarkable when you consider the weather conditions must be near-perfect in order to hit the highways of the sky. Sunrise and sunset are ideal times to fly as temperatures are more favourable and winds tend to be a lot calmer. Incidentally, weather reports indicated that strong winds were expected by afternoon and so that’s how I landed the sunrise flight and the arduous task of getting out of bed pre-noon.
Balloons work on the simple physics premise that hot air rises. By heating the air in Bob’s belly the balloon tugs at the guy-ropes that keep him grounded. Remove the ropes and Bob floats up into the sky
It’s a strange sensation at first. Because it is a gradual process there is no noticeable change in air pressure and your feet remain firmly on the base of the wicker basket at all times. It is actually less like taking a flight on a plane and more like riding an elevator – only with much better views and no uninspiring muzak.
I had never appreciated just how big Global Village is, nor had I wondered why the car-park is four times as big. Now I have done both. Looking down from 150metres above, it looks like a screenshot from The Sims or an intricate Lego model, complete with big wheel.
As we continue to rise (that old hot air trick is still working its magic) The Arabian Ranches comes into view. As do an entire network of roads that seemingly, as of yet, lead to nowhere. The sun is rising now and it is a spectacularly stunning sight. The sky is lit up in what feels like an instant and we are left to gaze longingly at the sand dunes that have lost all shape and depth and our fellow ballooners who are zig-zagging across the sky; some run parallel with Bob, some fly off towards the horizon and one red rebel floats precariously below.
“Make sure he doesn’t fly under us,” says Al to me, looking down at our nearby friend. I peer over the edge and wonder exactly how I’m going to prevent a 5,000lb balloon from doing anything. Perhaps Al misreads the look of worry on my face: “Don’t worry, you won’t fall out. Remember how hard it was for you to get in?” he says laughing. “You don’t fall out a balloon, you climb out.”
With a new lease of confidence I lean over the edge and observe that the other balloon has changed paths and is heading away from us. I also notice a camel farm on the ground below. “Beautiful aren’t they?” says Al. No comment.
From the very moment we left the ground, Al has been radioing his whereabouts and flight plans to his son-in-law, Justin, who is co-ordinating the flight from a truck on the ground – or in other words, chasing a balloon across the deserts of Dubai.
“This is Bob, Bob chase,” says Al, Al Muir, before relaying his intention to land in a desolate sandpit close by. Justin agrees to meet us there and we slowly descend upon a set of dunes that are becoming increasingly larger the closer we get to them.
“This is what’s called contour flying,” says Al, explaining that he is going to manoeuvre the balloon so that the basket is just inches from the ground and then follow the dunes’ contours. It’s an impressive feat that is made all the more impressive by the fact that there is roughly a 30-scecond delay from when the pilot blasts the gas burner and his balloon actually reacts. Al proves just exactly how much foresight and control he has over Bob when, as we approach the tip of the dune, we rise ever so slightly, so perfectly in fact that we skim an inch or so of sand off the top.
Armed with Al’s advice to “bend your legs at the knee”, our landing is smooth and pain-free. Once Bob is tied down we are able to climb out and help disassemble the balloon from the basket, the former being hiked up onto the back of the truck and the prior being rolled into what could pass as a very large sleeping bag. (Or maybe that’s just my tired brain playing tricks on me.)
As the truck’s engine is switched on, we say our thanks to Al and his team, pose for photos, shake hands with them all and head for our car. Despite having been up for hours, it is still only 10am and I’m not due in the office until 3pm… what harm could four hours in bed have?
As we continue to rise (that old hot air trick is still working its magic) The Arabian Ranches comes into view. As do an entire network of roads that seemingly, as of yet, lead to nowhere. The sun is rising now and it is a spectacularly stunning sight. The sky is lit up in what feels like an instant and we are left to gaze longingly at the sand dunes that have lost all shape and depth and our fellow ballooners who are zig-zagging across the sky; some run parallel with Bob, some fly off towards the horizon and one red rebel floats precariously below.
“Make sure he doesn’t fly under us,” says Al to me, looking down at our nearby friend. I peer over the edge and wonder exactly how I’m going to prevent a 5,000lb balloon from doing anything. Perhaps Al misreads the look of worry on my face: “Don’t worry, you won’t fall out. Remember how hard it was for you to get in?” he says laughing. “You don’t fall out a balloon, you climb out.”
With a new lease of confidence I lean over the edge and observe that the other balloon has changed paths and is heading away from us. I also notice a camel farm on the ground below. “Beautiful aren’t they?” says Al. No comment.
From the very moment we left the ground, Al has been radioing his whereabouts and flight plans to his son-in-law, Justin, who is co-ordinating the flight from a truck on the ground – or in other words, chasing a balloon across the deserts of Dubai.
“This is Bob, Bob chase,” says Al, Al Muir, before relaying his intention to land in a desolate sandpit close by. Justin agrees to meet us there and we slowly descend upon a set of dunes that are becoming increasingly larger the closer we get to them.
“This is what’s called contour flying,” says Al, explaining that he is going to manoeuvre the balloon so that the basket is just inches from the ground and then follow the dunes’ contours. It’s an impressive feat that is made all the more impressive by the fact that there is roughly a 30-scecond delay from when the pilot blasts the gas burner and his balloon actually reacts. Al proves just exactly how much foresight and control he has over Bob when, as we approach the tip of the dune, we rise ever so slightly, so perfectly in fact that we skim an inch or so of sand off the top.
Armed with Al’s advice to “bend your legs at the knee”, our landing is smooth and pain-free. Once Bob is tied down we are able to climb out and help disassemble the balloon from the basket, the former being hiked up onto the back of the truck and the prior being rolled into what could pass as a very large sleeping bag. (Or maybe that’s just my tired brain playing tricks on me.)
As the truck’s engine is switched on, we say our thanks to Al and his team, pose for photos, shake hands with them all and head for our car. Despite having been up for hours, it is still only 10am and I’m not due in the office until 3pm… what harm could four hours in bed have?
posted by Sheikh Gareemi Nahan at 12:59 AM
2 Comments:
You might be interested to learn that your pilot, Mr. Al Muir of the United States, has still not received his balloon equipment back from Dubai. None of the American balloons have left that country yet even after numerous promises from the organizers that they had been shipped, would be shipped, etc. All in all very frustrating and not good public relations for the Dubai Balloon Festival.
WOW, that sure is a nice balloon in the background behind Al...It almost looks like a roll of candy 'lifesavers'
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