Travelling Hopefully - Overunning Cup Edition

Our tour guide presented with two pieces of good news before we left Pumukkale. Firstly he had managed to wangle us a balloon ride over the ruins of Hierapolis the next day. Great joy was evinced by all and sundry. Then having dangled the bait he pulled out the big one. That afternoon we would go to a wine tasting from a local winery. Cheers rang out around the room. Some of the more emotional had cheeks wet with tears.

It is fair to say that we looked forward to the coming dawn with a sense of anticipation normally only felt by those who believed the last judgment was at hand.

Early (but not too early) the next morning we were deposited in a field and left in the care of people whose idea of fun was blasting immense amounts of air and gas into giant condom shaped things spread out on the grass.

Air and gas were duly blasted and when the sad shriveled fabric had transformed into round bulbous growths looming over our heads we were invited to clamber into the basket. Assistance was given to the feeble and those who had changed their minds at the last minute.

Then we and fifty or so other balloons were aloft, rising into the morning sky silent except for the blasts from the flame jets and the excited squeals of the passengers. My apologies to anyone who was disturbed by my excited squeals.

From up above I could look down on the theatre at Hierapolis and gaze across the countryside laid out like the world’s best map beneath me. Down below vehicles raced down the streets trying to reach our landing spot before we did. The sun came up from behind the Taurus mountains (yes, they’re still around) and I almost gibbered with joy. 

Eventually what goes up had to come down. A four wheel drive with a trailer was parked in a convenient field. We glided low and the pilot actually landed us on the trailer at which point willing hands lashed the basket to the trailer to prevent us drifting off again.

Once safely back on terra firma we headed off for wine tasting. Sorry, I mean the charming Turkish town of Selcuk which was conveniently located near the ruins of the city of Ephesus a major centre and port of the ancient world.  Selcuk is also the location of the basilica of St John (the one who wrote all the letters to the Ephesians just down the road). Allegedly he is buried there although solid proof is lacking.

We ate lunch in a mounting frenzy of anticipation until our guide could withstand the pointed comments no longer and we made the short voyage to the village of Sirince which is famous for its picturesque architecture and fruit wines.

We arrived, wine was drunk. Some of it was quite good all of it was consumed. Then I had ice cream, as you do.