During our few days spent in Laos, my friend and I planned to head down to a tiny town south of Luang Prabang called Vang Vieng. This town is known to many travelers as a spot to partake in adventurous activities like exploring caves or rafting down rivers. We were there specifically for the hot air balloon rides.
We booked our morning ride the night before and then woke up bright and early the next day to be picked up via tuk tuk. We drove for a while as more people joined us, eventually arriving at a parking lot which we anticipated would be our lift-off point. We saw two hot air balloons descending towards us before passing right overhead. We were off again.
At this point I realized that rather than the hot air balloons meeting us, we were trying to meet it. The tuk tuk driver had his walkie-talkie communicating with a man, whom I could only assume was piloting the balloon. We drove to two fields in anticipation of the balloons’ arrival, but once again it drifted right over us.
The balloon was getting lower and lower, and the men on their walkie-talkies were sounding a little more anxious. Finally it had touched down. Our driver drove quickly to the meet-up spot, told us to get out, and ran to the balloon. It had landed in, what I’ll generously call a small alley, between two house. It was just the width of the wicker basket, and the multi-colored balloon was brushing against some trees and the roofs of the houses it was nestled next to. The first group of passengers hopped out of the basket just as quickly as they could manage, and we hopped right in. This was already an adventure, and we hadn’t even left the ground yet.
With the first few startling bursts of flames and heat filling the balloon, we were off, slowly lifting higher into the sky. I looked down to see an audience of a couple dozen neighbors who had gathered to see us off, clarifying that this was probably not how these balloons are typically landed.
We spent the next twenty minutes soaring through the sky, drifting between the mountains, overlooking homes and rivers, and floating in the clouds. The views were spectacular and the atmosphere was peaceful, so long as the flame throwing contraption wasn’t in use.
The balloon started to come down, and we were headed towards an open field. This seemed to be a much more appropriate landing spot compared to where we had boarded the balloon. We touched down and then started to jump a bit before ending up in some shrubs and small trees. Not ideal. Apparently these things were harder to land than I’d imagined.
Our pilot was on his walkie-talkie and within a few minutes ten men were running in our direction. The pilot tossed over two ropes that were attached to the balloon and the guys proceeded to drag the balloon out of the greenery. There was a moment of conversing and then we were flying again. This wouldn’t be our landing spot after all.
We flew just high enough to pass over the trees and scattering of houses, the men holding on to the ropes, hopping a fence, and dragging us to the spot where we would officially land. We waved good morning to a man staring out his kitchen window as we smoothly glided into his side yard. A mother and young son came out to see what was happening, them seeming just as surprised as the group that that gathered as we took off.
Once we officially landed, everyone climbed out of the basket, and in just a matter of minutes the balloon was deflated and packed up into a petite pick-up truck. We were off, headed back to our hotel, and ready for a much needed mid-morning nap.
. . .
bbm travels 