Above the Clouds

Charlotte Shalgosky (Carla Sommers)

The mighty Irrawaddy River slithers across the dry central plateaux, snaking through the rural villages of Myanmar. Along its banks, little has changed for centuries, oxcarts rumble along dusty tracks and the spires of small zedis (stupas) pierce the dawn.

It is 6.30am. In an hour or so, the country once known as Burma will appear from the early morning mists, quiet and serene. Across the vast plains of Bagan, the pinnacles of 13,000 Buddhist brick temples or ‘pahtos’ will begin to peep from under a blanket of white mist. The smell of charcoal fires filling the air as the country’s gentle yet impoverished people start their simple day.

Jackie Hibberd is already up, though her day is far from simple. The thirtysomething-year old makes her way to a sports ground in Nyaung-U, a short drive from Bagan’s ancient walled city; her team is waiting. A small crowd of locals, in woolly hats and ‘longhis ’ (Burmese sarongs) has gathered to witness the extraordinary sight. With a huge blast of gas, a stream of fire lights the cold, damp air. Beyond the rushing sounds, a giant red canopy is filling with air.  Jackie calls to her passengers to brief them on their hour trip, and put them through the safety procedures.

Jackie Hibberd’s daily journey will start at dawn on the scrubby football pitch and take her - and her passengers - hundreds of feet into the dawn sky, guiding a giant red and gold hot air balloon over one of Myamar’s most sacred sites.

Though with its origins dating back much earlier, the city of Bagan was, by the mid 11th century a thriving Buddhist city of temples, monasteries and rural communities, covering 40 sq km. Just two hundred years later, it inexplicably died. Some historians claim it was deserted, overrun in 1287 by Kublai Khan’s invading Mongols, others, such as Scottish Burmaphile, Paul Strachan,

believe it was never abandoned. In reality, Bagan’s true fate may never be ascertained.  Today, it is a crumbling mass of spires, turrets and golden basilicas, all built from brick, some pahtos enriched with superb religious murals, others have been sadly daubed over and lost.

The arrival of this British-born balloon pilot into this quiet rural community was not without event. According to Buddhist law, a woman’s head must never be in a position higher than that of a man - certainly never rise higher than that of a Buddhist monk.  With the path of Jackie’s balloon taking her over not only the heads of many of the Buddhist monks, but also wide expanses of sacred ground, she was required to get special permission from Bagan’s chief Abbot before she could get airborne.  With permission finally granted, Jackie and her team from ‘Balloons Over Bagan’ are allowed to fly each day at sunrise. There is no way of prescribing a route -  she goes wherever the wind takes her, and as high as Myanmar air traffic control allows! (Since Myanmar still uses the British colonial navigational terms left behind during the British rule communication is never a problem!) 

There may be future trips at sunset, but pilots say the winds are less predictable and some proffer the light from the west make the sights less spectacular.  Indeed, the panorama of a plain of 13,000 spires clothed in dawn mist is breathtaking. There is great variety too depending on the season; lush greenery of November is quite contradictory to the scorched yellow dust landscapes seen after the January heat begins. But on a balloon ride, the changes to the landscape are not just seasonal - they happen minute by minute.

Before the sun creeps out, the Irrawaddy looms silvery out of the dark. As the sun yawns high over Mount Popa in the East, long shadows grow out of the earth and the morning light goes from silver to gold, to burnished bronze. Suddenly, with the sun over the horizon, the yellow land is bathed in a golden haze of the new day and the temple shapes appear like stage sets, lined far into the distance disappearing into the grey like gradiated clouds.  Far below, the stepped podiums and ornate arched entrances can be seen clearly, each brick is visible as the balloon silently floats over the myriad temples. We also fly over fields of cotton, maize and groundnut. Jackie can turn the balloon using ropes so everyone can catch a glimpse of the river, the villages and the pagodas, the local pony traps and bicycles.

The immensity of the architecture is awesome, to think that ten or more centuries ago so much work went into building the complex is extraordinary…. Even today, the conservation authorities in charge of the area, known as ‘Bagan Archeological Zone’, are still rebuilding the temples. The work is enormous. Brick kilns below us belch out frothy smoke; the manual brick-making techniques are unchanged for hundreds of years.

In the distance the spires of Ananda Pahto and Thatbyinnyu Pahto in old Bagan shine, some temples have gold turrets that glint mystically in the sun. The brick ‘pahtos’ take all forms: bobbin, dome and beehive shapes; tall needles, flat terracotta meringues, all are scattered over an immense area. There are huge square, ziggurat temples like Mayan pyramids, domed

temple outlines that recall London’s St Paul’s Cathedral or the twin basilicas of Sacr¾ Coeur in Paris; myriad minarets.

Suddenly Jackie swings us towards a temple that has red carpet all around it and a group of people gathered outside. It’s ruined spire has recently been completed and today is its official re-opening.  On the ground, heads turn and stare as the giant floating globe glides

gently around the stupa. Everyone waves.

‘Balloons Over Bagan’ started life in 1999, and is run by Brett Melzer, an Australian, together with his Burmese wife, Omar, who keep a seasonal office at The Bagan Hotel, in the area known as old Bagan, and a head office in Yangon for year-round bookings. With no experience in the balloon industry Brett put together an adventurous business plan that took over two years of paperwork to clear with the notorious Burmese beaurocracy.

After only two seasons of flights, the response has been incredible, however, ballooning seasons are short in Myanmar, running only in the hot, dry months from October to March and sometimes it is hard to cope with demand.  Brett is looking at expanding the outfit to bring a second smaller four-man balloon from Bristol, UK, which will help out in high season. There is also talk of perhaps doing trips over the beautiful Inle Lake in the Shan State. Guaranteed, many will be lining up for the experience.

As the sun starts to get high, Jackie looks for a spot to land. After harvest, in February, this is not so much of a problem, but before that, there is not always a great deal of choice! (Though if there is any damage to crops the farmers are always compensated).  Jackie radios to her team in a truck on the ground to follow her to a small stubble field. As we descend lightly we observe the Burmese people smiling and waving. Of all the modes of transport available in Myanmar, this must be the most restful and, visually, outstanding.

We take our ‘landing positions’, knees bent, and the basket plops down, light as a feather.

Immediately, the balloon is secured by the team and reluctantly, the passengers heave themselves out of the huge basket for a welcome drink of champagne. The alcoholic bubbles charge into our sleepy brains and everyone feels the exhilaration of the last hour’s gentle journey in the clouds. What a way to start the day…