It is our last day with the group and then we are off to Rome for eight day, with just the two of us. Our last day in Tuscany begins before the crack of Dawn. Dressed in layers we head off, sleepy eyed, to a quick bite to eat and then into the bus we get. Today is the cherry on the cake of our group trip- we are doing an early morning hot air balloon ride over the Chianti region to get a birds eye view of this wonderful country.
I have to preface this by saying that as we are driving to these balloons, these large pieces of cloth that are going to suspend us some 20,000 feet in the air (no, that’s not a typo), large pieces of cloth, small cables . . . I am convinced that I am out of my mind. Somewhere back in Canada, my children are about to be orphaned, I am sure of it and while they grow up without their mother, I am not sure that the thought “Well she was doing what she loved,” would prove to be a comfort to them . . .I am a bad and irresponsible mother, . . . a selfish mother. . . a scared mother . . . . an excited mother- okay there’s the voice that’s going to get me into the basket. Oh yes- let’s talk about the basket. . . So I am under the impression that we are going to be having a champagne breakfast IN the basket over Tuscany (don’t ask me what kind of fairy tale is running in my head. . . . I honestly don’t know what I was thinking, I mean, I HAVE seen The Wizard of Oz. . . that’s not a big basket. However here we are again on the way to the field where we are going to launch, hopefully successfully, and I am thinking I am going to be having champagne and crumpet’s while we drift over vineyards. Ha!
We get there and there are four other balloons along with ours and the baskets, to my distinguishing eye, definitely do not look large enough to accommodate a table let alone a waiter to stand by with refreshments. I am starting to feel a little silly here- honestly, I am a six year old trapped in a grown ups body! The balloons start to fill and my stomach starts to take wing. . . I can’t believe I am going to do this. Ron looks like a kid who has just seen Santa Claus and I suddenly know that I am getting in that thing- I really don’t want to let Ron down. I know he would go anyway, but it would be alone, and that’s how he would remember it and I don’t want that. So the balloons fill and we climb in and pick our corner. There are five of us in the basket and we have barely enough room to turn around and look at the view behind us. I keep hoping that the bottom of the basket is strong enough. . . I work to push these thoughts out of my head.
We suddenly lift off and the ground is dropping away from us. Other than the sound of the occasional breathless laugh, all is quiet. And I am struck suddenly that this is what it must be like to be a bird- to be able to drift along and go where the wind takes you, quite literally. It is so quiet and as the light turns everything below us a deep gold I am suddenly grateful for the gift of this moment in time. I will always remember how it feels to gently bob along on the warm wind currents. I will always remember the look on Ron’s face, lit by the sun, his quiet smile as he looks at the patchwork quilt of land below us. I will always remember the silence that comes with being that high and the peace that goes with it.
We float along following the sunrise. We see Siena, and Radda off in the distance. We float over the hillside home of Geoffrey Chaucer and the final resting places of some wealthy Tuscans- their tombs all in rows in a private cemetery. We see miles of olive trees and vineyards and hillsides of Tuscan villas. It is so beautiful and I am so glad to have come on this once in a lifetime opportunity, and I can’t help but think about the images forever burned into my memory that I never would have had, had I not just taken this small leap of faith, and stepped into that basket on top of the world.
Add A Comment