The Quiet Above
The Quiet Above
Photos and Words By Joy Grant
As the sun rises in Marrakech, hot air balloons follow suit, gliding into the sky, leaving the buzz of Marrakech’s medina behind. Floating between the earth and sky, the morning unfolds in beauty and an unexpected calm.
Suspended high above the ground, the chill of the desert air melted away as the hot air balloon’s flame engulfed us in its warmth. There were sixteen people in each basket, all divided into four different sections with a pilot in the middle. But up here, I was all alone. The higher we went up, the lighter everything felt and the easier it became to breathe. When the snow-capped peaks of the Atlas mountains came into view, the chatter around me faded to a murmur, and even the sharp hiss of the burner system seemed to soften into the background. As the rising sun lit the mountains in gold, I reminisced on how my morning had begun in the still-dark medina, tracing my way through almost empty streets.
Knowing that I needed to meet my shuttle driver at 6 am, I was worried about navigating the dark streets on my own. However, I was assured that there wouldn’t be issues, as the only people out would be headed to the mosque or work. They were right, I saw maybe five people in total in an area I’d previously had to duck and dodge people to weave through. Even the sounds were different. The call to prayer rang out, echoing through the air, and cats slipped their way through alleys. Other than that, the only thing I could hear was the crunch of my boots along the street. Cool air brushed against me as I intently found my way to the Ben Youssef Mosque. The near-empty streets made the medina walls feel larger than life, keeping watch over the medina’s residents.
“But up here I was all alone.”
I chose to do an early morning hot air balloon ride because I wanted to see the sunrise and start my day with a beautiful perspective. On the way, we picked up two passengers, both named Carmen, from Spain. As we drove out of the city, light conversation began as everyone introduced themselves, but as we traveled into the desert, the car quieted with the sight of the colors in the sky changing. The once black blanket above us was now streaked with deep purples and fuchsias.
“The once black blanket above us was now streaked with deep purples and fuschias.”
Just as we all became adjusted to the beauty before us, we began approaching the hot air balloon launch sites. Large flames shot into the air on either side of the road as we passed each company’s site, all silently competing with each other to provide the best experience and get their customers in the sky at the best times. You wanted to be launched around the same time as everyone else so you could get good pictures, but you also needed to time it so you’d lift off in time for sunlight. There was a beautiful tension and anticipation in the air, a quiet nervousness and a loud sense of awe at the opportunity.
Once unloaded from the car, we all stood back, croissants and juice in hand, watching as the crew moved large baskets and deflated balloons around against the background of the balloons slowly rising and sagging in the half-light, their fabric glowing faintly with each burst of flame. It was almost time.
Situated in our baskets, we anxiously pulled our phones out, ready to capture the magic taking place around us. The flames’ heat wrapped around us as the burner system roared, the basket jolted, skidding across the ground for a few seconds, catching a few people off guard, causing them to gasp, clutch the railing, or yelp. “It’ll be alright,” the pilot chuckled, reassuring us all. Then, it rose, climbing into the sky, leaving the ground behind. Our baskets crew had timed it just right. Looking around our balloon from any angle, you were met with a dozen other balloons ascending into the air, glowing like lanterns off on an adventure of their own, but all adding to the grandeur of the same moment.
The roads below seemed to stretch for miles, leading back to the medina. Small towns were scattered about, surrounded by fields in a medley of colors with patches of green, browns, yellows, and reds adding to the landscape’s tapestry. The balloons around us danced silently in the breeze, passing each other like ships in the night. Their bright fabric reflects the sunlight. At this height, there was no rush, no noise, just the space to be.
As we began to descend, the ground lifted towards us, leaving the stillness of the sky behind. All around us, balloons began to land. One by one, each deflated with a sigh. The pilot signaled for our attention, explaining landing instructions, and let us know that we’d be active participants in making it back safely, much to our surprise. The burner released its final hiss as we all clammored to position ourselves so that we faced the same way, ready to hold on and lean back as the shouting of the ground crew emerged. With a gentle thud, it was all over. But the sight of lingering balloons floating in the sky served as a reminder that the quiet above had been real.