Update #9
Just got in from a great flight with Mike Green. Mike who flies for Kapadokya Balloons, owned and run by Lars and Kylie, is the first aeronaut ever to fly over the North Pole. In 1997 he flew a 21 000 cubic foot ‘cloud-hopper’ for 20 minutes at 1000 ft in temperatures of minus 45 degrees centigrade. Ivan Trifonov set up a Balloon Meet at the pole and Mike and his partner, Ali Yates flew to the Moscow and then to the Arctic.
He is known internationally as one of the safest pair of hands and has worked for international flyer Per Lindstrand. Born into a ballooning family – his parents ran a gas business for balloonists – when inevitably, Mike graduated into flying and then moved to Turkey to continue his career in Capaddocia.
As an ex-balloonist it was a busman’s holiday to go up, but to fly over Capaddocia was special. There are nine companies flying in the area but 18 years ago, Lars and Kylie pioneered flying here and have the best reputation. Looking down over the sedimentary rock formations, and so silently, it made me feel contemplative. I would love to have stayed for longer but the need to get to the Sudan ferry for Monday was uppermost in my mind. After two hours sleep I flew and now, having landed and filed this blog, need to get on the road and cross into Syria.
Hotel Cabir was a cheap haven. I spent a day writing and processing photographs, editing film and talking plans and business with people back home. This was not a day off, just a day when I didn’t ride my bike.
My passage out of Turkey was quick and efficient. It was quick getting into Syria but the process was different. The custom building was scrappy and consisted of one long partition separating a handful of business visitors from guards and officials on the other side. I was quickly taken care of by a man who led me through the entry procedure at breakneck speed, by-passing the queues, through passport control and customs past smiling faces all saying ‘welcome to Syria’. It is remarkable how two sets of ambassadors have almost irreconcilably opposite views. The politicians think Syria to be aligned with some axis of evil or to be at least an irritant to the best intentions of the west. To me, and the few of us who travel here, inch-by-inch, overland through the fumes and diesel slicks, the erratic traffic, the bearded men and veiled women, we think the colour and warm hearts that grow like a fungus on greasy shirt sleeves, is the making of a splendid day. Here, you walk to the café in the morning as someone smiles at you, and wishes that with the help of God, you have a good day.
I rode into Aleppo and straight to the Baron Hotel. Once installed, I found an Internet café where I had hoped to file my blog. There was no connection to or from the server. The server was being lazy and the server operator had gone for a tea. The man at the front desk said come back in an hour, and when I did, he said come back in ten minutes. When I did, he said come back in five. I ordered coffee and cakes and went upstairs. The decoration was art deco mixed with Byzantine motifs wrapped around red hearts. A chandelier of string beads hung in the far end of what was equal to the best-faded glory of a Parisian salon. Windows were open and the traffic stop-started along the busy main street. Just a block away from the Baron Hotel, veiled women walked a couple of paces behind their men.
