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There is a new company in operation in Bagan since I was last here, operating balloon flights over the monuments and I was fortunate to be introduced to Brett, the owner, just after my arrival down in Yangon. “Sure” he said, “you must come for a flight”.

Well, I tell you what, I don’t need asking twice. First available opportunity that my schedule allowed, I fixed it up with Jackie, the pilot (as an interesting note I heard that they had to get special permission to allow a woman to fly over the top of the pagodas – women especially are not supposed to have their heads higher than that of the Buddha. Personally I figure that it must be ok if she flies barefoot, it’s a Buddhist thing…!). She asked if I could find my own way out to their house in the morning as the other passengers they had to collect were at a hotel at the far end of town. So no matter - 5am found me weaving around the streets of Nyaung U (village by Bagan) on the Hardly, through all sorts of detritus that had appeared on the road – sleeping dogs, bricks, and pieces of furniture, all the while clutching a small hand drawn map in my fist and trying very hard to read it by the occasional street lamp without crashing into it or anything else.

Totally unconvinced that I was on the right road I nearly ran 3 people over in the darkness, but that was ok, it was Jackie and two of her staff out looking for me as I was 15 minutes late. Trust me, in Myanmar that’s still regarded as on time, but I guess they had a schedule to keep what with the sun due to come up and all….. Without further ado we all piled into a huge truck, and bounced down various heavily rutted dirt tracks until we arrived at the day’s appointed launch site. A couple of weather balloons were set off which just spun upwards, so I took it that everything was ok. Having been given the nod, the crew dropped open the back of the truck and from within it hauled out a huge wicker basket, propane tanks and a vast bundle of red silk. They pulled this carefully out across the ground, and within minutes the basket and burners were set up, attached and ready.

With a muted roar a tongue of flame at least 15 feet long blazed out and was directed towards the aperture of silk the crew had created by holding the bottom of the balloon open. The silk billowed at first like a sail in uncertain wind, but within moments it was filling and taking definition, the visible surface of the fabric starting to expand and rise. Against the still dark sky the flame glowed brightly through the red silk, a pulsing, living colour.

A knot of curious villagers had gathered to witness the spectacle, wrinkly old men with cheroots clamped in their betel-stained teeth, squatting and bundled up against the chill, and one small child, her face streaked with dust and snot stood wide-eyed while the small puppy she carried dangled uncomplainingly from her grasp tight around its neck.

As the balloon and basket righted themselves the other passengers arrived and with them the light of the pre-dawn started spilling into the sky, the inky blackness fading to hues of indigo. For the first time we were able to see the small stupas and pagodas that surrounded the clearing around us, built of ornately decorated but crumbling orange brickwork.

Having been intent on watching the set-up process I now barely had time to scald my lips on a cup of coffee before we were asked to climb aboard. With the safety briefing given and landing position demonstrated respectively we took off. There was no sudden leap upwards, just a whooshing sound from the burners overhead, a slight scraping across the dirt and then nothing at all as we gently slipped away from the earth. So slowly at first that it was hard to perceive we were moving, at least until you looked down and saw the ground sliding silently by below.

The silence was once again punctuated by a belch of flame from above, it’s reflected heat quite welcome in the chill of the early morning. And so we started to rise. Within moments we could look back to where we had been stood on the ground, beside a cluster of bamboo houses and shrubbery veiled by morning mist. Further away the wide expanse of the river snaked to the horizon, looking implacably flat and still, and in this light the lustrous colour of the inside of an oyster shell.

Below us and all around as far as we could see, the temples, pagodas, monasteries, stupas of Bagan, numbering in their thousands, from the massive bulk of the Dhamma-yan-gyi, to the lofty and ornate spires of the That-byin-nyu and the shining golden dome of the Shwezigon, to stupas so small that they are identified only by number. To each horizon, a vast plain given over to religious devotion, hemmed in by the river and mountains on two sides.

Alternating between heights of several hundreds of feet and just a few, we drifted across this stunning landscape, all the while making Mssrs. Kodak & Fuji very happy men. Everywhere we passed, people looked up and paused in their activity to watch our passage through the sky.

To the East the horizon grew bright, and suddenly a spectacular dawn was upon us. As the first tiny spot of sunlight edged into view the entire panorama was transformed, and looking West the light upon the pagodas made them glow with colour and warmth. Impossibly long shadows were instantly cast across plowed fields, our view suddenly a plateau of stripes, light and dark, punctuated only by the scattered monuments. Looking back into the sun, the bell shapes and spires of these ancient temples were thrown into sharp relief, silhouetted against the rapidly brightening sky. Mist continued to linger in pockets below, adding to the ethereal atmosphere as streaks of sunshine filtered through groves of palm trees. To the far distance, the golden stupa of Mt. Popa became visible for the first time.

We flew on, around, over the pagodas, mesmerized by the view, the chase crew rattling along somewhere below us, and with Jackie making frequent checks to her GPS compass and to the hand-held radio tuned in to air traffic control at Nyaung U – mindful that the early morning flight from Yangon not be coming in ahead of schedule (not very likely in Myanmar, all things considered, but better safe than sorry).

Awed by this amazing spectacle suddenly we were coming in to land. Which was the probably the gentlest landing of any commercial aircraft that I have traveled upon. Not bad when you consider that all the others had the benefit of wheels. And a glass or two of champagne is probably one of the better ways to overcome the disappointment of the flight being over, although doing so before breakfast and then heading back to work is perhaps not such a good idea!