When I first moved to Melbourne I lived in on the top floor of an apartment building in Collingwood. The location was enviable with some of my favourite places to eat and drink in Melbourne at my doorstep. I even had a 7/11 on one corner and a kebab shop on the other for all my late night, drungry needs (a new term for drunk/hungry I am coining, it even sounds like you’re inebriated when you say it).
I’ve since moved a suburb away and while I’m not able to meander down to Sonsa Foods for their dolmas and salted chickpeas on a near daily basis, I’m relieved to have moved a couple of floors down.
Living on the fourth floor had its drawbacks – lots of stairs and temperature wise was fabbo in winter but hot as hell in summer. I spent mornings baking under the sun’s glare through my wall-sized window, rotating every few minutes to ensure an even tan.
What I wasn’t expecting was having my sleep disturbed by hot air balloons.
There’s little else more confusing or terrifying than to be woken at 6am by a loud roaring noise outside your window. Groggy and disoriented you lift your blinds to be face-to-face with a basket load of tourists waving and snapping their cameras at you. On one particular morning they were so close I could read the labels on their jackets.
The photo below was taken after I’d had time to yell, tangle and untangle in my sheets, grab my phone and take a picture of the balloon drifting away.
My building was one of the points hot air balloons tours pass over while travelling over the city. Grumpiness about being photographed and woken at 6am aside, seeing balloons float over the city from our windows made for some very scenic city-scapes.
Moving closer to the ground my days of being woken by hot air balloons are thankfully long gone. My view might not be as impressive, but it’s a helluva lot quieter.