The Traveling Ridleys: Sunday Journal

After my father died (too early and too young) I found a list he’d made of things he wanted to do in his life. Many of them had been accomplished despite his untimely departure from this world. It seemed a good idea so I made one for myself.

Several will never happen. A 35 year old has different ambitions and desires than I have now. For instance, it’s unlikely I’ll go to Carnival in Rio or Jazz Fest in New Orleans (having been to Mardi Gras three times, I feel I’ve checked that box) and my marathoning days are over so I won’t run the Boston or New York ones. But. A couple of weeks ago, I did check one off the list. On our fifth trip to Herdade do Sobroso I tried something new. A hot air balloon ride at dawn.

We’ve been to several “wine hotels” in Portugal: one in the north in Vinho Verde country, one in Douro and three in Alentejo but Sobroso always feels like coming home.

Sobroso was the first wine hotel we visited when we arrived on New Year’s Day of 2020. We were immediately enchanted by the roaring fire in the sitting room off of the lobby, by the little crocks of seafood or wild boar rice that arrived at our table for dinner and by the charm of the hotel and its welcoming staff.

We’ve raved about it so much that this is the third trip, with my sister’s family, we’ve brought guests with us. And so, it was on this trip that we chose one of the activities we had yet to try: the hot air balloon.

We awoke with the sun to the chirping birds greeting the day and a stork soaring over the vineyards bringing food back to the baby storks in the nest on the property. The hotel had made us snack bags of orange juice, coffee cake and apples the night before and the jeep pulled up to collect us just as we were finishing the pre-ride snack. We could see the balloon already inflating across the road by the river.

We arrived at the field and were instructed on how to climb aboard and, once aboard, how to prepare for the landing. Our balloon pilot was a former Portuguese army man who has been running balloon rides for over 30 years.

As we climbed in the basket, we were all feeling a bit apprehensive and anxious but also excited. And not long after we were aloft. Ever so slowly, over so softly we glided upwards, higher and higher almost imperceptibly.

“Do you know where we will land?” we asked. “No” was the answer. “Wherever the wind takes us. Somewhere in Alentejo” (the region of Portugal we are in. It’s a big place).

The chase vehicle followed our path as we glided over olive groves, vineyards and cork fields and our pilot gave directions via mobile phone as to where the road lay below and how to catch up to us.

The sun was now risen and shining to our northeast over Alqueva Lake, the largest artificial lake in Europe and we rode down the banks of the Guadiana River making its way south to the ocean where Portugal meets Spain.

And then we were coming in for a landing. The hour or so ride had literally and figuratively flown by. Our pilot had selected a field near a line of grape vines but then the ever so slight wind down low was going in the opposite direction so we glided back across the vines and landed where two dirt vineyard roads intersect to the cheers of the laborers as they took a slight break from their backbreaking work of hoeing out weeds between the rows of vines.

And then, despite the fact that we landed just before 8am, it was time to celebrate. Our pilot told us that in Paris in 1783 when the first air balloon ride concluded they toasted the fact that they could fly and return to the ground alive. So out came the espumante (Portuguese champagne, not French) so we could toast the same.