When we finally passed our exams and proudly held our hot air balloon pilot licenses, it felt almost like graduation. Diploma in hand, cap in the air… but now what? We looked at each other and asked: “So, shoemaker, where are the shoes?” Because let’s be honest – a pilot without a balloon is like a shoemaker without shoes. You can talk about leather and laces all day, but you’ve got nothing to show for it.
At that moment, getting a balloon felt about as likely as winning the lottery. It’s not like you can just walk into a store and say: “One balloon with a trailer, please.” Or put it on a 24-month lease. No. A balloon is somewhere between a ship and a family member – each with its own story, its own karma. You don’t simply “buy one off the shelf.”
And yet – suddenly, there it was. Our very first hot air balloon.
The moment we saw its colors – blue, black, and white – the name was obvious: “The Estonian.” Not exactly the Estonian flag, but close enough to make it undeniable. The irony? The balloon actually came to us from Lithuania. So, in true “Greek family” fashion… or rather, Baltic family style: one gives the colors, another the balloon, and the third gives the name.
The First Basket – and a Kids’ Hideout
Along with “The Estonian” came our very first basket. That winter, it lived in our living room, where we polished and cleaned it. The kids turned it into their headquarters – they slept in it like a nest and played “flights” for hours. To be fair, baskets really do have a kind of magic – once you step inside, everyone feels a little more like a child again.
Of course, our first equipment was used, with plenty of mileage and scratches, but to us it was part of the family. Not dearer than our kids (let’s make that clear 😅), but definitely next in line.
Not all of them are ours, half, and still one missing.
Our First Flights with “The Estonian”
With “The Estonian,” we made our very first countless flights. Mornings, evenings, friends, relatives, neighbors – everyone got at least two rides, because we had to log hours and build experience.
Naturally, our kids were the first passengers – sometimes thrilled, sometimes giving us “do we really have to?” faces. But no worries, no force involved!
Then came the big step: we were ready for real passengers. Only… where were they? Sure, word of mouth worked, Instagram helped, but we needed more. And then one evening – the idea: why not Estonia?
Morning fligh, fog and first rays of sun.
How We Ended Up in Estonia
It made perfect sense. Estonia was closer to us than some parts of Latvia, and our balloon practically pointed us there. From the moment we decided, to the first official passengers in Estonia, it took maybe two weeks. And then the ball really started rolling.
Flying in Estonia was like starting at a new school after middle school graduation. New language, new faces, new rules. Our first flights were with sweaty palms and shaky knees. But that’s how you grow up – straight into the adult world, elevator style.
And Estonia had its quirks: airports in every city, radio chatter with air traffic control right from the first flight, vast forests and wetlands that rival our biggest reserves back home. Today, flying over Tartu airport feels easy. Back then, it was space travel.
Thats how many forests are in Estonia. Everywhere you look.
What Estonia Has Given Us
More than anything – people and stories.
We now have friends in every city, local agents who help us, families who open their homes. Sometimes a field freshly mown just for us, right at the edge of town, ready for takeoff.
We’ve heard stories of student years in Tartu, seen childhood homes from above, learned about local history and legends, about the Respo factory, and even Estonia’s biggest cucumber greenhouses.
And here’s one mystery: every Estonian knows how to say “saldējums” (ice cream in Latvian). But no one can explain why. 🤷♀️
Above Tartu, Estonia. All serious.
Closing the First Chapter
The best stories were born in Estonia – all in less than two years. Today, “The Estonian” is retired, but we, with two hot air balloons and a caravan, still hit the road on ballooning trips to Estonia.
And honestly – it still feels like a fairy tale. But it isn’t. It’s our real life, the one that literally went up in the air.
On the road to next adventure. This time in France.
Coming up next: our return to France, to that very same meadow in Chambley where we once only dreamed. This time, as pilots ourselves. And yes – with a baby in the basket. 🚀
