It was 4:30am on a warm summer morning, and I was dead asleep in the guest room of my brother-in-law’s house, tucked along the quiet canals of Surfers Paradise. The city was still dark, the kind of hush that only exists before dawn, no traffic, no wind, just the hum of ceiling fans and the occasional splash from the water outside.

Then I heard it.

A deep, pulsing “whoosh” not mechanical, not thunder, but something familiar and powerful. It jolted me awake. For a split second, I thought I was dreaming. But then it came again.

Whooooosh.

That unmistakable sound: the fire burst from a hot air balloon.

Still groggy, I stumbled out of bed, walked through the open-plan kitchen, and stepped onto the balcony. The sky was just starting to shift inky blue softening into deep purple, the kind of morning that only Gold Coast summers can deliver. And then I looked up and froze.

A hot air balloon, enormous and glowing orange from within, was floating just metres from the high-rise buildings of Surfers Paradise.

It was surreal.

The balloon drifted so close to the apartments that I could see people standing on their balconies maybe wondering the same thing I was: “Is this going to be on tonight’s 6pm news?”

It wasn’t the usual wide-open paddocks west of the Hinterland. No, this was tight city airspace, surrounded by shimmering glass towers, power lines, rooftop pools. It looked like someone had lifted a postcard from the Gold Coast and dropped it right into a ballooning map and the balloon didn’t seem to mind one bit.

I ran inside, grabbed my camera, and rushed back. The fire flared again, a bloom of light against the predawn darkness and I caught it between the buildings, just as it illuminated the entire side of a high-rise. The reflections danced across the canal water below, and I stood there, barefoot, stunned, framing the perfect shot from a balcony I hadn’t planned to use that morning.

The balloon hovered a moment longer, then slowly began to drift inland, silhouetted against the waking skyline. The peace returned. A few boats gently rocked in the canal. The early light began to warm the rooftops.

And I just stood there, smiling.

It was one of those moments where you’re not sure if you’ve just witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime event or a secret morning ritual for a lucky few. Either way, I had the photos. And the story.

Because not every day starts with the thought:
“Am I about to witness a hot air balloon thread the needle between skyscrapers… or the lead story on the evening news?”

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Hot Air balloon Gold Coast