Travelling alone feels very different. You can follow your mood, change your plans on a whim, and spend time doing things that might not interest anyone else. A few years ago, during a solo trip to Australia, I made the most of this freedom. I visited Perth, Mandurah, Bendigo and Melbourne, travelled by trams, local trains and regional trains, watched dance performances and theatre shows, and even caught a Hebrew film. I photographed dolphins and seals, black swans gliding across the water, kangaroos, koalas and many other animals. There was plenty to remember, but one morning stands out from the rest: the morning I took a ride in a hot-air balloon.

We started at dawn, in the half-light of early morning. As the balloon rose, the ground seemed to move away slowly beneath us. The treetops came into view, the eucalyptus trees spreading their branches like a vast green canopy. The morning air felt cool, and the landscape stretched into the distance, still wrapped in the soft light of daybreak. Every now and then, the burner roared, sending a burst of heat into the balloon. Then the quiet returned, broken only by the occasional roar of the burner and the voices of those sharing the ride.

I looked down at the trees and the open land below, surprised by how still everything seemed from that height. There were no traffic noises, no crowds, no familiar rush of a city waking up. The balloon drifted gently, the view kept changing. We were moving, the wind was carrying us through a dream. I was conscious of how high above the ground I was, yet in no hurry to come down, busy clicking photographs like mad.

Photos and text by Prerna Jain.