Ixtapan is a quiet town with set rhythms and customs. I love it here, but don’t come expecting anything innovative or exciting.
Well, I was wrong. This weekend the town hosted a three-day Balloon Festival. When I first heard about it, I pictured hot-air balloons drifting peacefully over the countryside. The only puzzling part was that the festivities began after dark. Nighttime hot-air ballooning?
Turns out I had the wrong kind of balloon entirely.
These balloons fly without passengers, or anyone controlling them. They range from little cubes about 18 inches across to enormous creations many feet tall. The smaller ones are for sale, and include everything needed to send the balloons soaring.
So many people set them off that at times the sky was filled with what looked like orange stars and constellations. It was magical.
It was also, I gradually realized, fire floating through the sky.
The larger balloons required a team of handlers. The wind shifted often and made it difficult to wrangle the balloons into position before setting them free. Once free, there is no way to control their flight path. Most took off and gained altitude without incident, but one got tangled in the trees. We all anxiously watched, hoping they wouldn’t start a forest fire. Fortunately, it burned itself out before doing any damage.
The smaller balloons were another matter. Quite a few failed to achieve their intended trajectory and came crashing back into the crowd, sending sparks flying. This is not an event that could ever take place in the states; the number of lawsuits from people who got burned would be staggering.
Throughout the festival music was playing at high volume from a stage at one end of the field. The crowd loved it and was singing along raucously, seemingly unfazed by the occasional flaming object descending to earth.
So sleepy Ixtapan isn’t so sleepy after all. I experienced what will be for me, a once in a lifetime experience. But the possibility of going home with a burn scar isn’t my idea of a great souvenir.