The street leading to Ajijic’s soccer field is already alive when I arrive. Smoke rises from food stalls where chorizo and bistec sizzle on flat-top grills. The brassy blast of banda music carries through loudspeakers, mixing with bursts of laughter and children’s squeals. And across the grass, local teams, each in their own matching T-shirts, scramble through last-minute fixes as they coax their delicate paper balloons into shape for the impending event.
A festival of fragility and resilience
Ajijic’s Balloon Regatta (Regata de Globos) began in the late 1950s when locals sent delicate paper balloons skyward as a prelude to Mexico’s Independence Day celebrations. Over the years, 13 teams formed, each made up of family members, neighbors and friends, all eager to outshine the others with daring designs and the sheer size of their creations.
Today, the event, which is free to attend, draws several thousand spectators each September to this Jalisco lakeside town.
Each balloon is crafted by hand — thin tissue paper sheets glued edge to edge, reinforced with a wooden ring, then fitted with a small diesel-soaked torch that heats the air inside for lift. A small balloon may take three hours to assemble. The largest demand weeks of late-night work.
Some balloons carry sponsorship banners, others bear sentimental messages ranging from “Lupe, would you marry me?” to “Goodbye, Paco. My heart always remembers you.”
Team Pera Loca: Three generations, one mission
In one corner of the field, one of these teams, Team Pera Loca (Crazy Pear), huddles around a golden triangle balloon with black tassels, a seam torn open along one side. Perched on a chair, Ricardo Orozco, 63, pinches the gap shut. He has lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for more than thirty years, but each September, he returns to Ajijic to help out his childhood team.
“This is life,” he tells me. “Where else do you see three generations making something so beautiful together?”
The team’s co-lead, Daniel Palma, 65, a local artist who runs Gecko Gallery Art Studio, has been building balloons since childhood.
“The creative process brings the entire family together,” he says, pointing at the small globos scattered across the grass. “The kids see us making balloons, and they want to be a part of it. They’ll make great art one day.”
When one balloon bursts into flames, no one sulks. They simply move on. Team Pera Loca plans to send seventeen balloons skyward before nightfall, each as vibrant and inventive as the last.
Triumphs and mishaps
Each balloon launch carries risk. A sudden gust can rip the paper apart, and a stray spark can reduce it to ash in seconds. Yet the uncertainty is part of the allure. For families in Ajijic, every balloon that rises feels like a celebration of resilience, of what hands and hearts can build together.
Team Sí Lupita readies the largest paper balloon this year. A 20-foot-tall yellow cartoon baby chick, its lashes painted long and black, teeters skyward to a chorus of cheers, only for its head to rip loose and tumble away. Groans ripple through the crowd. Nearby, a cactus balloon with googly eyes catches fire before clearing the ground. Spectators gasp, phones raised to capture the drama.
But there are also triumphs. Team El Rosario’s giant green-and-yellow star orb that took three weeks to make lurches upright, then soars smoothly into the sky. Its makers leap and shout with pride. The crowd roars its approval.
In these moments, the boundaries between locals, the numerous expats living in Ajijic and visitors from around Mexico blur. Strangers cheer as one, swept into the shared thrill of lift and flame.
A town in transition
Ajijic is best known as a haven for retirees from the U.S. and Canada, drawn by lake views and year-round sun. But the influx of foreigners with stronger currencies has driven up rents and property prices, pushing many local families out of town. Even so, the regatta endures.
These days, teams rely on sponsorships from local businesses to cover material costs while donations collected at the festival help fund next year’s launches. For many families, the globos are less about competition than community. Each balloon is an affirmation of belonging, a fragile way of holding fast to tradition despite the pressures of change.
As the sky darkens, Team Pera Loca launches its next balloon. It is a red cylindrical lantern glued from dozens of paper panels. The crowd hushes as the team’s flame takes hold. Slowly, the lantern wobbles, then rights itself. A cheer erupts as it steadies and rises.
I follow its glowing body against the evening sky — fragile, flickering yet resolute. This whimsical festival reaches beyond spectacle. It reminds us that beauty is brief, yet resilience can carry us higher than we ever expect.
Ivy Ge writes about identity, resilience, and reinvention in essays, novels, and screenplays. She holds degrees in business, engineering, and pharmacy. See more at ivyge.com.
