Great Balls of Fire, Taunggyi

Up in the northeastern mountains of Burma a strange and wonderful scene unfolds during the week leading up to November's full moon. Part music festival, part theme park for adults, circus freak-show with a dabble of Coachella flourishes, Boston's 94.5FM and third-world disorganisation thrown in, this fire-balloon festival turned out to be so, so much more than just a balloon party.

Psychadelic circus

We were immediately lured by pounding  music to the Grand Royal Whisky arena. The three foreigners instantly acquired VIP status; festival news agencies flashed their bulbs and encouraged us to pose with costumed super heroes on the podium, shot after shot with Spiderman, Mr Mime, and the Power Rangers. It was completely absurd.

I will attempt to do justice to the character that stood in front of us- a drawn-faced, lithely and muscular Asian man in full karate gear, with a long glossy braid and intense expression emanating from his beady eyes. It's important to add that prior to his show, on the main screen was aired a video on human trafficking which would have been sombre in nature had it not been for the blaring electronic and hip-hop soundtrack and completely drunk Burmese locals - mostly men, myself being one of the rare females - jumping about for joy, knocking each other over in pure ecstasy and screaming at the top of their voices as if electro was the best thing since sliced bread.

Fiesta Loca

Right after this emotional video, Mr. Ninja brings out a half naked six year-old girl on stage, blindfolds her, lays her down, and proceeds to slice bananas and cucumbers off her naked chest, neck and head with his sword. The irony of the situation seemed to be lost on everyone but ourselves. Judging by the wild cheers, apparently this was an astounding feat that the jubilant crowd couldn't get enough of. Before one slicing-chop-sequence, he turned his back to the audience and for a good 30 seconds swirled his shoulderblade muscles to the crowd, spinning them about in circles, grunting and clenching his teeth with a constipated expression... The man was evidently in love with himself. His final feat was perhaps the most comic of all- he took a thin pole and used his robust chest to push it through a 'hard' piece of wood, in most likelihood a soggy palm tree. With his back to the audience he flexed, howled, grunted and moaned as he miraculously pushed the stick through to the other side, and then turned towards his aide for a few seconds as if she were tending to his wounds. He then spun around, emitted another neanderthal guttural cry, attendants with microphone at the ready, and displayed the fresh blood (ahem) dripping down his chest. The crowd went mad.

Chopping a banana off a girl's head. Casual.

Before the night's balloon performance had gotten into full swing however, the child inside of me was drawn irrevocably to the amusement park. First I boarded the pirate ship ride, which was powered not as much by mechanics as it was by the fashionably attired Gangnam-style aides who would swing it from side to side and then leap on it themselves when it was at full speed. Next up was the spinning blur of the ferris wheel, spiralling at a rate that must have been dangerous for its creaky knobs and ancient machinery; its attendants started the ride by ascending the horizontal slats like prowling monkeys, slinking up seamlessly in one smooth line, and then hanging on to the top compartments to get the initial forward momentum going (inside one of these, a Chinese woman looked extremely apprehensive about all the extra weight being added on to her already unreliable carriage). There were also dart challenges, larger-than-life teddy bears hanging macabrely by their necks, gambling games, a plethora of food stands, and much more to keep you entertained for hours.

LED ferris wheel

However, it was now time to witness from start to finish my first balloon lift-off. Somehow we had luckily ended up right in the sidelines of the next balloon run and caught a glimpse of the layered square box inside which were placed multiple rows of fireworks. This large box would then be lifted and carried across to the main balloon, which in the meantime would have been inflated by ignited fire wicks; the firework box would then be mounted underneath the floating balloon. This entire process took place under extremely chaotic conditions, with a barrier of humans linked by their hands preventing the pressing crowd from closing in and everyone shouting and jostling for space and their piece of the action. Then, once the balloon was deemed ready for take-off, a runway would be cleared on the hill and the men would sprint down with the balloon and send it up into the air, lighting the firework fuse at the very last minute. The joyous hordes below (numbering in the hundreds of thousands) would cheer in pure delight at a plan well executed.

Uncovering the firework box

Lifting the balloon...

Attaching the box...

Aaaand its off!!

For the next balloon, we really got to see the process up close as we managed to befriend one of the human tape attendants; I was now one of the twenty or so people holding up the edges of the tarp. Suddenly, we found ourselves right in the thick of the action, and it was apparent even to an inexperienced onlooker such as myself that this particular balloon was a lot more frantically and hazardously organized than the previous ones (a conclusion not unaffected by the fact that many of the men who had been tribally dancing in the clanging stampede were now the ones firing up the balloon).

 The balloon we helped to hoist into the air

Almost there, but...

The inevitable happened. The precarious conception of this unfortunate balloon, coupled with its birth defect of a torn right side and overanxious midwives, led to its untimely demise. The fireworks, probably already miscalculated before having been attached, took off the moment the balloon had begun lifting off the ground. To anyone who has not been in this situation, let me tell you that when a hundred fireworks destined for an empty sky take off around seven meters in front of you, its terrifying. It was fight or flight and I ran away as if my life depended on it, whilst scattering shards of fire landed all around me; I jumped behind a crowd of people who were already lying low on the ground, leaping over them into that dropping roll you learned once in a high-school fire drill, and looked back at the scene unfolding across the dirt plain.

Up in flames

Burning away

The balloon had somehow continued on its shaky burning path and had suddenly burst into massive flames. It began tumbling down, straight behind the generals' tent where we had been standing not an hour before, and fell onto the unfortunate shack of a local restaurant. Firetrucks and ambulances zoomed to the scene as the carcass, a bare skeleton of what could have been a noble soaring balloon, cindered away, its flames pirouetting in a dying dance. And then, of course, ten minutes later the next balloon was on its way. So is the way in Burma.

Et ça continue.