Day 2: Hot-Air Balloon Ride over Teotihuacán

Neighborhood/Area: Teotihuacán Valley, suburban Ciudad de México, México.

We met our van before dawn at the Ángel de la Independencia, where the city still glowed in sleepy gold and headlights. The boys were bundled up and yawning. It was too early for any coffee shop so no clutching coffee cups like life preservers. By 4:30 a.m. we were bumping our way out of Mexico City on a bus that had clearly never met a shock absorber. Forty-five minutes, a dozen potholes, and one caffeine-deprived growl later, we arrived at a dark open field outside Teotihuacán—the launch site.

Coffee and cookies were waiting for us in a little tent. The cookies were sweet, crumbly, and just what my grumpy morning self needed. Around us, crews were already unfurling massive swaths of nylon on the ground. When the fans kicked in, the balloons began to swell and sway, coming to life under the first hints of dawn.

Our group—twelve in total—was assigned to a cheerful yellow balloon with a huge smiley face. Getting into the basket was its own comedy sketch. Picture the Three Stooges trying to climb a fence after leg day. The basket came up to my chest, and there were two little footholds cut into the side. I flopped, kicked, and finally tumbled in with help from everyone. Chris managed more gracefully, of course.

The pilot fired up the burners, roaring flames into the balloon, and suddenly we were rising—smoothly, silently, breathtakingly—just as the sun began to crest over the mountains. Below us, the valley stretched out in soft mist, and all around, dozens of other balloons lifted off like giant lanterns. Reds, blues, yellows—whole constellations of color drifting above the pyramids of Teotihuacán.

I’ll admit it: it was emotional. There was a quiet awe that settled over everyone. No chatter, no phones for a moment—just the sound of the burners and the wind. At 7,000 feet, with the city far behind and the sun warming our faces, it felt like time paused.

Our pilot took us to about 9,000 feet—roughly 1,000 feet above the valley floor—before descending toward the fields below. Chase vans were racing through dirt roads trying to predict our landing spot. Somehow, he managed to set us down directly onto the trailer hitched to the van, like a pro.

Getting out was much easier than getting in – for you balloon basket novices.

From there we were driven to a small village nearby for a hearty buffet breakfast. Tacos, enchiladas, tortillas, and every kind of salsa you could imagine. The air smelled of corn masa and roasted peppers. After breakfast came the tequila tasting—five or six different styles that turned “just one sip” into “well, we’re on vacation.”

By the time we made it back into the city, the traffic was thick, the adrenaline had faded, and we were happily exhausted. Jerry had skipped the early adventure, choosing a quiet morning exploring Condesa’s cafés instead, which sounded downright civilized by that point.

It was worth every minute of lost sleep. Watching the sun rise over Teotihuacán from a hot-air balloon is something I’ll never forget.

“El cielo no tiene límites.”

“The sky has no limits.”