Posted by Elizabeth

Bhutan may have their Gross National Happiness policy, but Albuquerque has Mass Happiness, the theme of this year’s Balloon Fiesta.  For those uninitiated, Albuquerque plays host to the world’s largest hot air balloon festival each October, turning our otherwise laid-back city into a complete and utter madhouse.  Don’t get me wrong:  it’s often a really fun and festive madhouse, but it’s a madhouse nonetheless.  Tourists from all over the world walk around town with their heads turned skyward, gawking at the hundreds of colorful balloons filling the sky, while simultaneously running into lamp posts and getting into car accidents on the freeway.  Restaurants are stuffed to the gills with unsuspecting East Coasters trying their first flaming bites of piquant red chile.  And everyone is transformed into kids again as balloons shaped like cows, witches, and alien heads float over the city, causing otherwise rational adults to erupt into spontaneous fits of shrieking and clapping.

Maikael, Me, Sarah, Jake, and Greg on the field during Mass Ascension

It’s also the time of year when your friends come from out-of-town to take in this carnival-like atmosphere, and this year my dear friend, Sarah, her husband, Greg, and her toddler son, Jake, paid us a visit from Seattle.  We roused ourselves awake at 4:30 am last Saturday morning, hoping to beat the traffic into Balloon Fiesta Park, where the morning’s events were to kick off at 7:00 am.  Although the Park is only 15 minutes from our house, we inched ourselves forward through an hour and a half of traffic as we slurped giant cups of coffee, barely making it into the park on time.  But all of that waiting was forgotten in minutes, as we roamed the gigantic field and found ourselves squarely in the middle of Mass Ascension, an event where hundreds of balloons – anywhere between 600 and 1,000 – take flight in rapid-fire succession over a two-hour period.  Everywhere you turn a balloon is going up, the sky a sea of balloons bobbing in a box pattern.  “Look at that one!  Oh wait – look at that one!” was our mantra over the course of the morning, as we spun in 360 degree circles and watched the ever-changing landscape.  We were massively happy.

Festival-goers are allowed to get within feet of the balloons, observing the surprisingly speedy process of inflating the giant globes, and we watched in rapt attention as Humpty Dumpty was brought to life, a cadre of little girls weaving through the crowd to pass out “playing cards” that listed Humpty’s stats.  “Zebras,” men and women dressed in black and white, the referees of the ballooning world, coordinate each and every launch.  For living in such a disorganized place, the event runs like a well-oiled machine.  Although it was only 10:00 am we were completely exhausted, and after breakfast we headed home to take a nap before our evening activity, a trip up the Sandia Mountains on one of the world’s longest aerial trams, to take in sunset followed by dinner at the top.

The face of Mass Unhappiness

We were advised to arrive at 5:30 pm in order to make our 6:30 pm dinner reservation.  Assuming those with restaurant reservations would be sent to the front of the line, bypassing those just on the way up for a look at the mountains, I sent Maikael ahead to procure our tickets.  He returned quickly – too quickly.  “We have to wait in line with everyone else,” he informed us.  Just then, a tram employee approached, advising us that the wait time was 40 minutes, and that we’d certainly make our reservation on time.  I shifted from foot to foot in my cute-but-not-very-comfortable Argentine boots, wondering out loud what sort of a Mickey Mouse operation this was.  We called the restaurant to advise them that we might be late.  We sighed a lot.  The couple in front of us kept turning around to steal glances our way, pretending to look at little Jake, but I could see what was happening.  I was turning into that person, the one who tries desperately to control her environment, who complains incessantly when things don’t go according to plan, who tries to manufacture the situation to her whims.  I was The Line Shrew (every line has one), and as much as I hate standing behind this person, it’s even worse to be that person.  I thought about leaving then and there, but this was my plan.  This was where I was supposed to be this evening.  But two hours later, after sunset had come and gone, after Jake had played 27 innings of imaginary baseball, we still hadn’t reached the front of the line to get on the tram.  We were massively unhappy.

As we neared the gift shop, we spotted a pin that summed up the evening and made us laugh – the first thing that had made us laugh all evening.  “I Survived the Sandia Tram,” it said.  Sarah immediately dashed in to buy it.  We rode the tram in complete darkness, laughing as the operator tried to point out the mountain views.  We laughed ruefully when we got to the top and were informed that it would be a 30-minute wait for our reservation.  We shook our heads and laughed when the bartender told us he didn’t serve drinks.  And when we were finally seated three hours after our ordeal began, we laughed when the waiter asked us, only half-jokingly, “Where’ve you guys been?”  After that we drank a very nice bottle of shiraz and laughed some more.

I learned something about happiness and living life in pencil.  It can be fickle and elusive.  Sometimes you need to make the most of a situation, and sometimes you just need to ditch the situation altogether.  Sometimes the wait is worth it, and sometimes it isn’t.  Sometimes disorganization is exciting and well-managed, and sometimes it’s just pure, unadulterated pandemonium.  The problem is, you don’t know which is which going into the situation.  So sometimes laughter is the only thing that will save you — that, and eating meals planted firmly on terra firma.