A festival of light in a time of darkness
In Taunggyi, a city on the Shan Plateau, animal shaped hot air balloons rose into a clear evening sky while Myanmar’s civil war pressed on beyond the hills. Teams of craftsmen fed fire into paper giants shaped like goats, hippos, ducks and birds. A roar went up from the stands as fireworks cascaded beneath the drifting envelopes and painted brief constellations over the city stadium. The spectacle is part of Tazaungdaing, Myanmar’s annual festival of lights, and for many residents it is a rare chance to breathe and feel normal in a country still reeling from the 2021 military takeover.
The celebration did not carry the carefree abandon of earlier years, according to people who attend every season. Crowds were large, but many described a restrained mood. Conversations stayed focused on teams, designs and timing. Politics stayed outside the gates. That separation, attendees said, is how the tradition survives in a period when so much else has been upended.
Tazaungdaing falls on the full moon of Tazaungmon, usually in November, at the end of the rainy season. Across Myanmar, families light candles, offer alms at pagodas, and in some regions weave a special monk’s robe overnight for donation the next morning. Taunggyi has added a spectacular twist over generations. Local groups build large paper balloons and ingeniously mounted racks of fireworks, then compete for precision, artistry and aerial choreography. It is at once a religious holiday, a community fair and a rigorous test of skill.
The event has grown from a neighborhood affair to a national attraction. It brings in visitors from other parts of Shan State and beyond. For locals, the festival is a point of pride, a showcase for craft, and a reminder that life in the city carries on.
Taunggyi keeps the custom alive
People who have attended for decades say they return for the same reasons they did as children. They come to see teams set their lanterns alight, follow a favorite crew, and trade stories about last year’s daring displays. The contests have categories for shape, size and firework programming. A panel checks build quality, lift, stability and how closely the pyrotechnics match the planned pattern. The format is familiar. The feeling, some say, has changed.
Local resident and repeat attendee Myo Ko, 30, described the shift in mood and why he still shows up.
“Frankly speaking, we felt happier in the past. There were no politics. That kind of feeling is the best. All our ethnic brothers used to take part freely and happily. I want to get those times back.”
Another Taunggyi resident, Di Lone, 50, said he draws a line between national turmoil and a beloved tradition he has cherished since childhood.
“Politics is politics. Festival is festival. We keep them separate. It’s not related.”
Crowds remain thick. Stands fill early and streets around the launching grounds turn into a moving river of people. Many who remember the festival from the 1990s and 2000s say it is as packed as ever, even if the cheers feel a little more measured than before.
War close by, celebration in city limits
Shan State has seen fresh battles since mid 2024 as ethnic armed alliances and resistance forces pushed along trade routes toward the Chinese border. Checkpoints, road closures and shifting front lines are part of daily life in parts of the region. Taunggyi sits away from most of the fighting, but no city in Myanmar is untouched by the conflict’s ripple effects. Families worry about conscription. Prices for fuel and goods have climbed. Communication blackouts are common during security operations. The decision to keep a cultural event alive is both a practical and symbolic choice.
Independent monitors estimate that the death toll across the country since the 2021 coup has climbed well beyond tens of thousands. The Armed Conflict Location and Event Data Project (ACLED) places the figure at more than 85,000 killed on all sides, a number that continues to rise as clashes and air strikes persist. Many communities have been displaced, and civil society groups say humanitarian needs are acute in both urban and rural areas.
The military authorities have promoted elections scheduled to start in December as a route to political reconciliation. Many citizens, including those in Taunggyi, are cautious and keep their focus on family, work and local rituals. At the festival, that instinct translates into a shared agreement to celebrate safely and leave arguments for another day.
Why people keep coming
Ritual provides structure in times of stress. The festival gives residents a plan for the week: clean shrines, prepare offerings, gather with friends, and in the evening watch teams try to master fire and wind. Parents bring children to pass the custom forward. Vendors set up stalls that double as social hubs. The result is a pocket of predictability that helps people cope with a war that often feels unpredictable.
Security and safety concerns
The Taunggyi balloon nights are dazzling, but they carry risk. At times in past years, accidents have occurred when a balloon failed to gain height or a rack of fireworks ignited prematurely. Teams now try to mitigate danger with better staging, more distance between spectators and launch zones, and stricter refereeing. Organizers warn visitors to respect barriers and to follow the marshals’ directions during launch windows.
Conflict has created new hazards beyond the stadium. Human rights groups warn that public gatherings across Myanmar can be exposed to air attacks. In October, Amnesty International described a deadly strike during a peaceful vigil in Sagaing Region. Witnesses said small aircraft with powered paragliders dropped explosives on a crowd, killing more than 20 civilians, including children, and injuring many others. The group called the tactic a worrying evolution that puts people at risk even far from front lines.
Amnesty International said: “The use of motorized paragliders to kill civilians is a disturbing trend documented in the region.”
Residents in Taunggyi are alert to these dangers. People look for exits, hold children close, and keep phones charged to coordinate if there is a scare. Organizers coordinate with local authorities and medical volunteers. The goal is to give the city a safe space to honor a seasonal tradition while recognizing that the situation outside remains fragile.
Inside the craft of the balloons
Each competing balloon begins as a careful plan. Crews build a lightweight frame from bamboo and reinforce seams with strong paper and paste. A ring near the mouth holds a burner tray where candles or a charcoal pan provides the lift. The shape is assembled from dozens of paper panels that must be both thin and precisely cut. Humidity, temperature and wind are factors. A skilled team reads the night air, tilts the mouth to feed the flame and keeps stress off the seams during inflation.
Designers choose between classic cylinders, ornate animal figures and elaborate temple shapes. They decorate with dyed paper, stenciled motifs and sometimes lanterns that dangle from the frame. The largest creations move slowly and demand careful handling. Smaller balloons can be nimble and gain height quickly. Every team has a philosophy about balance. A balloon that is too heavy will struggle. One that is too light can drift unpredictably.
How the judging works
Referees score the ascent, the stability of the envelope, and the timing and form of the fireworks. The most coveted prize usually goes to a balloon that climbs cleanly, keeps a steady posture and then sets off a sequence of aerial bursts that bloom in patterns. Crews plan the order of rockets to draw shapes in the sky. This is where Taunggyi’s show sets itself apart. The pyrotechnics are not an afterthought. They are the heart of the program.
Teams spend months fundraising and refining their builds. Some draw backing from local businesses that provide paper, fuel or prizes. Longtime attendees say they have seen more corporate branding around the grounds in recent years. Many welcome the support because it keeps workshops running and offsets higher costs. Others miss the tighter sense of neighborhood camaraderie that defined the event when budgets were smaller and teams leaned more on family networks.
Economy and tourism during conflict
For hotels, guesthouses and food sellers, festival week is a critical boost. Lines form at noodle stalls, vendors sell snacks near the launch field, and drivers shuttle visitors from nearby towns. Even with checkpoints on some roads and curfews in certain areas, Taunggyi sees a bump in trade as people converge on the city. That commerce helps small businesses ride out a hard year.
Higher costs and less predictable supply chains present real challenges. Imported fireworks, fuel, paper and bamboo can be difficult to source. Experienced makers say they adjust designs to suit what is available. That might mean smaller balloons or a focus on precision rather than sheer size. The crowds, however, do not seem to mind. Many come for the atmosphere as much as the feats of engineering.
Attendees also note how sponsorship and advertising have changed the feel of the grounds. Local resident Myo Ko observed more visible corporate support and worried that some of the easy camaraderie of the past has faded. At the same time, people acknowledge that sponsorship helps keep the show alive in lean times. The balance between tradition and funding is yet another thing organizers manage behind the scenes.
Culture across ethnic lines
Shan State is home to many communities, including Shan, Bamar, Pa-O, Intha and others. In better years, the festival brought them together with teams and spectators from across the region. That is why some residents speak of missing a spirit of easy mixing. They want to see everyone take part freely again. The phrase “all our ethnic brothers” reflects a yearning for shared space in a country fragmented by conflict.
Even in this fractured period, cultural rituals still travel beyond Taunggyi. People share clips of launches on phones with relatives in other towns and with family abroad. Diaspora groups post photos and look for the crew they grew up cheering. The imagery resonates because it captures something stable, a familiar glow of candles and the quiet moment before a balloon lets go of the earth. That continuity is what keeps so many returning to the hillside city each year, even while news from nearby districts remains heavy.
What to Know
- Tazaungdaing in Taunggyi features animal and temple shaped hot air balloons with choreographed fireworks.
- Attendees describe large crowds and a more restrained mood, with politics kept outside the gates.
- Shan State has seen renewed fighting since mid 2024 along trade routes to China.
- Independent monitors at ACLED estimate more than 85,000 people have been killed nationwide since the 2021 coup.
- Amnesty International reported a deadly October attack on a vigil in Sagaing Region using motorized paragliders, warning of growing risks to civilians at public gatherings.
- Organizers in Taunggyi emphasize safety with controlled launch zones and marshals, though accidents have occurred in past years.
- Teams craft balloons from paper and bamboo, using candles or charcoal for lift, and are judged on ascent, stability and fireworks timing.
- Vendors and local businesses rely on festival week for crucial income, while rising costs and supply hurdles shape what teams can build.
- The military authorities have promoted elections scheduled to start in December, while many citizens focus on daily life and cultural rituals.
- Residents say they want the festival to remain a shared space for all communities, even as conflict continues elsewhere.
