A curated monthly dose of lifestyle, culture, and rhythm from San Miguel de Allende.
Paper stars, holy fire and an archangel’s battle before dawn. How to experience San Miguel’s wildest night, properly.
Photography by @ah_lovestories
To the uninitiated, one of San Miguel’s biggest traditions begins at an absurd hour: around 3 a.m., when the streets are dark, the bells are quiet, and the city starts filling with fireworks.
La Alborada is, in essence, a pre-dawn battle between good and evil, with San Miguel Arcángel on one side and Lucifer on the other. The weapons are cohetes, the battlefield is the Jardín, and if you are brave enough, you can stand right in the middle of it.
But there is more to the night than the explosions. La Alborada is a religious offering, a centuries-old tradition, a neighborhood procession and, frankly, one of the most spectacular ways to experience San Miguel after dark.
Here is how to do it properly.
La Alborada honors San Miguel Arcángel, the city’s patron saint, by reenacting his battle with Lucifer in the sky above the Parroquia. For a little more than an hour, rockets fly, bombs burst, and the Jardín fills with smoke, sparks, bells and people running, ducking and laughing.
The noise is the prayer. Every cohete is a lance thrown for the archangel.
The word alborada itself carries three meanings in Spanish: the hour of dawn, music played at daybreak to honor someone, and an attack launched at first light. Tonight, San Miguel does all three.
This year, the date can be confusing. The feast of San Miguel falls on September 29, but La Alborada takes place on the weekend closest to it. With September 29 falling on a Tuesday, the celebration arrives in the early hours of Saturday, October 3.
The Alborada we know today has its roots in a factory.
In the 1920s, workers from the textile mills of Salvatierra and Querétaro came to San Miguel and brought with them a dawn tradition. The first Alborada took place on December 8, 1924, in honor of the Virgen de la Purísima Concepción at the Templo de las Monjas. Eventually, the celebration moved to the Parroquia and became a tribute to San Miguel himself.
The workers also brought the stars.
Enormous estrellas de papel de china, some with six, eight or twelve points, were made with candles burning inside them. Before electricity lit the streets, the stars illuminated religious processions through the city.
The La Aurora textile factory closed in 1991. The barrios kept making the stars.
That may be the most San Miguel part of the story.
Last year, the city celebrated the centennial of the tradition, and @ah_lovestories was there to photograph it. The images throughout this guide are theirs: the chaos, the joy and the devotion of the 100th Alborada.
Friday evening: The velaciones, or neighborhood vigils, begin. Around Centro, things start getting noticeably busier after dinner.
Around 2:30 to 3 a.m.: The processions begin arriving. Three contingents make their way from La Aurora, La Estación and Valle del Maíz, accompanied by bandas de viento and dancers carrying their enormous illuminated stars.
This is the part to arrive early for. Before the fireworks, there is something almost dreamlike about watching the stars make their way toward the Jardín.
4 a.m.: The campana mayor of the Parroquia rings.
Then the sky catches fire.
Around 5 a.m.: The fireworks begin to fade. The crowd gathers to sing Las Mañanitas to San Miguel.
By 6 a.m.: Dawn arrives. Smoke hangs over the cantera, the bells echo through Centro, and the battle is over for another year.
Nap first. This is not a 10 p.m. fireworks show. Have dinner, go to bed for a few hours and set an alarm. You will be glad you did.
Walk in. Centro closes to traffic and parking disappears long before the bell. Get dropped off well outside the historic center and walk in. Aim to be in the Jardín around 2:30 a.m. if you want to see the processions arrive.
Dress for falling fire. Spent rockets, sparks and burning paper come down into the crowd. Wear long sleeves, long pants and closed shoes. Natural fabrics are preferable to synthetics, which can melt. A hat and glasses are not a bad idea either. Tie back long hair and leave the loose scarves at home.
And yes, October mornings in the Bajío can be cold. Layers.
Choose your chaos. The area directly in front of the Parroquia is the heart of it: loud, smoky, unpredictable and unforgettable. If you go in, stay alert, keep moving when necessary and never pick up a cohete that has not gone off.
For a slightly less intense experience, stay toward the edges of the Jardín or along the streets feeding into it. You will still get the full spectacle, with a little more room to breathe.
Have a meeting point. Phones become considerably less useful when several thousand people are standing in one plaza at four in the morning. Pick a meeting place away from the Parroquia before you enter.
Bring less. A secured phone, some cash, ID and water are enough. Leave the giant bag at home.
Leave the pets at home. The fireworks are intense, and San Miguel’s dogs do not need to be part of the festivities. Keep pets safely indoors, ideally with music or another source of background noise.
And remember that this is a tradition, not a spectacle staged for visitors. Families have been building these stars for generations. Let the processions pass. Keep your flash off. Ask before photographing children. And when the crowd starts singing Las Mañanitas, you can sing along, or simply stand there and take it in.
Go home. Sleep. Come back.
Later Saturday, the Entrada de los Xúchiles brings dancers carrying enormous woven offerings of flowers and reed toward the Parroquia.
On Sunday, October 4, dance groups from San Miguel and beyond take over Centro once again. Then on Sunday, October 11, La Octava closes the patronal season with another round of dances.
La Alborada may be the most explosive night, but it is only one part of a much bigger calendar of celebration.
There is something wonderfully stubborn about a city that sets its own sky on fire every year to keep the devil away.
The factory is gone. The streets have electricity. The city has changed almost beyond recognition since those first workers arrived from the textile mills.
But the barrios still come down with their paper stars.
The bell still rings at four.
And the archangel still wins.
Stand in the smoke tonight, and for one hour, you belong to that promise too.
A curated monthly dose of lifestyle, culture, and rhythm from San Miguel.
