Here it's an endless procession of cars creeping past and the Mexican version of tailgate parties, with thousands of parked cars surrounded by young people standing around, seeing and being seen. Instead of celebrating the risen Christ or the coming of spring, it seems the only thing celebrated here is beer. Most of these kids don't have the money to visit bars and restaurants, so they get by from Thursday to Sunday morning on cerveza, pop and junk food they buy from roadside stands, tossing their wrappings on the ground, sleeping in their cars, on the beach or people's yards. A cleaning crew miraculously carries away most of the trash by mid-morning, just in time for a new inundation.
Order is kept (more or less) by a huge contingent of imported police who keep the cars moving (more or less) and prevent drivers from trying to make turns against traffic that would have the effect of slowing the flow any more. Barricades are put up at the gloriettas (Mexican word for turn-arounds) so that if you need to make a left turn you must first drive to the far end of town where the traffic has thinned. It can take three hours to travel five miles.
The only benefit to this annual invasion is that many of the local businesses make good money, just when they need it: before the beginning of summer when the tide of business ebbs thanks to the mass exodus of the snowbirds who make up a large percentage of our population.
What annoys is not that there's a steady three-day influx of new visitors to town, but that when they get here they entertain themselves by cruising up and down the main thoroughfare (which unfortunately is the ONLY contiguous route from one end of town to the other). I know cruising is a popular pasttime/mating ritual in the States too, dating back to the Fifties when you could fill your tank for a couple of bucks. But I never went cruising, just didn't have friends in that crowd. I didn't really understand the attraction. One might say I was culturally deprived.
When I ask my friends here what they get out of strolling into town (NOT driving), they usually say, "We just like to sit and watch the people parade." They're no doubt referring to the young and the beautiful who predominate in this crowd; people in their teens and early twenties, dressed in their best come-hither outfits, anxious to meet and mate. Easy on the eyes. Add to this the smell of exhaust and roasting meat, and the throb of earsplitting music from dozens of speakers set up in dozens of Tecate beer stands to amp up the excitement and stir the blood. But you see no dancing in the streets. Just driving, walking and standing around.
We're only a couple of blocks from the main street, but we turn on our fans at night to create white noise, so all we can hear is a constant thump of music, like the heartbeat of a gargantuan beast. Our neighborhood is gated and guarded, but I know people whose yards become campgrounds and outdoor latrines.
Tomorrow, Sunday, the chaos will subside as the traffic ebbs back out of town and the miracle cleaning crew wipes away most traces of their presence. I'll be able to go to the store by Sunday afternoon and it'll only take me a half-hour. The Siege of Santa Semana will be over for another year. Gracias a Díos.