The dark side of Mexico

this photo by Glenn Doerksen

The sun is setting in Mazatlan but the night is still young. It's only 6:15 p.m.

Later in the evening we went to a fancy hotel to see the Fiesta Mexicana. It was over by 10. Our villa was less than a block away from this idyllic bit of paradise but we didn't go straight home. This was Semana Santa, the time to celebrate the end of Lent by staying up all night to dance and play. One writer calls it "Easter madness." Live groups were playing everywhere and we walked around to see a few of them. You might say the crescendo was very much the opposite of diminuendo. The last time this happened in March was in 1913 and since it won't happen again until 2228 - 220 years from now, we thought it was safe to book for next year.

Every night the crowds seemed to be moving closer and closer to our door. Before going to bed I stepped outside to see just how close and . . . there they were . . . sitting right on our step. And there were ten of them. But these were not the revelers; they were the police, getting ready to keep the noise down to a dull roar. One of them spoke English and when he translated my request to take their picture, they all seemed quite pleased.

Every night the noise continued until around 6 a.m. The noisiest morning of all was the result of one lone truck radio playing at full blast - right under our window! Darlene had better luck the next day and found about three live bands going at full throttle. It was 6:30 a.m.

I'm convinced that everyone plays a musical instrument in Mexico.