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It was a long night last night. The night of Mexican Independence, and the traditional "grito" -- shout of liberty.
The day after, back at my house-sitting, I sit typing on the computer. The Sunday morning newspaper asks the question: how would you tell someone what has happened the past week, if they had been out of touch, say, camping in the wilderness of Anza-Borrego desert? I don't know. I don't even know how to tell myself : the attack on Tuesday, the state of war which the President and everyone now says exists....
I saw the change through other eyes last night. For the first time since before the attack, I went back to Tijuana, to see Tere and go with her to the Independence fiesta. Mike and his half-sister Maria would also join us. And the young niece of Tere's roomate.
Later, after the "grito," we drove to park Tere's car at my place -- where I haven't been for over a week. I stopped to greet Carlos, and then we left to walk five blocks to see the madness of Avenida Revolución. There we ran into Pedro Solis. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Before meeting everyone, I walked across the border, alone, before sunset. Saturday evening, normally a time of hundreds going south to party, or Mexicans coming home from shopping and daytime excursions, but it seemed quieter yesterday than usual. A trickle of walkers, instead of a flow. Once inside Mexico, I spotted a couple armed soldiers after the gates, chatting with the aduanos (custom officers) or quietly watching the pedestrians enter their country. I wondered how hard it will be to come back later tonight.
The taxi men by the island of tacos were waiting to carry tourists downtown. They seemed more eager for rides... in the site where I know several, including a best friend, one driver even grasped my hand and said no, don't go with him, go with me... but I do not have the money for taxis especiales, although I recommend them.... My friend wasn't there, but I will see him later, when I head back to the U.S. after midnight.
I walked under the highway and up through Pueblo Amigo, that curious "Mexican village" recreation of a little shopping center. Came up behind the palacio municipal where everything was getting ready for the big official celebration... on the night of the "grito" the mayors of every Mexican city give the shout of liberty and independence -- it truly is Mexico's biggest political holiday. But as I gazed over the plaza outside the palacio municipal, I was wondering how my own country's tragedy would affect this night.... I would find out, later.
We gringos typically think of "Cinco de Mayo" as the big holiday, but no, in Mexico it is September 16th, Independence Day, which is the biggest political fiesta. In fact, all of September is a month of remembering the homeland. But this (the 16th) is the big one, and like many Mexican fiestas, it starts on the night before the day. This is a people who love their holidays.
In the beautiful golden orange light of sundown, I crossed over the river into the shopping center where Tere and Mike and Maria had agreed to meet me. They all look well, but mentioned how shocked they are. Do you know, reader, that hundreds of thousands of Mexicans live and work in New York City? Of the five thousand missing, probably several hundred have families in Mexico.
But life, cruel and unfair though it may be, goes on. We had a bite at Gusher and eventually all of us walked back over the pedestrian bridge that links Plaza Rio mall with the complex of modern palaces and the gardens, where I had been alone, only a hour ago.
By now it was dark. But the pedestrian bridge was lit, and many people were strolling over the concrete river channel, toward the twinkling lights and noise of the fiesta. I felt safer than usual -- I have crossed that bridge many times, and usually it is eerily empty. Not last night. Not the night of the fiesta, the grito. Lots of people out.
The carnival rides were whirling. The palacio jardines (gardens) were full of little restaurants under tents, los puestos de comida, and independence-souvenir salespeople, and flags, flags, lots of flags. The Mexicans wave hundreds of flags to celebrate independence.
The four of us wiggled our way into the crowd, toward the stage. The singer, Sierra, was finishing her pre-grito set. Between her last songs, she mentioned that now is a time of solidarity with the United States, that the neighbor and friend of Mexico is suffering and we should keep the Americans in mind and in our prayers. It was almost ten o'clock. She tossed a few more CDs to the crowd. Sang a last song. Then a military band marched out and lined up on the stage. I wondered if this be the same group that practices once or twice a week in the park across from my apartment.
A speaker announced the band -- from the 28th Batallion of Infantry. Then, touchingly, he said, "invito a todos ustedes dar una muestra de solidaridad y amistad (I invite all of you to give a showing of solidarity and friendship)" with the United States, and to "observar un minuto de silencio en memoria de los caidos (to observe a minute of silence in memory of the fallen)."
I scribbled in the dark, trying to capture a few of those words, as the crowd, which only a moment before had been whistling and shouting and laughing and blowing horns, fell suddenly and strangely silent. Then, into that silence where only the distant traffic could be heard, a lone bugler in the military band began to play a version of "taps" for the dead and fallen....
I began to cry. Glanced over at my cousin Mike. He was teary, too. Maria was holding her new brother's hand. Tere patted my arm.
"Thank you," I whispered. To her, to Tijuana, to Mexico.
"Gracias," said the announcer. Then he began to speak of Miguel Hidalgo, telling a little bit of his life, and interspersing his narrative with drum and bugle marches played by the band.
Until, at last, with shouting and whistling of the crowd, the Presidente Municipal, Francisco Vega, came out onto the balcony with all the others of the elite up there to witness the grito, and he gave the shout.... Long live the heroes of independence, long live Hidalgo, long live Mexico, viva! Viva! Viva!
And he rang the bell... dong... dong... dong... dong....
And then, the fireworks of liberty....
Typical Mexican fireworks, especially the castillo, a tower of spinning wheel and whirling sparks that flashes and explodes and whistles and spins for almost five minutes, and then, skyrockets shooting up into the heavens over our head, exploding boom boom boom Boom BOOM!
Afterwards we walked back over the river with the crowds, to Plaza Rio where so many people had parked their cars, including Maria. Went up to Revolution Avenue where people were running and screaming with their flags and jumping onto the passing cars, until the cops came to break it up, rather gently at first, but when people insisted on really making trouble, the vans and pickups hauled a few away.
We ran into Pedro Solis, and went to have a drink with him, first in the Hotel Nelson Bar, and later, up at the Dandy Jim and then at Tiburon. He told us he has just won a prize for his poetry. A collection entitled Odas a Owen (for Gilberto Owen, a poet from Sonora). If my notes are correct, he won the Elias Nandino prize, and will be going to Mexico City to receive the award on the 28th of this month. We all congratulated him. Then the talk turned to the war. The new war.
"Ay, Daniel," he said, in his swift, clear Nayarit accent, "you're going to have to start bringing us canned food to keep us from starving."
"What?"
"You know here in Tijuana our economy depends heavily on visitors. We are starting to hurt because of this new problem, with so many fewer people coming to visit and buy things. Here in Tijuana and Baja California we are joined to your country with an economical umbilical cord. Now, in the south, in central Mexico, they are all poor and starving already, so they know. But here, all our prices are inflated and artificially high because of our closeness to the United States. And with so many fewer people coming over to visit, well... you better start bringing us canned food when you come back...."
He said, we said, many other things, you know how it is in bar or in cantina, you sit and talk and talk and talk, ah yes. But I don't want to bore you with all that politics and local culture.
It was good to see him. I think I'll bring him some canned beef stew. *grin* .
I finally crossed back over around three a.m. The wait, even for pedestrians, was long. Long. New security procedures. Everyone must show I.D. Everyone. No more just saying "U.S. Citizen" and being waved through. And for automobiles.... shudder.
I'll be going home there in another week. Until then, more typing and formatting and worrying about the television and the next few years of war, war... war....
