San Pancho is having a party and I'm hiding in my house.
The town emptied of gringos back in June. Phil & I, along with a few hearty stragglers consider surviving the summer a source of pride. "If you can survive San Pancho in the summer, you can survive in San Pancho," I heard as folks waved on their way out of town. San Pancho Days feels like the last hurrah before the gringos return to take town over.
For two days, a crew hung multi-colored flags at 20 ft. intervals down the length of Tercer Mundo (the main drag). It looks great. Directly across from the plaza, the church got a set of the flags. Also, great.
The mural behind the plaza stage was completely repainted and detailed with hundreds of bottlecaps. Again - great. At 5:00 am-ish, around noon and again in the evening-ish, firecrackers pop into the sky and audible reminder that there is a party going on and everyone is invited.
I want to be a part of it. I DO! We tried to go. Our San Pancho go-to guy (my brother) insisted that the first night of the nine night party is the craziest. According to Jeremy, the plaza bumps with action, dancing, revelry, bottle rocket wars, hooplah, shenanigans & hootenany! We put the baby to sleep at Kare-bear's house, I took the good camera out of hiding, we strolled down there with high hopes and then - nothing.
Well. Okay. The games were all set up (knock over a bottle and win a beer!). The rides were lit up and inviting (if you're into rust and exposed wires). People filed out of the church as embers from fireworks faintly fell from the sky. It was clear things were starting to build, all the elements of a party were in place but something felt like it was missing. Chaos? Is that what I'd expected? Maybe. It was early - just before 9:00 pm. Therein lies the root of my lack of participation in San Pancho Days. Timing.
No one is going to be their best party self before 10:00 pm.
Unless you're really into foosball. You can play foosball anytime of day during San Pancho days, that guy is always down there.
Since that lackluster first night, I've gone to bed hearing the party escalate. The sound carries on the sticky air, taunting me. I can hear the merriment. I know there are good photographs begging to be made. There is a pulse to this town I've never felt and those gringos who are back in the states stocking up on last seasons swimwear before their imminent arrival, they haven't felt it either. I lie here and want to feel it. I want to celebrate this sweet town with my neighbors, with the friendly faces I pass on the street and who continue to smile at me even though my Spanish is NOT improving. But I haven't.
Instead, I hope the fireworks don't wake the baby and the internet stays fast enough for me to stream another episode of Modern Family.
Ugh. That is so lame. That completely defies the purpose of moving to Mexico and living a dynamic expat life.
Fuck it. I'm going. Just not tonight. It's raining really hard.