Quiet
Mayan villages populated by chocolate brown members of the clase popular
are suddenly invaded by patronizing pink members of the clase acomodada
in matching logo-imprinted T-shirts that say Misiones 2000
or whatever, fixing things up and preaching about God and generally feeling
real good about themselves for having the courage to do this once a year
pilgrimage and recognize the fact that there are still poor people in Yucatan
in spite of all the Gran Plazas, Sams Clubs, VIPS and Mercedes dealerships.
The
IMAGEN section of the local paper is confined to eclesiastic Reports of
Things happening in the Churches, the Missions, and the Rich Meridians
helping the Poor People from the Pueblos. There is a lot of text with Capital
Letters, when it of course refers to Anything even Remotely Holy and Christ-Related.
There is absolutely nothing else happening in Yucatan during this time
apparently; everyone is a catholic and everyone is on some kind of conscience-easing
Mission. That is the Imagen of the state during this time.
The
highway to Progreso is filled with all kinds of vehicles trying to get
their sweaty occupants to the beach. Besides busses and private cars, other
popular forms of transportation for large groups include cargo trucks that
have fridges, families and fans crammed into the back. Company vehicles
are pressed into service at this time as well, so you will have the Volcanes
cheese truck, with it's cargo doors tied open, 4 plastic chairs lined along
the back (behind the cab) and mom and her daughters and the baby sitting
there look out at you driving along behind them. The baby can't fall out
because Mom is holding it's shirt so it's perfectly safe. Can you imagine
the faces of those silly gringos with their crazy seatbelt laws and all
that... None of that is necessary here!
Also
on the highway to Progreso dozens and dozens of police vehicles are placed
strategically lights flashing (of course) so that everyone will know they're
there and under the misguided impression that they will slow down. This
year the Federal Police also got their little section and put up rows of
lots of orange traffic cones (they were on sale this year) between the
lanes so that everyone would a) slow down; b) speed up; c) notice their
presence; d) brake frantically thinking there was some kind of emergency;
e) shrug and accelarate. Apparently the SPV and the powers that be feel
that it is HELPFUL to have an increased presence of signs that are actually
IN the lanes and obstructing traffic, traffic cops that wave us along as
if we were considering stopping in the first place (hello!!?), and señalamientos
that indicate to us that as we leave the city of Merida, leave that last
tope,
the populated area, the 20-KILOMETER AN HOUR ZONE, to SLOW DOWN!!!!!
They want us to slow down from the 20 kilometers an hour as we leave the
city. Slow down to WHAT? Should we just park the damn car and walk? HELLOOOOOOOOO?????
On
the radio you begin to hear ads for the Dormant Beach Discos of last temporada
as they dust off their palapas and announce Inaugurations and Aperturas
and wet-T-shirt contests and free all you can drink bars for the girls
etc. etc.
You
know it's Easter week in Merida when:
