Preparing for Los Locos
"Though the June 13 feast day of San Antonio de Padua is honored all over Mexico, the central highlands city of San Miguel follows it up each year with this unique celebration of spring. "Locos" from all neighborhoods, regardless of culture or economic position, flock to the historic district in elaborate costumes. The motley assemblage of animals, political characters and cross-dressing men parades a circuitous route from the San Antonio church to the Jardín. If you're among the spectators, expect to be showered with candy—and pulled in to join the party."
From SF Gate, the San Francisco Chronicle Website
By Christine Delsol
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
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It wasn't always crazy. According to Jesús Ibarra's informative June 15 article in our bilingual newspaper Atención, the tradition of dancing in the streets of San Miguel de Allende began in the 19th Century as orchard workers gave thanks to San Pascual Bailón for a good harvest.
(I'd provide a link, but Atención's website doesn't allow linking to archived articles.)
San Pascual Bailón was a Franciscan monk who once danced before a painting of the Virgin Mary, saying "Lady, I can't offer you great qualities because I have none, but I offer you my farmer's dance in your honor." Perhaps this is why orchard workers chose to dance in thanks to him.
Pascual Bailón has a white light experience.
So El Día de los Locos began as an expression of thanksgiving by the devout to an extraordinarily humble and pious man. Over the decades, it has evolved into this:
More than 10,000 people, many drunk or stoned, dancing through the streets in a parade that takes three hours to pass.
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The day of the parade of the Locos started peacefully enough. Dancers and onlookers alike were going to need cold water, so vendors came to provide it at a good price.
A few guys set up styrofoam-and-salsa stands for people who couldn't subsist on candy thrown by the dancers, but fluids would be the big sellers today.
A couple of people tried selling semillas—sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds—but they didn't seem to be having much luck.
The parasol seller had a field day. It was going to be sunny and hot, so a little shade would be very welcome. Look at the size of the bundle on his back. He sold them all—$25 pesos each. I figure his markup was 400%. Little did I know what the parasols' real use would be.
But the familiar guy selling cheesy foam-rubber map puzzles didn't seem to get any takers. Of course, he never seems to get any takers. I've seen this guy around the Jardín for years, and haven't seen him sell one. Maybe he really doesn't sell any. Maybe it's just an excuse to get out of the house.
The next order of business was: clear the parade route.
Of course, no temporary NO PARKING signs had been put up the previous day. So at least some of these cars were legally parked. But see, you're supposed to know where the parade is gonna go, and not park there on parade day.
The red car was making a howling metallic sound as it was towed. Made my teeth ache.
Of course, just try to get these guys to tow cars on, say, Garita, a narrow street where parking is prohibited, with permanent signs advising motorists of the fact. Savvy drivers know not to try to drive vans down that hill. The five or so illegally parked cars you'll find there any given day will make that impossible.
Some spectators came early, to get good viewing spots. This Celaya half-marathoner has a great one, right on the curb.
As the crowds built, people started stacking up.
Turns out coming early didn't buy you anything at all.
That half-marathoner? He's back there somewhere, as is the curb.
A few lucky people watched from their balconies. This guy profitably used the time waiting for the parade to start, brushing his teeth. He must have spent fifteen minutes brushing. I'm pushing it if I spend two.
After the parade started, his friends came out to enjoy it with him—and his minty fresh breath. I may be mistaken, but I think he's flossing as he watches. Guy's really into oral prophylaxis.
In the next post, we'll take a look at all that craziness that happened after the dancing started. And, we'll find out what the parasols were for.