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Story and Photos by Paul Beddows
As I watched the preparations for the evening fireworks display, it became very apparent this was not Vancouver’s Symphony of Fire. The first clue were the twin towers of fireworks construction being raised up less than 10 meters from the front of the Catholic Church on the main square, loaded with enough pyrotechnics to start a small war. No barge anchored in the ocean here, no barricades going up, in fact the whole area surrounding it was loaded with taco stands, looking like they had no intention of going anywhere.
The Castillo, as it is known, is raised nightly for a week. A single wicker version is used during the week and the twin structures, one steel and one wicker, appear on the final night. My wife has named the one, the “Wicker Man”, after the disturbing 1973 British horror movie of the same name. The Wicker Man had his first performance a week ago Friday, and has been a feature every night since then. Tonight however, it’s the grand finale. Laguna del Tule RV park where I have spent the last two months is almost empty as the northern exodus of RV’ers began two weeks ago, but I have intentionally stayed on to experience this particular week.
It’s Saint Patrick’s week in San Patricio Melaque, Jalisco, Mexico, reportedly one of the best celebrations in a country that is known for them, and according to many Irish websites, the best darned St. Paddy’s celebration you will find anywhere in the world, including Ireland. Rules are optional, so is safety. It is St Patrick’s Day and this is the last day of what has become a massive celebration of everything Irish, in this normally quiet beach town, 45 km north of Manzanillo.
Mexico has its own share of saints, traditions and celebrations so why the heck do they need to borrow one from Ireland? Well it all goes back to the Mexican-American war. The town consists of 3 towns grown into one another, Melaque, St Patricio and Villa Obregon. Those towns themselves grew out of estates owned by members of the St Patrick’s battalion, Irish soldiers who fought on the side of Mexico in the war of 1846-1848. Mexico reveres these Irish volunteers, and the annual celebration in Melaque is testament to that.
I have decided to forego most of the earlier nightly displays, save one, in favour of spending several hours enjoying the atmosphere and mayhem to come on this final night. I have decided to place my well being on the line in order to hopefully obtain some spectacular photos and videos to accompany this article. I am aware what I am in for, as I first experienced this festival 4 years ago. I now know that wearing long pants and shoes are a must. That is, if you do not want to be joining the line-up the following day at the doctors office nursing burns, as I did that on that first occasion.
At around 4 PM, parade floats, most of them highly religious, start to gather at the north end of town for the daily parade. Hundreds of people holding foam shamrocks on sticks start to gather to march in the parade along with the floats and various brass bands. It seems most of the town is intending on being in it, Canadians and Americans included. A pickup truck with a loudspeaker chants the verses of the haunting dirge “San Patricio Obispo” while the crowds recite the chorus. The song is almost as addictive as “It’s a Small World”.
The main parade finishes around 6 PM outside the Church on the square. Indian dancers from the parade enter the church, drums beating and natives dancing, to perform in front of the altar under the statue of St Patrick himself. This is yet another example of that strange mixture of Catholicism and native traditions common all over Central America and Mexico.
By 7 or 8 pm, crowds start to gravitate towards the main square. The prime seating spots in the square itself quickly fill with families and young attractive girls in provocative clothing. Maybe the latter are scouting out the braver males for future husbands. In the meantime, the ubiquitous Mariachi and brass bands are setting up in the center carousel and at various points around the square. The next few hours will be a competition as to which band can drown out the other. Stands selling sweet treats like Cinnamon Churros are doing a brisk trade. The nearby traveling midway and rides on the adjacent streets fill with merrymakers. A man on a dancing horse is entertaining yet another group. Vendors walking around, laden with balloons and electronic toys, work the crowd. The Taco stands under the firework towers do a brisk trade and a Bingo game is in full swing in front of the church. The whole square is a scene of family social interaction that you seldom see at home these days, and there never seems to be any of the activities involved that attract police intervention at firework events back home, although a police presence is apparent. Maybe everyone is saving his or her energy for the carnage to come.
By 10:30 pm, there has to be close to two or three thousand people in the square. Spare space is at a premium. I have managed to secure a spot on the center bandstand above the crowd. My big mistake was forgetting my earplugs, as I am only one metre from the very loud brass band playing behind me. My wife has decided to secure a spot on a nearby grassy knoll. Around 11 pm, the Taco stands start closing up and the Bingo game is coming to a hasty end. Ignition time is close at hand. The crowds near the firework towers are thinning out a bit and young boys are gravitating towards the bases of the twin towers with sheets of cardboard for their rite of passage. This consists of dancing underneath falling fireworks. I got close myself earlier in the week to observe and photograph this ritual. It was terrifying, and I am glad I am in the relative safety of the center carousel tonight.
Thirty minutes behind schedule the towers are finally ignited. Wave after wave of tower sections ignite, showering fountains of sparks onto the crowds. Every few seconds, flying flaming incendiaries shoot sideways into the square, one just missing my video camera. I discover to my consternation, I am not as safe as I thought I was. I later found out from my wife that the woman behind her had her clothing ignited. Fortunately it was a shawl she was able to shed off rapidly. The fireworks display lasts a good half hour, the finale consists of rings of fireworks that launch themselves off the Castillo hundreds of feet in the air to land randomly somewhere among the crowd in a burst of flaming pyrotechnics. The show is over. To the unsuspecting, that is.
It is now time for the running of the bulls. Unsuspecting first time tourists are hanging around the square in a false illusion of safety while those in the “know” are rapidly retreating across the street from the square or looking for high ground. Less than five minutes after the end of the fireworks, the first “Bull” emerges from the doorway next to the church. The “Bull” is a large framework around a wicker Bull loaded with fireworks, carried by a runner. The runner heads out into the crowd in the square, fireworks flying off in all directions. Crowds scatter, dancing to avoid flaming rockets shooting over the ground under their feet. One shoots right up into the bandstand and dances around in the enclosed space I stand, burning a hole in my jeans on one occasion. A nearby startled bystander throws a full cup of beer over my head and video camera in the process. I see several, un-warned tourists screaming and running for safety in terror, in the square below. Escape is difficult as “bull” after “bull” emerges providing little opportunity for an orderly retreat. Eventually the square is full of smoke and visibility is reduced to a point where it is difficult to make out the features of the stores and bars on the other side of the street. However, eight or ten bulls later, peace once again descends upon Melaque. St Patrick’s week is over for another year.
The speed of the action, and jostling of the crowd, made it virtually impossible for me to get good still photos of this event. I suggest viewing my videos at www.mexicorvforums.com/festival to get a full sense of the mayhem. I have several videos available there to view. The “Bull” phenomenon is not unique to Melaque. A similar event occurs every March in Tultepec, just north of Mexico City. The Mexican love of fireworks and their love of being in the middle of the display, rather than simply watching, is widespread. No safety rules or bylaws to spoil the fun here. I love this country. It has become my second home.
If you are becoming weary of Arizona, and looking for new RV experiences, consider giving Mexico a try, as I did for the first time over five years ago. I have never looked back. If you have some fear, which is understandable, try an organized caravan for your first trip. There are options for either Baja or the Mainland next spring. For Baja, try Baja Amigos (www.bajaamigos.net), or for the mainland try Caravanas de Mexico (www.mexicorvbuddies.com). Those simply wanting some companions, but are not adverse to some solo travel, may find like-minded others on my own web site at www.mexciotravelbuddies.com. There is a whole new world of RV exploration below the border waiting for you. Mexico is safer than you think, and is far from boring. You will find a whole new horizon of Snow-birding experience you never dreamed existed.
How to get to Melaque:
Both WestJet & US Air have regular flights to nearby Manzanillo, or you can bus it from Puerto Vallarta. In an RV, Melaque is 5 hours drive from either Puerto Vallarta or Guadalajara.
Paul Beddows, the author, is past President of NATCOA, the North American Truck Camper Association and helps organize RV Caravans to Mexico with Caravanas de Mexico. He is a frequent contributor to this magazine and presents seminars on RV’ing in Mexico. He is an enthusiastic advocate of RV Snowbirding in Mexico. He lives in Abbotsford, BC in summer and Mexico in winter. He is always willing to answer questions and may be reached at paul@natcoa.com. His websites are www.mexicorvforums.com and www.mexicotravelbuddies.com .