Aniversario Numero Uno January 8, 2017
Has it been a whole year since our town voted to break away from Cancun and establish our very own democratic municipality? Apparently so, according to the elaborate assembly on the plaza—stages, lighting, sound system, and a 30-foot sheltered lattice. This monster takes three days to erect and another three to dismantle, yet a dedicated team of workers performs the task almost every month. Dig a hole, fill it up–this is how you keep your cup.
As part of the Anniversary celebration, the first event of the night shall be the anticipated Gran Loteria. A massive brass contraption—consisting of wired spheres, tubes, ramps, valves, and a ridiculous crank—sits on the main stage like some Rube Goldberg device, intended to perform the most trivial of tasks by the most complicated means. Like the game Mouse Trap. In this case, the object is to select a lucky lottery number for some lucky resident. Fancy Powerball. It is described as a grand municipal service to the community, even if only a few shall benefit. Tickets are fifteen pesos, and the winner stands to take home ten thousand, plus an actual home. I am invited to buy tickets, but it is not at all clear that non-Mexicans can lay claim to any winnings.
Who am I kidding with all this talk of winners and winning? This entire set-up is all for the benefit of Laura. Laura Fernandez, our Presidente Municipal and alleged mistress to the corrupt Governor of Quintana Roo, is considered by many in the know to be the most beautiful woman in Puerto Morelos. Maybe so. I could say unequivocally one way or another, but foreigners are not allowed to participate in Mexican politics.
The Plaza is crammed like I have never seen it before. Even the copious venders feel pinched. The tamale (sic) man is surprised to be out of banana leaves by six o’clock, so he pushes his cart toward home to enjoy an early Sunday night. The scene reminds me of almost any given evening in the plazas of Mexico City or Valladolid, but in Puerto Morelos such a crowd is unusual and jarring.
Our three main avenues north and south are gridlocked, as cars and vans struggle at odd angles to enter our large dirt parking lot for the evening festivities. It is already filled to capacity. Most of the cars still on the road at this point are unlikely to find parking on this side of the mangrove and will have to return to La Colonia, that is, if the snaking traffic ever moves again. Honking horns do nothing to alleviate the jam.
I see a familiar face in the crowd. It is George, a local boatman. He is rubbing his single lottery ticket like a Rosary. He gave up his can of beer to buy this chance at a fortune. His lucky number tonight is “6157“. I agree to pray for him. If he wins, he may be able to buy some new teeth.
The mikes suddenly come to life at 9:30. Families have already been waiting for music and dancing since the announced time of 7:30. Mexican time. They’re freezing. It is 68 degrees on the plaza, yet some folks are wearing parkas.
Laura Fernandez Pineapple speaks for about fifteen minutes before the lottery commences. The audience numbers more than a thousand, but no one can quite make out her words of achievement and promise for the new year—not that this matters. More to the point, her hair is braided for the occasion, and her new dress is cream-color with lime-green trim. Television cameras zoom and re-focus on the photogenic chief executive whose candy pink mouth is moving.
Then, at 10 o’clock, the salsa begins. Young and old alike know the Sonora Dinamita, the hottest band out of Cartagena, Columbia, but there is not enough room for people to dance tonight. The glamorous players are loud and spirited and mostly proficient, all except for one female lead who sings like a door-hinge. She probably should have worn the cream dress with green trim.
Meanwhile, Captain Steve’s pancreatitis is flaring up, so he is not drinking; but now he cannot sleep, so he bought 20 Valiums for 45 USD at the pharmacy. He has no idea of the dosage.
“I’m experimenting.“
“So you just took one?“
“I took two.“
“Why (on earth) not just one to start?“
“I took two.“
Seated next to me at Cantina Habanera, his eyes are glassy, his nose running inexplicably. He appears sleepy, distant, impaired. “Have you eaten recently?“
He can’t recall anything but the yogurt he had for breakfast. Food before sleep, we agree. We grab fried hamburger and boloney sandwiches at a cart parked in front of the church. It is packed with huddled families seeking the warmth of the wide griddle covered with sizzling meat and onions. Cebollas con carbon.
In the distance, someone is screaming with joy. She just won a new house in La Colonia. Thank you, Laura, for this and for everything else.