Things are Really Booming in Mexico!
Welcome! Wake Up, Sleepyhead, and Smell the Fireworks
In January, to get away from the disturbing news that is life in America, I drove down to Mexico. Then, in March, I headed uphill to Patzcuaro, a mountain town in Michoacan. Late in our first afternoon there, while I was relaxing at the local RV park, from somewhere nearby, I heard a deafening sound, like a cannon shot.
BOOM!
Had the invasion begun?
Known for my calm under fire, I jumped out of my chair, spilling my drink, and ran for cover. Somewhere, I envisioned a huge fireball exploding. Cowering behind a large pine tree, I shouted, “Save yourselves!” to no one in particular.
My dog also dove for cover, hiding beside me, shaking. Peeking out, I looked around. Nobody else was running. People walked by as if nothing had happened.
After a moment, seeing no ordnance had landed in our vicinity, I emerged, dusted myself off, and declared bravely to my dog, “I don’t think they’re firing at us!”
My first thought was, someone was firing at something. Might it be the criminal element-- the cartel? Maybe they’re bombing the police headquarters, blowing up city hall, or taking over the town? Then… another loud explosion, and another.
BOOM! pause
BOOM! pause
BOOM! pause
The explosions came at close, regular intervals. It sounded like a cannon, but wasn’t. There are no cannons in town. (I checked for cannons when I arrived.)
What the hell was it, who was doing it, and why?
How is it that nobody warned me? Perhaps a sign on the office door of the RV park would have been in order: Munitions begin at sundown!
Peeved, as one tends to be after a dastardly sneak attack, I drove out of the RV park to go fill up on gas and find out what was going on. I pulled up to the pump. All quiet here.
“Tanque lleno, por favor,” I told the woman at the pump, adding, “Regular.” The way they say it in Mexico. “Ray-GOO-Larrr.”
While the attendant was filling the tank, I heard another loud BOOM! I jumped.
Then, I glanced at her. Cool as a cucumber. She did not even flinch. Still chatting with the other pump attendant.
I asked her in my bery, bery good Spanish. “What … are those … big noises?”
She cupped her ear, stared at me blankly. and said, “Ruido? Que?” (What noise?)
Another BOOM!
“That,” I said, “What … was … THAT!”
“Oh, that?” She shrugged. “That’s just cohetes.”
Like it was nothing. She was a battle-hardened veteran; I was a mere rookie. She held up the POS device. I gave her my credit card. She swiped it, and I drove off.
As we drove away, I said, ‘That noise is called cohetes, Mr. Bones.”
“What the hell are cohetes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have no idea. Possibly a bomb?”
I knew what they were called, but not what they were. Or who was behind it. As we drove back to the RV park, the explosions kept going off at close intervals, but other than us, no one seemed to pay any attention. Other drivers didn’t flinch; people walking along the street didn’t turn their heads, stare, or jump.
What the hell?
After we got back to the RV park, I Googled cohete. It means rocket. OK. So, now I knew that someone was shooting off rockets. “Why are cohetes going off at close intervals all evening in Patzcuaro?”
Google said, “You must be new here. Welcome to Mexico. Cohetes are just a local tradition, like your 4th of July, but here it happens every day. You’ll get used to it.”
Sure.
“Hello, this is Carl’s brain speaking.”
I’m an analytical guy. Always trying to figure things out. It took me a day or two and a couple of sleepless nights, but eventually I pieced the story together.
First, people told me cohetes were only for saints’ days.
I said, “You celebrate saints every single day?”
“Yes. You don’t?”
Then, they added, “Cohetes are a local tradition for marking any special occasion: weddings, funerals, births, quinceañeras, or other festivals.”
Basically, cohetes are to celebrate almost anything at all.
“But why do they start early in the morning?” I asked.
“To let you know what to expect today.”
Geez. Thanks for the wake-up call.
“Who shoots them off?“
“Oh, anyone can do it. Even teenagers.”
Great.
But when did this begin, how, and why, I wondered. Now, let’s take a step back into history to find out when the tradition began.
I asked Google (or Goo, as I call him). He knows everything.
The tradition began centuries earlier. To get the attention of the gods, the Aztecs and other native peoples believed they had to make loud sounds with drums and conch shells. Or the cheerfully-named Aztec death whistle.
I grew up praying silently in America and wondering why God never answered. Now I understand.
Me: Hey God. BOOM!
God: Carl? Is that you? I’ve been waiting a long time to hear from you.
Then, the Spanish came along, conquering, killing, and converting native people. They brought gunpowder to Mexico when they colonized it. Spanish priests, who wanted to convert the native peoples to Christianity, helped them get louder to help them attract the new God’s attention. The Aztecs shouted their loudest.
“God can’t hear you,” the Spanish said. “You’re not loud enough. Here. Try our gunpowder. It’s really loud.”
BOOM!
Things have been booming in Mexico ever since.
Over time, I noticed the explosions followed a predictable daily pattern.
“Why do the explosions let up during working hours?” I asked.
“Señor, we have to go to work, so there is no one to set them off.”
Thank God for that!
“But don’t worry, Señor, as soon as we get off work, we start the explosions again.”
They often end about 10 p.m. Even die-hard anarchists need a little bit of sleep.
I know what you’re thinking.
Don’t worry that it’s dangerous down here. Mexico is not a lawless place that fails to regulate gunpowder use. The federal fireworks law, enacted in 1963, Armas, Municiones, Explosivos y Pirotecnia states, “Try not to get hurt. Have a good time.”
What about us?
We’ve been here in Patzcuaro for a month now. I recently rented a charming little casita, a simple place on the side of a mountain, overlooking the city below. My first time renting a place since starting out in van life in June 2022.
Home sweet home.
The rockets still go off early in the morning and late at night, but oddly, it’s almost like we don’t hear them anymore. The longer we stay, the quieter they get.
Funny how that works, isn’t it?
AFTERWORD
First, let’s do a quick poll to see how you respond to loud, unexpected BOOMS.
Next, other than the booms, the big news is that we are taking our first big break from the road and from the van, and we plan to stay in Patzcuaro until mid-June.
It’s strange moving into a house, even a tiny one. More about that next week. Let me know if you have questions about how the transition is going. It’s … weird.
Third, depending on how things go, I may make Mexico my permanent home. We’ll see. First, I need to learn Spanish so that I don’t sound like such an idiot.
Who else is considering retiring in Mexico or another Spanish-speaking country?
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‘Try not to get hurt. Have a good time.’ Sage advice!
We’re visiting Ecuador this summer and will see how we like it.