Semana Santa

If I previously harboured illusions about Baja being relatively uninhabited and austere, and if I previously held hopes of meditation and solitude, these notions were laid to waste with the arrival of Semana Santa. Semana Santa, or Holy Week (read all about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Week) is an extended holiday for most of Mexico, indeed for most of the Catholic world. Under the pretense of worship, there are some heavy religious movements (such as the peregrinacion, or pilgrimage, to the holy city of Juquila, which my brother and I witnessed last year), but seemingly not here in Baja, where most people just hit the beach and party super hard.
The hoards of Good Catholics and I arrived on the Baja East coast at the exact same time, on Thursday, the beginning of the busiest and craziest weekend of the year. After a full day of riding, I finally encountered the gorgeous azure waters of the Sea of Cortez, the unbelievable natural beauty of Bahia de Concepcion, and pick-up trucks, SUVs and party tents set three-rows-deep upon every yard of beach. Fantastic! Well, I couldn't rightfully complain. No way. For a lot of people this is one out of maybe two weeks per year (other being Christmas) where leisure reigns supreme. They earned this party, and as some gringo taking a few months of (my own version of) vacation, I wasn't about to even mentally bitch about it. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, eh? I bought a caguama of Tecate, stowed it in my pannier and made for the fiesta.
Needless to say, there wasn't ten-square-feet available on the beach for even my modest tent. Furthermore, as I approached the central gathering point, I spied a massive inflatable Pacifico can, flanked by block-party-sized speakers. I began to think the better of my plan: I had just pedaled 100 KM! I couldn't keep up. I needed rest. Contrary to popular belief, bike touring and partying don't really mix well. I turned around and headed to the other end of the beach, as far as I could. Past a thousand cars and a hundred tents. I crossed a row of palm trees, signed "Propedad Privada". A man stood on the porch of a huge, luxurious beachfront home, languidly smoking a cigarette.
"Orale amigo, do you mind if I put my tent in the corner here? There's just... Well, y'know how it is down there..."
"No te preocupes," was his reply, "Don't worry about it!"
"Mucha gracias!"
I took a much needed swim in the perfect, cool and clear waters of the Gulf. Set up my tent and cooked an amazing quesadilla dinner (everything is the "best meal ever" on a tour). I cracked open my still-cold caguama, dug my toes in the sand and looked up at the quiet, peaceful night sky.
That's right about when the blasting Norteno music began: Not from the party-zone, far down the beach, but from the camp right next to mine, my neighbors.
Oh well. Felix Semana Santa a todos!