I remember the first Fourth of July I spent in Baja. I was nine. My parents
and three other families rented cute these little casitas (houses) at Quintas
Papagayo Resort just north of Ensenada for a week. There were a dozen kids
from ages five to twelve and we had free run of the place from sunup till
bedtime. We spent as many hours a day as we could in the pool or hunting
sea creatures in the tide pools and along the shore. We had big barbecues
every night. We drove into town and searched the curio shops for silver
jewelry, Mexican sandals, blouses and colorful pieces of folk art. Our
favorite purchase of all was fireworks. After all, this was the season
for skyrockets, Roman Candles, sparklers, poppers, cherry bombs, M-80s
and plain old fireworks—the louder the better. We loaded up.
After we finished shopping, the moms and kids ate lunch at a little place next door to Hussong’s while the dads had a few cervezas in the bar. I remember trying to peer around the corner of those mysterious green doors and see inside the famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) cantina that had been around since the turn of the century. There was no way the doorman would let me do it, though. I had to wait till I turned 18 before I was allowed inside.
Fourth of July in Baja always starts a few days ahead of time. After all, with all those fireworks stashed in everyone’s cars, hotel rooms, tents and RVs, the temptation to light a few off as soon as the sun goes down is overwhelming. I noticed that big time last year when I was camped with some friends at Agua Caliente in Punta Banda, which is right next door to La Jolla Camp. Fourth of July was on a Sunday, and most people had Monday off—so this was a serious three-day-weekend.
It was packed, toe-to-toe. The campgrounds were full of big groups of Mexicans and Americans camping side by side. There were jet skis zooming around in the water all day long, winding their way between boogie boarders, surf kayakers and swimmers. At low tide people came out with shovels and dug their own private hot tubs in the sand, along the shoreline where the hot springs are. There were vendors cruising the beach selling jewelry, fruit, fresh fish on skewers, sodas and toys. Down at La Jolla Camp they sold tacos, hot dogs and other goodies. For a few dollars, girls (and a few daring guys) could get their hair braided into corn rows ornamented with flourescent plastic beads. There were bacci ball games, volley ball games and more dogs than you can imagine. In a distance I could see four-wheelers roaring up the beach and horses plodding along at a much more leisurely pace. It was fiesta time at la playa (the beach).
There were also firecrackers going off almost all day long, beginning on Friday. By the time evening rolled around the Roman Candles and fire crackers came out. In case you don’t know, Roman Candles look like flares. They shoot up a few hundred feet in the air and explode into pink balls, with wakes of light streaming behind them. There are bigger fireworks, more typical of what we have in the USA too, but most folks save these for the real event.
My dog was one of those who freaks out at loud noises. After the first pop on Friday, he was huddled into a ball, wedged into a corner, shivering and trying his best to disappear. He pretty much stayed there for the next three days, unfortunately. (If you have a dog who’s terrified of loud noises, my advice would be to leave it home, with someone to watch over it,.
on Fourth of July.) On Sunday, as soon as that sun set, my group joined the hoards out on the sea wall. There were hundreds of people, and everybody had their own stash of pyrotechnics. My son and his friends were beside themselves with excitement and anticipation. “Can we start yet, Mom? Can we? Can we?” he asked me over and over again. Luckily he had some sparklers, those hand-held things that flare up like falling stars. I remembered those from when I was his age and asked him to let me light one off. I waved it around in the air like a magic wand, loving the shooting and trailing sparks as much as I had 30-something years ago.
I’ve seen magnificently orchestrated and choreographed Fourth of July shows north of the border, but nothing that could compare to last year’s experience. It was mayhem. There were no real rules, no one was in charge, yet somehow it all seemed to flow together perfectly—in a free-wheeling, wild and wacky sort of way. The night was clear, but the air over the beach was thick with billowing smoke. Mexican Ranchero music competed with rock ‘n roll music in both English and Spanish. The sounds of laughter were everywhere. The explosions and light show lasted for nearly two hours, until everyone ran out of things to light off. Slowly the crowd dissipated and everyone went back to their campsites to have another cerveza around the bonfire and relive the whole thing ... once ... twice ... and then ... one last time ... until next year!