The Republic of Sound

Before we left the States, we noticed the growing trend of people wandering around, about their daily business, wearing earbuds or head-phones. Commercials even picked up the meme of placing the events of your day against your personal soundtrack. And of course you can find YouTube videos of such folks walking in front of a bus or otherwise acting oblivious as they are lost starring in their own little iTunes world.

Mexico has its own soundtrack. You don’t need earbuds or a smartphone; you just need ears. Welcome to the Republic of Sound!

Your aural day in Mexico will probably begin at daybreak, with the sounds of roosters. No, you don’t need to be in rural Mexico. Somebody in your neighborhood will have a few roosters, even in a city. I have learned that roosters have a terrible sense of time, and begin crowing at all hours after midnight. Here, that amounts to a “ki-kiri-ki” to replace your alarm clock.

If your local roosters let you sleep in, you might awake to a Mariachi band. One of the sure-fire ways  to say “I love you” in Mexico is to hire a Mariachi band to serenade the recipient at the crack of dawn. Your wife, your mom, your sister on her birthday, it doesn’t matter why; it is always appreciated by the intended.

Now that you’re awake, its time for a religious experience. Since you live in Mexico, you are within earshot of a church. That church has bells. Real bells, not some taped Muzak version of church bells. The bells are large and sonorous. They are attached by long ropes to a place where very energetic young Mexican boys can jump and down, holding the ropes, making the bells do what bells do. It is time for Mass. Or it is nearly time for Mass. Or its time for the consecration of the Mass, or the end of Mass. And you will hear it. Other times you will hear a loud but indistinct chant that runs on for half an hour. Some parishes say an early morning rosary. For the benefit of those too infirm (or too lazy) to attend, the parish broadcasts the rosary over a loudspeaker, generally situated on top of the bell tower for maximum coverage.

Awake and inspired, you decide to go out for breakfast. At the local restaurant, you will be nonplussed to find a travelling musician, singing Mexican ballads while strumming a guitar. These troubadours are everywhere, all-the-time. Restaurateurs tolerate them, and they graciously accept tips while never being too pushy in seeking them.

You decide to walk down to the plaza. On your way, you’ll doubtlessly pass an open-backed truck with a large speaker hardwired into the electrical system. A pre-recorded voice will intone–endlessely–“jitomate, veinte pesos” or some such jingle designed to get you to buy fresh produce. Or you’ll hear the local butane gas dealer with their signature call “Zeta Gaaaaaaaaaaas”, in case you need a refuel. Or if it happens to be an election cycle, you’ll see a small car with a giant speaker on top broadcasting a stirring, speed-of-sound call to vote for someone or something. Very loud, but not very distinct; always hard to decipher.

It’s afternoon, so you head home for a siesta. Most of Mexico observes this ritual as, at least, a time away from the work day, if not a literal nap. But there are exceptions. If you live in a development with extensive gardens, the local jardineros (gardeners) may be hard at work, taming the abundant and flourishing tropical flora. And they will do so in the most imaginative ways. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen (and heard) a jardinero standing on a ladder trimming a palm tree…with a weed whacker!

Its been several hours since you last ate, so you head back into town to visit a restaurant for dinner. But the street is closed and parking is hard to find, as a fiesta has broken out. It might be the novena of the town’s patron saint, or a national holiday, or just an obscure local cultural event, but there are crowds, and bands, and foodstalls, and why go to a restaurant? So you join in the raucous fun, but don’t wander too close to the fireworks display, because at some point it will ignite sending sparks, flames, and explosives into the crowd. What? Oh, yeah, there is no OSHA, so it will be explosively loud, and you will be temporarily deaf. At least I hope its temporary.

You can still see, so you head home as it’s dark and late. Safely in your casa, your ears are still ringing, but you can barely make out the sound of loud music; is it real, or just in your head? No, its the evento down the street: someone is celebrating a quinceanera, a wedding, or a graduation, and the banda music is still loud enough to be heard over the ringing in your ears.

Finally, the local trash truck comes by, with its expert team of trash collectors. They empty your trash cans and simultaneously shout directions in the dark as the large truck, with trash hanging in bags off both sides, expertly navigates your cul-de-sac both forwards and backwards. As they turn for the open highway, they even break out in song!

A long day. You can still barely hear the banda music, but you’re tired, so its time for bed. As you drift off, you continue to hear cohetes (fireworks) exploding. It could be your imagination, or the end of the fiesta. It could be the wedding, or it might just be your neighbor celebrating a victory by Chivas. It’s Mexico. You don’t really need an excuse for a song, or a chime, or a shout, or a bang. Not in the Republic of Sound.