While our town notices Carnival, no neighborhood notices it quite like mine. We go berserk — stark, raving mad.
Four nights running, there are concerts in the nearby plaza, way too nearby. Until about 3 a.m. We put up stages, different ones every night, that are steel scaffolds that soar three stories into the star-lit sky.
Connected to these monster stages are speakers, up to 50 of them. As Dave Barry says, I am not making this up. The nightly music, and amplified yelling is what it is, can be heard for miles. But we live only a block and a half away.
On at least one occasion, one Carnival, the hysteria was in such fevered gear that when Ash Wednesday dawned, the brakes could not be applied. Instead of four nights of bone-breaking noise, er, concerts, there was a fifth.
Yes, on the night of Ash Wednesday, another concert roared on into Thursday, cracking all tradition of Carnival ending at midnight Tuesday.
Such is our enthusiasm for fiesta and tequila.
Apparently, that won’t be happening this year. We walked around the plaza this morning, which had already been swept clean, an overflowing garbage truck sagged nearby, and a woman told us last night’s revelry was the end.
Our silicone earplugs are back in the drawer.
And a sweet silence has descended. Thank God.