Stampede Warning

Well, we’re about to get festivalled, and all the indications are that it will be bad.

The Fiestas de la Calle San Sebastián (sometimes nicknamed SanSe) as we know them today started out life in 1970 with 30 people in attendance, and it was charming, quaint, picturesque. Now? It’s an impending disaster.

The day-time stuff is not so bad—there are lots of artisans selling their wares, and some of it can be very fine. Puerto Rico has a nice tradition of carving santos de palo—here’s a nice example….

Then there’s the silkscreen art, of which Puerto Rico has a long and proud tradition. There’s music, too, at least in the eyes—or ears—of everybody but me.

So what’s the problem?

Well, the festival that started out so sweetly got highjacked by the beer companies, and the whole affair, at night, becomes extremely crowded, loud, and chaotic.

Emphasis on the chaotic: if you lifted your feet, you’d still be moving. It’s an annual experiment of turning a colonial small town into an anthill.

And last year, how many people crammed into Old San Juan, which is about seven streets by five streets? Half a million. And how many left? 499,999—since one guy got killed for the outrageous crime of bumping into someone. A fight ensued, and honor dictated that the matter be settled thus.

Enter the Mayor of San Juan, Carmen Yulín Cruz, who announced extreme security for this year’s event, at which 600,000 people are expected to attend. And extreme it is—the event will require passing through a checkpoint, presumably with metal detectors. Oh, and backpacks will be checked.

In fact, what the mayor has done is to erect barricades everywhere—as I write, I and every other sanjuanero is in a cage. Nor are the barricades a flimsy affair—suggestions at crowd control. Have a look:

Oh, and to add more insult to the situation, stages have been erected in all parts of the city, so that everyone can be blasted equally.

“Leave town,” said my brother Eric, “that’s what we did for Mardi Gras…”

We did last year, and had planned to do so this year. Then two things happened: Raf’s adored cat requires a special diet, and also requires Raf to be there encouraging him to eat. I know—it’s crazy: we’re animal people.

And now Raf is in bed, suffering from a humongous cold. Or maybe it’s the flu—who knows? And in the meantime?

The refrigerator decided to die….

The festival will last four days, unless of course what I greatly fear happens.

I think we’re gonna have a stampede.