Against all odds and in the face of the predictions of the prophets of chaos due to the presence of unaccompanied migrant minors in the summit area of the municipality of San Bartolomé de Tirajana, the residents of southern Gran Canaria demonstrated, through Santiago Apóstol, that there is still solid ground under the feet of this municipality divided between the plow and the booking.comNot a single fight, not a single burning dumpster, not a single tourist drunk. The patron saint's day in San Bartolomé de Tirajana was celebrated with more civility than in the Swiss etiquette manuals.
Here, on the streets where the sun beats down and the wind is merciless, people dressed in their finest—white shirts and old-fashioned respect—and honored the saint as custom dictates: mass, a procession, and papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes) in the houses with local produce, what they now call the PowerPoint shows in Las Palmas KM0. But it wasn't just any old holiday. It was one of those where, after the saint's day, beer is drunk sensibly and rum is drunk slowly. Where neighbors make sure tourists don't get lost, and tourists applaud when the band plays as if they were Bruce Springsteen in Tunte.
The local police, as unsurprised as ever, and grateful, simply strolled among the people, almost like a pilgrimage. "It's not a miracle, it's the people," said a veteran officer from Fataga, tipping his cap to a woman from Juan Grande who was selling La Moyera nougat like someone offering forgiveness.
The south, that south that sometimes seems like only beaches and the dancing of young people from Las Palmas in the wee hours of the morning as they wait for public transportation to return to their Rehoyas or Jinámar neighborhoods, has shown that it also knows the catechism of coexistence by heart. And that when the party is real, it's celebrated with soul and decorum. Because here, where tourism sleeps and history endures, there are still those who understand that Santiago is not just a statue, but a way of being in the world.
