Photo of the day: The parade passed, the tents stayed

San José de las Lajas (Mayabeque)/The May Day hangover wakes up late on Avenida 40 in San José de las Lajas. The practiced bustle of the day before has given way to a sticky silence, barely interrupted by the hum of an electric tricycle that passes slowly and by the creak of the tarps that the wind reluctantly shakes. In the middle of the street, as if the party had been frozen, several blue and red tents remain planted on the asphalt, obstructing traffic and reminding us that the obligatory enthusiasm lasts just a few hours, but its consequences linger a little longer.

In the shadow of one of those metal structures, covered with a piece of faded blue vinyl, a man of medium height fans himself with his cap while looking desperately at the clock. “I’ve been here since yesterday at nine o’clock at night, guarding the tent so they don’t take it away, and three hours after the parade I’m still guarding this piece of vinyl,” he asserts, with red eyes and his shirt stuck to his body from sweat.

According to the worker himself, his boss promised him that half an hour, at the latest, after finishing the parade, an assigned truck would be collecting everything and that his work would end when the vehicle arrived. But the transport does not appear and the sun advances unceremoniously over the almost deserted avenue. “Soda, beer and rum were sold here until a while ago.”

A few meters away, another red canvas tent protects an empty counter and a metal grill that still retains the smell of roast meat. After the feigned enthusiasm and forced slogans have concluded, what remains in the area are the remains of a celebration that disappeared with the usual alacrity of recent years.

From the porch of his house, right in front of the grandstand erected for the parade, Rolando observes the scene with the resigned patience of someone who has seen the same ritual repeated too many times. At 77 years old, he assures that May Day no longer causes him pride or enthusiasm, but rather fatigue. “Twenty minutes after the parade ended, they turned off the power, so that there was no doubt that the party of the proletariat was just for a little while,” he says.

The old man says that he had to get up in the early morning to ask some people to lower their voices. “They were on guard guarding the area where the parade presidency is located. In reality, what they were doing was drinking rum,” he questions with a bitter smile.

For the residents of 40th Avenue, the May Day hangover is not measured in headaches or muscle fatigue, but in the time it takes to remove the tents that block the street and to dissipate the persistent smell of human urine that is concentrated next to the electricity poles and nearby walls. The party fades quickly, but the disorder remains, like a trace that is difficult to erase.