An overlong, drawn-out, almost half-an-hour long goodbye. I, as a Mexican, know it by the name of the Zacatecan Goodbye. People in the States may know it as the Midwest Goodbye; the philosophical opposite of the Irish Goodbye (which also has its place in the human social ecosystems).
Zacatecas is a state a bit to the North in Mexico where people are traditionally tight-knit to frankly surreal levels, at least to my experience with family from there. Everyone is a distant relative to each other, everyone is a neighbor, everyone knows that thing you did at your cousins wedding party two years ago, unfortunately. It's a small town in the guise of a state.
I'm generalizing, but there's no better evidence of how intertwined the people are than their farewells. Last minute gossip comes up after the salvo of hugs and is debriefed thoroughly. Plans for the next reunion are arranged during the second, not the last, round of hugs and kisses, the details of which are too exciting not to dwell on before parting. The roundup of the kids is delayed by an impromptu game of expert-level hide and seek. Elders' eyes glisten at their children and grandchildren meeting the horizon.
The connections drawn tight and then relaxed by the Zacatecan Goodbye are not always good. Departure can be difficult even when you want to go, perhaps even more so. So rough and bittersweet is the endeavor of separation because it is futile; you think you leave when you go through the door, but you really are not, nor ever will.