Category: Festivals in Mexico

Nine Days of Piñatas :: Nine Days of Posadas!

Traditional piñatas ready for sale decorate the door to the Hernández family's tiny taller (workshop) on Av. Lázaro Cárdenas near Plaza Carrillo in Morelia, Michoacán.

Among clean ollas de barro (clay pots), plastic receptacles filled with engrudo (flour/water paste), and colorful, neatly stacked rounds of papel de china (tissue paper), Sra. María Dolores Hernández (affectionately known as Doña Lolita) sits on an upturned bucket. She celebrates her birthday on December 24, and she still lights up–just like a Christmas tree–when she talks about her business and her life.

The last point of the star-shaped piñata is in Doña Lolita's hands, nearly ready to be glued into place.

"When I was a young woman, raising my family together with my husband, it was hard for us to make a good living here in Morelia. We had eight children (one has died, but six girls and a boy survive) and we struggled to make ends meet. My husband was a master mason, but I wanted to help out with the finances. I knew a woman who made piñatas, and I thought, 'I can do that.' So I started trying my hand, nearly 60 years ago."

Doña Lolita adds another layer of newspaper to this piñata in progress. "You can't put too much newspaper on the pot, because it will take too long to break the piñata," she explained. "And you can't put too little on it, either, because then the first child to hit it will break it. That's no good, either. You just have to know how much to use." Click on the photo to enlarge it and get a good look at the clay pot inside the paper maché.

"The woman who made piñatas wouldn't give away her secrets, so I had to figure everything out for myself. You should have seen me the first time I tried to make a bird's beak for a parrot-shaped piñata! A man I knew told me to make it out of chapopote (a kind of tar), so I did. It hardened all right, but later in the day the weather warmed up and that beak dripped down to *here*! What a mess! I finally figured out how to make the shape out of paper, but I just about broke my head thinking about it!"

Pre-cut rounds of papel de china (tissue paper) wait to be glued onto a piñata. The black plastic bag holds strips of newspaper.

Doña Lolita told me about the different grades of paper used to create different styles of decoration on the piñata, and she explained different kinds of paper-cutting techniques; she's absolutely the expert. Here, her son-in-law Fernando cuts tissue paper for fringe. His hands are so fast with the scissors it made my head spin; he can even cut without looking.

"In those days, the clay pots cost four and a half pesos for a gross–yes, for 144. In the old days, I usually sold about 7,000 piñatas every December, so you can imagine the investment I made just in clay pots. In the 1960s, I could sell a large piñata for seven pesos. Now–well, now the pots are much more expensive, so naturally the piñatas cost more, too. The large ones cost 45 pesos. This year, I'll sell about 1,000 piñatas just for the posadas."

Piñatas in various stages of completion hang from every beam in Doña Lolita's tiny workshop.

"When my daughter Mercedes was about eight years old, she wanted to learn to make piñatas. She'd been watching me do it since she was born. So I taught her, and I've taught the whole family. Piñatería (making piñatas) is what's kept us going." Doña Lolita smiled hugely. "My children have always been extremely hard workers. There was a girl for each part of making the piñatas. Every year, we started making piñatas in August and finished at the beginning of January.

This gigantic piñata, still unfinished, measures almost six feet in diameter from point to point.

"One time, we had so many piñatas to finish that I didn't think we could do it. So I thought, 'if we work all night long, we can finish them by tomorrow morning.' Only I couldn't figure out how to keep the children awake to work all night." She laughed. "I went to the drugstore and bought pills to stay awake. I knew I could keep myself awake, but I gave one pill to each of the children. And in just a little while, I was working and they were sleeping, their heads fell right down into their work! What! Those pills didn't work at all! The next day I went back to the drugstore and asked the pharmacist about it. 'Oh no! I thought you asked me for pills to make them sleep!' he said." Doña Lolita laughed again. "We finished all the piñatas in spite of those pills, but you had better believe me, I never tried anything that foolish again."

Doña Lolita builds piñatas with her son-in-law, Fernando Cedeño Herrera (left), her daughter Mercedes Ayala Hernández, her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren. A close friend, Oswaldo Gutiérrez López (background), works with the family. Her grandson Enrique, 19, says he intends to keep the family business going.

Oswaldo Gutiérrez works on this piñata in the doorway of the tiny taller. Doña Lolita has taught many people the art of creating traditional piñatas, but her family and her loyal customers say she's the best piñatera (piñata maker) in Morelia.

"People come from everywhere to buy my piñatas. I don't have to take them out to sell; I only sell them here in the taller. Because they're so beautiful and well-made, all the best people in Morelia–and lots of people from other places–come to seek me out and order piñatas for their parties. I've taught my family that our work is our pride and our heritage, and my children have all taught their children the same. That is our legacy, our family tradition."

Fill the piñata with candy like these bags of traditional colación (hard candies especially for Christmas).

But why piñatas, and why in December? During the early days of the Spanish conquest, the piñata was used as a catechetical tool, to teach the indigenous people about Christianity. The body of the piñata represented Satan; each of the seven points symbolized the seven deadly (capital) sins (pride, lust, gluttony, rage, greed, laziness, and envy). The blindfold worn by the child or adult trying to hit the piñata represents blind faith. Breaking the points of the piñata equated with the triumph of good over evil, overpowering Satan, overcoming sin, and finally enjoying the sweet delights of God's goodness as they pour out of the piñata. Doña Lolita's most sought-after piñatas continue to be the traditional style, with seven points, but she also creates piñatas shaped like roosters, peacocks, half-watermelons, deer, half moons, and once, an enormous octopus!

For the nine nights from December 16 through December 24, Mexico celebrates las posadas. Each evening, a re-enactment of the Christmas story brings children dressed as la Virgencita María (ready to give birth to her baby) and her husband Sr. San José (and a street filled with angels, shepherds, and other costumed children) along the road to Bethlehem, searching for a place to stay. There is no place: Bethlehem's posadas (inns) are filled. Where will the baby be born! For the re-enactment, people wait behind closed doors at certain neighborhood houses. The santos peregrinos (holy pilgrims) knock, first at one door, then another. At each house, they sing a song, begging lodging for the night. At each house, the neighbors inside turn them away in song: 'No room here! Go away! Bother someone else!' Watch a lovely slide show: Las Posadas.

Freshly toasted cacahuates (peanuts) are in season now and are also used to stuff the piñata. The wooden box holding the peanuts is actually a measure, as is the oval metal box.

Fresh caña (sugar cane) is in season now in time for the posadas. Buy it in two-inch unpeeled sections for adding to the sweets in the piñata; buy it in 3" peeled thin sticks for adding to your hot ponche navideño (Christmas punch).

After several houses turn away la Virgen, San José, and their retinue, they finally receive welcome at the last designated house. After the pilgrims sing their plea for a place to stay, the guests assembled inside sing their welcome, "Entren santos peregrinos…" (Come in, holy pilgrims…). The doors are flung open, everyone piles into the house, and a huge party starts. Traditional foods like ponche (a hot fruit punch), buñuelos (a thin fried dough covered with either sugar or syrup), and tamales (hundreds of tamales!) pour out of the kitchen as revelers sing villancicos (Mexican Christmas carols) and celebrate the coming of the Niño Dios (the Child Jesus). Finally, all the children line up to put on a blindfold and take swings at a piñata stuffed with candy, seasonal fruits, and peanuts.

These very large bags of individually wrapped candies are ready to use to fill any piñata. These are available at the Mercado Medellín in Colonia Roma, Mexico City.

Mandarinas (tangerines) are in season at Christmastime, as are tiny jícamas and fresh sugar cane, which round out the goodies in lots of piñatas.

The piñata, stuffed with all it will hold, hangs from a rope during the posada party. A parent or neighbor swings it back and forth, up and down, as each child takes a turn at breaking it open with a big stick. Watch these adorable kids whack away.

The piñata, lovely though it may be, is a purely temporary joy. Nevertheless, happy memories of childhood posadas with family and friends last a lifetime.

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22 de December de 2018
Ponche Navideño :: Mexico’s Out-of-this-World Delicious, Soul Warming Christmas Punch

Mexico's fragrant, delicious ponche navideño–Christmas punch, served hot. Loaded with seasonal fruits and sweet spices, it's a do-not-miss at our Christmas festivities. The recipe is simple and the rewards are many; you, your family, and your holiday guests will love it as much as I do. Photo courtesy México Desconocido.

At nearly every winter party in Mexico, you'll find a big vat of steaming hot, homemade ponche navideño. Served with or without a piquete (a shot of rum, tequila, or other alcohol), this marvelous drink will warm you from the inside out. Really, it wouldn't be Christmas (or a posada, or New Year's Eve) without it. Here's the recipe I've used for years.

Ponche Navideño Mexicano**
**You should be able to buy everything on this list at your local Latin market

2 pounds sugar cane, peeled and cut into 3” sticks
1 pound apples, cored and cut into thin slices or chunks
1 pound pears, cored and cut into thin slices or chunks–Bosc are excellent for this
10 ripe guavas, cut in quarters and seeded
Peel of one orange
1 pound tejocotes, cut in quarters and seeded
1/2 pound tamarind fruit removed from the pods and deveined
1/2 pound prunes with or without seeds
2 ounces dried jamaica flowers
2 cloves
1 star anise pod (optional)
1 kilo piloncillo (Mexican brown sugar)
1/2 cup white sugar (optional)
2 long sticks Mexican cinnamon, broken in thirds or quarters

6 quarts of water or more

Special Equipment
A 12-to-14 quart lidded pot
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Before you start cutting up fruit, put 6 quarts of water in a pot, cover it, and over high heat, heat it until it boils.

Add all the cut fruit to the pot and bring the pot back to a boil. Then lower to simmer and simmer for 20 minutes. If you think the pot needs more water, bring it to a boil separately and add it little by little.

Add the tamarind, the prunes, the jamaica, the cloves, the piloncillo, the white sugar, the cinnamon, and continue to simmer until all of the fruit is soft and tender.

We usually ask our adult guests if they'd like their ponche con piquete (with alcohol–rum, tequila, etc). Add a shot to each cup as requested, prior to adding the ponche.

Serves 12 to 15. If you have some left over, save it (fruit and all) till the next day and re-heat. Ponche navideño is even better the second day!
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Sugar cane is in season right now! On the left, you see it in the already-peeled "sticks" you want for your ponche. On the right, you see the unpeeled sections that you want for your piñata! Thanks to Verónica Hernández at Mexico City's Mercado Medellín (corner of Calle Campeche and Av. Medellín, Colonia Roma) for letting me take this photo; if you're in the city, look for her and her employer, Mario Bautista, at Booth 138–tell her you saw her caña (sugar cane) on Mexico Cooks!.

The fragrant perfume of ripe guavas permeates our markets right now–they're ready to buy for ponche.

Seasonal tejocotes–Mexican hawthorne, similar to the crabapple. Each of these measures approximately 1 1/4" in diameter. The fruit is very high in pectin, which slightly thickens ponche. If you simply cannot find tejocotes, substitute another pound of apples.

Tamarind pods with their shells on. If you're unable to find the pods, use about 1/4 pound tamarind paste.

These are prunes with seeds. You can use these or you can used seedless prunes.

These are the dehydrated jamaica flowers you need to make ponche. They add deep red color and tartness to the drink.

Star anise for your ponche. You will find this in the store where you usually buy spices, at a Latin market, or at an Asian market.

Look at this huge display of piloncillo (molded raw brown sugar) at the Mercado de Jamaica, Mexico City! One kilo will be enough for this recipe's ponche. Click on any photo to enlarge.

This is what's known as canela–Mexican "true cinnamon". The truth is, it's grown in Ceylon and imported to Mexico. Notice how many, many layers of very thin bark are folded in on one another. This cinnamon is quite soft, breaks and flakes easily, and is what you want to look for to use in ponche and any other Mexican recipe calling for cinnamon. Do not be misled into buying cassia, a much more readily found, much harder in consistency, and much less flavorful "fake" cinnamon. Look for canela at your Latin market; the sticks are usually quite long. These measure nearly a half-meter! To the right side are Mexican raisins, which, if you like, you can also add to the ponche.

Old-fashioned Mexican peltre (enamel over metal) cups filled with ponche navideño. Be sure to put a lot of all of the varieties of fruit into each cup. Those are caña (sugar cane) sticks (colored pink by the jamaica flowers)–an edible decoration and a tool for pushing fruit from the cup into your mouth! Photo courtesy Kiwilimon.

Provecho! (Mexico's way of saying bon appetit!)

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15 de December de 2018
Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe :: Queen of Mexico and Patron of the Americas in Images

The actual tilma (cape-like garment) worn by San Juan Diego in December 1531. The framed tilma hangs over the main altar at the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Mexico City.

The annual feast of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Our Lady of Guadalupe) falls each year on December 12. Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is Mexico's patron saint, and her image adorns churches and altars, house facades and interiors, taxis, private cars, and buses, bull rings and gambling dens, restaurants and houses of ill repute. The shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, la Basílica, is a place of extraordinary vitality and celebration. On major festival days such as the anniversary of the apparition on December 12th, the atmosphere of devotion created by the hundreds of thousands of pilgrims is truly electrifying.

Statues of Our Lady of Guadalupe for sale at the many, many souvenir booths outside the Basílica.

The enormous Basílica of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City is the most visited pilgrimage site in the Western Hemisphere. Its location, on the hill of Tepeyac, was a place of great sanctity long before the arrival of Christianity in the New World. In pre-Hispanic times, Tepeyac had been crowned with a temple dedicated to an earth and fertility goddess called Tonantzin, the Mother of the Gods. Tonantzin was a virgin goddess associated with the moon, like Our Lady of Guadalupe who usurped her shrine.

Our Lady of Guadalupe tattoo.

Read the full story of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe here.

Our Lady of Guadalupe surrounded by fresh roasted peanuts, Morelia, Michoacán. November 2009.

Holy water bottles in rainbow colors of plastic, for sale at the booths just outside the Basílica.

Art casket, Our Lady of Guadalupe and the Basílica.

Primitive folk art depiction of Our Lady of Guadalupe. A saying in Mexico: "No todos somos católicos, pero todos somos guadalupanos." "We aren't all Catholics, but we are all followers of Our Lady of Guadalupe."

Statue in resin of Our Lady of Guadalupe and Pope John Paul II, who was devoted to her. This image is reproduced as calendars, statues of all sizes, and pictures to hang on the wall.

Portrait of Monseñor Diego Monroy, rector of the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. The painting is part of Monseñor Monroy's private collection.

In 1810, Padre Miguel Hidalgo carried this banner to lead the struggle for Mexico's independence from Spain.

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8 de December de 2018
Guadalajara’s Panteón de Belén (Bethlehem Cemetery) :: Are You Brave Enough to Brave the Tour?

Originally published in late October 2007, this article about Guadalajara's Panteón de Belén lead up to several articles about Mexico's Día de los Muertos–Day of the Dead. All these years later, Mexico Cooks! will follow that same path as we relive Mexico's early November traditions.

The center pathway at the Panteón de Belén (Bethlehem Cemetery) leads to this rotunda, the original Rotunda of Illustrious Men of Guadalajara. Patterned after an Egyptian pyramid, it contains crypts and a chapel.

When I was a child, a Sunday drive with my family often included a visit to one of the finest old cemeteries of the southern United States. My younger sister and I would wander among the elaborate limestone mausoleums, exclaiming at the dates that seemed so long ago, "Look, Mommy, this man died in 1822. Do you remember back that far?" My mother, born 100 years after that date, simply rolled her eyes and suggested that we hurry over to the cemetery pond to feed the ducks and swans from our bags of stale bread.

I still like to visit cemeteries. There's peace to be found among the dead, an acceptance of life as it is and death as it comes. The Day of the Dead in Mexico celebrates that notion: life is to be lived today, death is inevitable. Enjoy the one, honor the other. In Guadalajara, there is a cemetery where the long-dead are honored year round. You'll find plenty of entertainment in its legends and lore.

A few weeks ago, my friend Lourdes called just as I was leaving for the Panteón de Belén (Bethlehem Cemetery), Guadalajara's most famous burial ground. I thought she'd be squeamish when I asked her to meet me there, but no. She's a Guadalajara native, but she'd never been to the cemetery and she was quite excited at the prospect. She was beaming when we met at the ancient stone entrance. I paid our entry fee ($5 pesos per person, plus an extra $10 pesos if you plan to take pictures) and we started out along the center pathway through moldering gravestones and decrepit 19th Century mausoleums.

The construction of Panteón de Belén began in 1843 under the direction of architect Manuel Gómez Ibarra, who also built the towers of the Metropolitan Cathedral in Guadalajara. The cemetery had been in the planning stages since 1786, shortly after Guadalajara had passed through what has come to be called 'the year of hunger'. A tremendous plague gripped the city, killing thousands of its residents and filling the existing cemeteries. There was an urgent need for a new campo santo (burial ground).

The colonnade of crypts at the front entrance of the Panteón de Belén.

City authorities chose the orchards of the civil hospital to build the new cemetery. Flat and extensive, the grounds were well-suited to this use. The first occupant of the cemetery, buried there in 1844 before the buildings were completed, was Isidoro Gómez Tortolero, pastor of the town of Tala, Jalisco.

Today, much of the cemetery has been closed and the remaining land used for other purposes. What we see now is only a fraction of what once existed. The lands that were used as the common graves of the poor are now under a huge building.

The portion of the cemetery where we walked (and where we found our admirable guide) is crumbling with age. Huge branching trees arch over the graves, the mausoleums, and the pathways. Mottled shade alternates with brilliant sunshine, creating the sense that we walked between the past and the present. Dates on the crypts carried us back in time, forcing our thoughts down paths that long-dead feet trod before us.

Legend and history had us in their grip. One minute Lourdes said, "I'm not the sort that is afraid in a place like this," and the next minute she showed me her arm, with gooseflesh and peach fuzz standing up in a chilly shiver. We stood silent, wondering which graves were the stuff of ghostly tales and which held the barely-remembered.

The inscription on Little Nacho's tomb reads, "Ignacio Torres Altamirano, May 26, 1882".

Suddenly we heard a high-pitched young voice saying, "And over here is Little Nacho, the one who was afraid of the dark." Our ears perked up. We looked for the source of the voice and saw a young girl, no more than nine or ten years old, leading a group of enthralled visitors around the cemetery. We begged permission to join them.

"See the child's stone coffin, built on top of the grave?" Her girlish voice turned very serious. "That's Little Nacho, who died exactly on his first birthday. From the time he was born, he was terrified of the dark and couldn't bear to be in a closed room. He had to sleep in a room filled with candles, a room where all the windows were open. The doctors were amazed by his fear, and nothing his parents could do would cure it. They even took him to curanderos (faith healers) to see if he was bewitched, but to no avail.

"When Little Nacho died, his parents buried him here in this grave, with a heavy gravestone above him. Everyone went home from the funeral and night fell. When the cemetery watchman made his rounds just at dawn, he jumped back in horror when he saw that Little Nacho's tiny coffin was lying on top of the gravestone. His report to the cemetery authorities was that someone had dug up the baby's coffin during the night, a desecration of the worst sort."

Very stylish in her pink skirt, Jessica Torres (at the far right), age ten, skillfully guided our group through the cemetery. Dramatic and articulate, she kept us all in shivers.

Our little group was riveted by what our young guide was saying. She continued, "That same day they buried his coffin again, but every morning for the next ten days it reappeared on top of the gravestone. No one had ever seen anything like it, and no one knew what to do. The cemetery authorities were trembling with trepidation, but they finally had to tell the parents about these strange events.

"Little Nacho's grieving parents immediately knew the solution. 'Leave his coffin on top of his grave. He feared the dark in life. Of course he fears it in death as well.' And there it stayed, and here it still stays. Little Nacho rests above the ground."

Lourdes raised her hand. "And all those little toys and candies around the base of the tomb? Why are they there?"

Our guide smiled briefly. "They say that if you leave Little Nacho a a small gift or a piece of candy, your life in the future will be sweet."

We moved along to the next monument. Jessica stopped abruptly in front of a large carved stone tomb. "Two people are buried here, José María Castaños and Andrea Retes. They were so much in love and planning to be married, but the boy's mother hated the girl because she was from a lower social class.

"The two lovers were so upset by José María's mother's anger and hatred that they killed themselves. When his mother found out what happened, she almost went crazy from grief and guilt. She owned a plot in this cemetery and begged permission from Andrea's parents to bury the two lovers together. She had a double cross carved and placed on their tomb as a way of asking for God's forgiveness.

"Still, José María's mother's guilt would not leave her in peace. She knew she was the one responsible for the two deaths. Cry though she might, she could not get rid of the pain in her heart. Months later, she decided to take a wreath of flowers to lay on the grave. She draped the wreath over the double cross, just the way a lasso (ceremonial rope symbolizing marital union) is draped over the bride and groom at their wedding.

"A sudden silence fell over the cemetery as José María's mother laid the wreath over the cross. Even the birds stopped singing. In that silent instant, the wreath of beautiful fresh flowers turned to stone, just the way we see them today. And with that sign, José María's mother finally believed that the two young lovers had forgiven her."

In 1996 the stone crosses on the Castaños tomb fell and suffered some damage, but they remain united by their wreath of flowers.

Whispering among ourselves about the stories we'd heard, our not-so-brave little band followed behind Jessica as she led us toward the next grave site. One of the women with us murmured, "I hear they have night tours here. I don't think I'd have the courage to come here in the dark. It's scary enough in the broad daylight."

Jessica turned around. "There are night tours, on Fridays and on some special days, too. There will be night tours celebrating the Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) this year. In fact, it's a marathon. Four tours will start every hour or so, beginning at seven o'clock at night and lasting all night long. The whole cemetery will be full of people."

Lourdes and I looked at one another and nodded. "I wouldn't miss it, would you?" she whispered.

Our next graveside stop was at the tomb of the sailor. Jessica told us that unlike other legendary Navy men, this sailor did not have a girl in every port. Instead, he had an enemy in every port. Sailing Mexico's west coast, he stole jewelry, gold coins, and everything else of value he could expropriate from the rightful owners. The sailor was a pirate, and he had a huge stash of valuables.

The tombstone of el marinero (the sailor), who buried a huge bag of gold coins—somewhere. Will you be the one to learn the secret?

"Only he knew where the booty was. Even though he had a son, he never told even his son where all the treasure was hidden. When the sailor was very old, he moved to Guadalajara and spent his last few months of life here. When he died, the secret of his treasure died with him."

Jessica smoothed her pretty pink skirt. "They say that you have to light a candle and pray the rosary with all your heart, right here at his grave at midnight. But you have to do it without fear, and many people have tried. They're not afraid when they start out, but about half way through the rosary something happens. They start trembling with fear, and they have to give up and run away. No one has ever made it through a whole rosary, but if you want to try it some midnight, they say that the ghost of the sailor will come out from behind the grave stone and tell you where the treasure is hidden." She shook her finger. "You won't find me here at midnight!"

I was surprised to see two side-by-side crypts with epitaphs in English. When I looked closer, I could see that the husband and wife were natives of Paisley, Scotland. Lourdes asked me, "How can you tell that they were married?"

I pointed out the word wife engraved into the marble of Jean Young's crypt marker. "That means esposa," I whispered to Lourdes.

Joseph Johnston, a doctor from Scotland, and his wife, Jean Young, are buried side by side in two crypts. They both died in Guadalajara in 1896.

Jessica was telling the story. "The man buried here was a doctor, but not one of those doctors who was only in the profession for the money. In fact, most of the time he didn't even want to accept payment for curing people. He did it from his heart. Nobody knows how he arrived in Guadalajara, but he and his wife both died here in 1896. And today, if you come to their graves and ask for a favor while you're praying the rosary, the couple will take charge of seeing to it that you have a lot of good luck, good health, and all the money you need." She looked at us and smiled. "And love, too. They'll make sure that the one you love also loves you. But you have to be praying from the heart."

Just one of the hundreds of crypts in Guadalajara's Panteón de Belén.

Those buried in the Panteón de Belén range from the highest of Guadalajara's 19th Century high society to the poorest of the poor, who were buried in common graves in the furthest part of the cemetery grounds. Among the elite are Ramón Corona, a governor of Jalisco; Enrique Díaz de León, the first rector of the University of Guadalajara; José Silverio Núñez, the second governor of Colima; and Carlos Villaseñor, a painter whose ashes now rest in the Rotonda de Hombres Ilustres across the street from the Metropolitan Cathedral. A glance at the list of important people buried in the cemetery is like reading a list of the street names of Guadalajara.

There are also graves marked only with a first name: Rafael, Enrique, Joaquín. These are children born out of wedlock. Rather than shame the mother, the child was buried with no last name on the tombstone.

There are many, many more legends to tell from the Panteón de Belén. We heard about the woman who was buried alive, the hanging tree, the night watchman, the horse and carriage, the empty tomb that bears a name, the priest shot by a firing squad, the student gone crazy—there are all of these tales and more to make the blood run just a little cold.

A Mexican girl's quinceañera (15th birthday celebration) is the most important day of her life, the day she leaves her childhood behind and is presented to God and to society as a young woman.

Today, the cemetery is a popular spot for portraits. Quinceañeras (young women celebrating their fifteenth birthdays) dressed in fabulous gowns and carrying beautiful bouquets are photographed every day of the week. Lourdes and I saw two lovely young women, one in floor length, pale pink tulle and the other in cream satin with puffed sleeves, each being photographed next to carved pilasters. Newlyweds arrive after their weddings on Saturday afternoons, the brides radiant as they lean against a 19th Century mausoleum and smile into their new husbands' eyes.

The cemetery is romantic, it's beautiful, and it's an island of peace in the heart of Guadalajara. Here among the ghosts and legends of the past, today's young people celebrate their new lives.

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17 de November de 2018
Day and Night of the Dead in Indigenous Mexico :: Oh Death, Where Is Thy Sting?

Remember me as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
…from a tombstone

What is death? We know its first symptoms: the heart stops pumping, breath and brain activity stop. We know death's look and feel: a still, cold body from which the spirit has fled. The orphan and widow know death's sorrow, the priest knows the liturgy of the departed and the prayers to assuage the pain of those left to mourn. But in most English-speaking countries, death and the living are not friends. We the living look away from our mortality, we talk of the terminally ill in terms of 'if anything happens', not 'when she dies'. We hang the crepe, we cover the mirrors, we say the beads, and some of us fling ourselves sobbing upon the carefully disguised casket as it is lowered into the Astroturf-lined grave.

Octavio Paz, Mexico City's Nobel Laureate poet and essayist who died in 1998, is famously quoted as saying, "In New York, Paris, and London, the word death is never mentioned, because it burns the lips."

Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán panteón (cemetery), Mexico Cooks! photo. These fellows sing to la Descarnada (the fleshless woman) on November 2, 2009.

In Mexico, on the contrary, every day is a dance with death. Death is a woman who has a numerous affectionate and humorous nicknames: la Huesuda (the bony woman), la Seria (the serious woman), la Novia Fiel (the faithful bride), la Igualadora (the equalizer), la Dientona (the toothy woman), la Pelona (the bald woman), la Patrona (the boss lady), and a hundred more. She's always here, just around the next corner or maybe right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or until sometime next year–but when it's your time to go, she's right there, ready to dance away with you at her side.

November 2013 altar to La Santa Muerte (Holy Death), Sta. Ana Chapirito (near Pátzcuaro), Michoacán. Devotees of this deathly apparition say that her cult has existed since before the Spanish arrived in Mexico.

In Mexico, death is also in the midst of life. We see our dead, alive as you and me, each November, when we wait at our cemeteries for those who have gone before to come home, if only for a night. That, in a nutshell, is Noche de Muertos: the Night of the Dead.

In the lower center portion of this photograph, you can see the Quiroga, Michoacán, panteón municipal (town cemetery). Late in the afternoon of November 1, 2013, most townspeople had not yet gone to the cemetery with candles and flowers for their loved ones' graves. Click on any photograph for a larger view.

Over the course of the last 35-plus years, Mexico Cooks! has been to countless Noche de Muertos events, but none as mystical, as magical, or as profoundly spiritual as that of 2013. Invited to accompany a very small group on a private tour in Michoacán, I looked forward to spending three days enjoying the company of old and new friends. I did all that, plus I came away with an extraordinarily privileged view of life and death.

A magnificent Purépecha ofrenda (in this case, a home altar) in the village of Santa Fe de la Laguna, Michoacán. This detailed and lovely ofrenda was created to the memory of the family's maiden aunt, who died at 74. Because she had never married, even at her advanced age she was considered to be an angelito (little angel)–like an innocent child–and her spirit was called back home to the family on November 1, the day of the angelitos. Be sure to click on the photo to see the details of the altar. Fruits, breads, incense, salt, flowers, colors, and candles have particular symbolism and are necessary parts of the ofrenda.

Detail of the ofrenda casera (home altar) shown above. Several local people told Mexico Cooks! that the fruit piled on the altar tasted different from fruit from the same source that had not been used for the ofrenda. "Compramos por ejemplo plátanos y pusimos unos en el altar y otros en la cocina para comer. Ya para el día siguiente, los de la cocina tenían sabor normal, pero los del altar no tenían nada de sabor, no supieron a nada," they said. 'We bought bananas, for example, and we put some on the altar and the rest in the kitchen to eat. The next day, the ones in the kitchen were fine, but the ones from the altar had no taste at all.'

Preparing a family member's ofrenda (altar) in the camposanto in the village of Arócutin, Michoacán. The camposanto–literally, holy ground–is a cemetery contained within the walls of a churchyard. The beautiful beeswax candles used in this area of Michoacán are hand made in Ihuatzio and Santa Fé de la Laguna.

Come with me along the unlit road that skirts the Lago de Pátzcuaro: Lake Pátzcuaro. It's chilly and the roadside weeds are damp with rain that fell earlier in the evening, but for the moment the sky has cleared and is filled with stars. Up the hill on the right and down the slope leading left toward the lake are tiny villages, dark but for the glow of tall candles lit one by one in the cemeteries. Tonight is November 1, the night silent souls wend their way home from Mictlán, the land beyond life.

At the grave: candlelight to illuminate the soul's way, cempazúchitl (deeply orange marigolds) for their distinctive fragrance required to open the path back home, smoldering copal (frankincense) to cleanse the earth and air of any remnants of evil, covered baskets of the deceased's favorite foods. And a low painted chair, where the living can rest through the night.

Watching through the night. This tumba (grave) refused to be photographed head-on. From an oblique angle, the tumba allowed its likeness to be made.

"Oh grave, where is thy victory? Oh death, where is thy sting?"

Noche de Muertos is not a costume party, although you may see it portrayed as such in the press. It is not a drunken brawl, although certain towns appear to welcome that sort of blast-of-banda-music reventón (big blow-out). It is not a tourist event, though respectful strangers are certainly welcomed to these cemeteries. Noche de Muertos is a celebration of the spirit's life over the body's death, a festival of remembrance, a solemn passover. Years ago, in an interview published in the New York Times, Mexico Cooks! said, "Noche de Muertos is about mutual nostalgia. The living remember the dead, and the dead remember the taste of home."

One by one, grave by grave, golden cempazúchitles give shape to rock-bound tombs and long candles give light to what was a dark and lonely place, transforming the cemetery into a glowing garden. How could a soul resist this setting in its honor?

"Our hearts remember…" we promise the dead. Church bells toll slowly throughout the night, calling souls home with their distinctive clamor (death knell). Come…come home. Come…come home.

Waiting. Prayers. No se me olvido de tí, mi viejo amado. (I haven't forgotten you, my dear old man.)

Next year, come with me.

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3 de November de 2018
Dancing with Death :: José Guadalupe Posada and the History of the Catrina

José Guadalupe Posada, born in the state of Aguascalientes, Mexico, in early 1852, developed his skill as an artist into a career as the foremost political cartoonist of his era, regularly skewering the high and mighty of late 19th century Mexico with his engravings. His portrait (above), engraved by mid-20th century engraver Leopoldo Méndez, is a classic.

Posada's satirical efforts started when he worked as a teenage apprentice in Aguascalientes. His boss, José Trinidad Pedroza, assigned him the job of creating a finger-pointing cartoon depicting the misdeeds of a local politician. His characterization was so successful that it created a tremendous hullabaloo in Aguascalientes; both Posada and Pedroza had to leave town in a hurry to avoid the politico's wrath. When the tumult calmed down, the two printers returned to their work of exposing nefarious political goings-on.

Posada, photographed around the turn of the 20th century, standing in the doorway of his Mexico City taller de grabado (engraving workshop).

When Pedroza's Aguascalientes workplace was destroyed by a flood in 1888, Posada moved to Mexico City to open his own workshop. After the move to the capital, Posada began publishing and distributing frequent volantes (flyers). He used the medium to continue to puncture the egos and expose the foibles and serious crimes of government and social figures of the day. During a time when many in Mexico were illiterate, the message of political cartoons could be easily understood even without reading the articles. Many credit Posada with raising the political and social consciousness of the peón (common laborer), exposing social injustice at a time when most at that level were blind to it.

Posada's first published fashionably-hatted calavera (skull). The cartoon is titled, "Big Sale of Grinning Skulls". Over the course of the rest of his career, it is estimated that the prolific Posada published as many as 20,000 political volantes, at a penny apiece, including many thousands that were illustrated by calaveras.

What was Posada's purpose in utilizing a skeleton–albeit a well-dressed skeleton–to illustrate his articles? Mexico's president/dictator at the time, Porfirio Díaz, idealized and aped all things French. During his 30-year rule (1876-1910, known as the Porfiriato), Mexican government officials and high society alike dressed in the French mode, expressing what was known then and is known now as malinchismo: over-valuing foreign imports over Mexico's national products. The Frenchified calavera engraved by Posada is offered as a satirical portrait of those Mexican natives who, Posada felt, were aspiring to adopt European aristocratic traditions in Mexico's pre-revolutionary era. The irony of Posada’s drawing—a fabulously over-dressed skeleton—is that no matter what we’re wearing, we all end as bones.

El Jarabe en Ultratumba (Dancing Beyond the Grave).

In Mexico, we play with, make fun of, and party with death. We throw our arms around her in a wickedly sardonic embrace and escape her return embrace with a zippy side-step, a wink, and a joke. Every day is a dance with death. Death is a woman who has a numerous affectionate and humorous nicknames: la Huesuda (the bony woman), la Seria (the serious woman), la Novia Fiel (the faithful bride), la Igualadora (the equalizer), la Dientona (the toothy woman), la Pelona (the bald woman), la Patrona (the boss lady), and a hundred more. She's always here, just around the next corner or right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or till sometime next year–but when it's time, she's right there to dance away with you at her side.

In the fairly recent past, Posada's pointed and politicized calavera became known as la catrina, a figure now closely related to Mexico's celebration of Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). Renowned Michoacán-based painter and sculptor Juan Torres Calderón, Mexico Cooks! good friend, was the first to present Posada's catrina vision in clay. In 1982, his wife, Velia Canals, began production of Maestro Torres' three-dimensional catrina designs. Their workshop in Capula, Michoacán, is open for sales to the public.

The Mexican word catrina–the word now used for any representation of Posada's original French-attired calavera–simply means a woman who is dressed to the nines. Her male counterpart is known as a catrín—a handsome man, usually dressed in elegant male attire. Together, the couple are catrines. Even today, if you go out to a formal event, your neighbor (seeing you leave the house) might well say, “Uff, qué catrina!” Unless you’re a man, of course, in which case the neighbor would say, “Qué catrín!”.

These catrines are made of paper maché. On the far right, you see a bride and groom. Mexico Cooks!' kitchen shows off this same artisan's chef figure, in a green chef's jacket and a high white toque. Click on any photo to enlarge it for a better view.

Some of the many Día de los Muertos figures displayed at the fabulous bakery Hornos de Los Ortíz, in Morelia, Michoacán. The owner makes these gorgeous figures out of bread dough! If you happen to be in Morelia in the next few weeks, DO NOT MISS this bakery and its annual display. The owners, in a typical Mexican play on words, call the diorama a pan-teón: bread cemetery.

During the 2015 Noche de los Muertos events in Morelia's historic center, this young woman dressed in a skirt and hat made of totomoxtle (dried corn husks)–the husks normally used for making tamales. Her mother made her outfit and painted her face.

During the last few years, many Mexican children and adults have begun to paint their faces for Día (and Noche) de Muertos. The little girl in the chair lives in Opopeo, Michoacán, a small town not far from Morelia. In the town square's bandstand, young people were designing a special face for each child who wanted one.

Posada's century-old political calavera has evolved into one of Mexico's most beloved icons, the catrina. When your friends ask you about her, be sure that they know the history behind this beautiful creature. She's more than just a pretty face.

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27 de October de 2018
GIANT ALEBRIJES In Mexico City’s Streets :: The Stuff of Dreams

This article, originally published in 2011, is well worth repeating today. The 12th annual Desfile de Alebrijes Monumentales (Giant Alebrijes Parade) will take place on October 20, 2018, starting at 12:00 noon. This year's parade expects more than 200 entries; it will kick off at the Zócalo in Mexico City's Centro Histórico and wend its way through downtown until it arrives on Paseo de la Reforma, ending at the Ángel de la Independencia. If you'll be in Mexico City, don't miss it!

Mexico City's iconic Ángel de la Independencia, nearly 43 meters high (that's 140 feet, for you who are metrically-challenged) is known all over the Distrito Federal simply as 'El Ángel'. Need a place to meet your friends to head for the Zona Rosa? "Nos vemos en el Ángel a las once…" ('see you at the Angel at eleven o'clock…'). For a good idea of the size of just the Ángel, look at the man standing near the right-hand corner of the railing–and consider that the platform is very, very high up on the column!

The fifth annual exhibit of alebrijes monumentales (monumentally-sized alebrijes) started just at the Ángel, in October 2011. This one is called Hipnóptera.

Very much in the style of Pedro Linares, this giant and quite happy alebrije exhibited along Paseo de la Reforma is called Pedrito (little Pedro). No fear–in spite of his sharp teeth, he won't bite!

The alebrije, created originally by 20th century Mexico City papel maché (paper maché) artisan don Pedro Linares, has become part of Mexico's mythology. If the creatures appear to be the stuff of nightmares, they in fact are just that: in the mid-1930s, sick and hallucinating with a high fever, Linares dreamed that these fantastical creatures surrounded him and heard them calling out their hitherto nonsense-syllable name: alebrijes, alebrijes, alebrijes. When his health improved, he began making the figures in his media, paper maché and cardboard.

This towering two-headed, four-armed creature with wings is called Pescando Soles. I spoke to the man standing at the right of the photo; he is close to six feet tall. That should give you an idea of the size of this giant.

Artist Mireya Carrera Bolaños smiles for the camera in front of her creation called Pescando Soles, which won an honorable mention in the competition.

Even though Sr. Linares originated the genre of alebrijes based on his fevered dreams, and even though his family continues to produce them in Mexico City, the alebrije name has passed into common usage for any fantastical creature made in the Linares style or a style that is similar. In Mexico City and the surrounding area, most alebrijes are made of paper maché and cardboard; this work is called cartonería. However, in the state of Oaxaca (and most famously by the artisan workshop headed by Jacobo and María Ángeles in the town of San Martín Tilcajete), alebrijes are carved from copal wood and are made in the shape of animals, both realistic and mythical. Each genre is very different from the other.

Ponte Almeja, a horned devil figure, sports a green tail covered with pre-Hispanic symbols.

The alebrijes exhibit started on a Sunday, which is always family day on Paseo de la Reforma. Every Sunday the divided wide boulevard is closed to all motorized traffic and is taken over by throngs of bicycles, tricycles, scooters, runners, walkers, children, and stroller-pushing parents. Vendors–of everything from food, toys, lucha libre masks (Mexican-style wrestling), bubble machines, pink and lavender cotton candy, and other non-essentials–line the sidewalks on both sides of Reforma.

Lucha libre mask vendor. You only wish it were Mexico Cooks! behind that marvelous mask!

This artist crafted a stack of monumentally-sized paper maché books between the feet of his giant alebrije. The title of the blue book in the middle of the stack is "Como Hacer Un Alebrije Monumental en Dos Semanas" ("How to Make a Monumental Alebrije in Two Weeks").

A toothy paper maché smile. This one looks much fiercer than Pedrito!

This wildly colorful dragon called Michtic (Gracioso) has its tail in its mouth, ready to go for a spin.

The head of the Ecofloon–part giraffe, part reindeer, part bird-beak, and 100% alebrije.

P-ezme Pezcadilla. The invented names of the creatures are as fanciful as their paint jobs.

Detail of paper maché bolitas (little balls) and wonderful design.

I've got my eye on you…

The end of the three-block exhibition of alebrijes: the fountain and glorieta (traffic circle) of Diana la Cazadora (Diana the Huntress). Click to enlarge the photo for a better view of her with her bow and arrow. In the background, the Hotel St. Regis.

After the weekend-long alebrijes exhibition along Paseo de la Reforma, the figures were trundled over to Mexico City's Centro Hístorico for a week in the Zócalo (central plaza), a fittingly monumental site for the 2011 crop of monumental alebrijes. We can hardly wait till the 2012 exhibit–come join us!

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6 de October de 2018
Viva México! Viva México! Qué Viva! :: Fiestas Patronales, Independence Day Celebrations in Mexico

Street vendors hawk la bandera nacional (the Mexican flag) in dozens of forms for several weeks during August and right up to September 16, Mexico's Independence Day. It's always fun to see what's the latest in patriotic tchotchkes. In this photo, you see a vendor near the zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) in Mexico City. Photo courtesy Starmedia.

Mexico's official struggle for freedom from Spanish colonization began sometime between midnight and dawn on September 16, 1810, when Father Miguel Hidalgo gave the Grito de Dolores (Cry of Dolores) from the parish bell tower in the town known today as Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato. Mexico celebrates its day of Fiestas Patrias (Patriotic Holidays) on September 16 with parades of school children and military batallions, politicians proclaiming speeches, and general festivity.

Another flag vendor, this time in Morelia, Michoacán. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

Hundreds of books have been written about Mexico's break from Spain, millions of words have been dedicated to exploring the lives of the daring men and women who knew, more than 200 years ago, that the time had come for freedom. You can read some of the history on the Internet. Another excellent source for Mexican history is The Life and Times of Mexico, by Earl Shorris. You'll find that book available to order through Amazon.com, on the left-hand side of this page.

But the best-kept secret in Mexico is the Independence Day party. No, the biggest deal is not on September 16th. Held every year on the night of September 15, the Gran Noche Mexicana (the Great Mexican Night), the real celebration of the revolutionary events in 1810, is a combination of New Year's Eve, your birthday, and your country's independence festivities. Wouldn't you really rather hear about the party? I knew you would!

Jalisco town kiosko (bandstand) decorated for the Fiestas Patrias.

For years I've attended the September 15 celebrations in a variety of towns and cities. In Mexico City, the country's president leads hundreds of thousands of citizens in late-night celebrations in the zócalo, the enormous square surrounded by government buildings and the Metropolitan Cathedral. Every Mexican town big enough to have a mayor holds a reenactment of the Grito de Dolores, Hidalgo's cry for independence. The town square is decorated with flags, bunting, and ribbons. Cohetes (sky rockets) flare and bang. Sometime around eleven o'clock at night, the folks, assembled in the town plaza since nine or so, are restless for the celebration to begin. The mayor's secretary peeks out from the doorway of the government offices, the folkloric dancers file off the stage in the plaza, the band tunes up for the Himno Nacional (the national anthem), the crowd waves its flags and hushes its jostling. The mayor steps out onto the balcony of the government building or onto the stage built just outside the building's front door to lead the singing of the Himno's emotional verses.

The bandera monumental and celebratory fireworks in front of Mexico's Palacio Nacional, the zócalo, Mexico City, September 15, 2015. Photo courtesy press.

Dressed in his finest and backed up by a military or police guard, the mayor clears his throat and loudly begins an Independence Day proclamation. He pulls a heavy rope to ring the Independence bell, then he waves a huge Mexican flag. Back and forth, back and forth! In every Mexican town, the proclamation ends with Hidalgo's 205-year-old exhortations: "Long live religion! Long live Our Lady of Guadalupe! Long live the Americas and death to the corrupt government! Viva México! Qué viva!"

Father Hidalgo's 1810 banner. He carried this banner as his standard as a leader in the fight for Mexico's independence from Spain. Photo courtesy Pinterest.

The mayor and the crowd shout as one voice: "Viva México! Qué viva! Qué viva!" The mayor grins and waves as the fireworks begin, bursting huge green, white, and red chrysanthemums over the heads of the attendees.

Later there will be dancing and more music, and food, including traditional pozole, tostadas, mezcal, tequila and beer, and, in larger towns and cities, all-night revelry in the plaza, in private homes, and in hotels, restaurants, and events halls.

A number of years ago my friend, música ranchera singer Lupita Jiménez from Guadalajara, invited me to a Gran Noche Mexicana where she was performing. The event was scheduled to start at 9:30, but Mexican custom normally dictates late arrival. By ten o'clock I was on my way to the party. At the salón de eventos (events hall), the parking lot was already full, but a man was parking cars on the street just a block away. As I left my car, he said, "Could you pay me now for watching your car? It's 20 pesos. I'll be leaving a little early, probably before the event is over."

"How long will you be here?" I asked, a bit anxious about leaving the car alone on this night of prodigious revelry.

Lupita Jiménez in performance at a Gran Noche Mexicana in Guadalajara.

"Till six o'clock." My jaw dropped and I handed him the 20 pesos. Six in the morning! Surely we wouldn't party quite so long as that!

The sad truth is that I didn't. I couldn't. My stamina flagged at about 3:00 AM, after dinner had been served at 10:30, a city politician had proclaimed the Grito, the Himno Nacional had been sung, and big noisy fireworks had been set off on the indoor stage (I swear to you, indoors) of the salón de eventos. Then the show started, a brief recapitulation in song and dance of Mexican history, starting with concheros (loincloth-and-feather-clad Aztec dancers) whirling around a belching volcano, and ending with the glorious jarabe tapatía–the Guadalajara regional dance that most speakers of English know as the Mexican hat dance.

After innumerable trios, duets, and solo singers, the show paused for intermission at close to two in the morning. Several of my table-mates slipped away, but I thought I could make it to the end. The first half of the Gran Noche Mexicana had been invigorating and exciting and I loved it. During intermission, a wonderful Mexican comedian poked fun at politics, functionaries, and Mexican life in general. We were all roaring with laughter. When the comic left the stage, I realized that I was exhausted and needed to go home to bed. Just as the performers stepped onto the stage to begin the next round of song, I sneaked away.

When I called Lupita the next afternoon to congratulate her on the success of the event, she asked if I'd stayed for the last few costume changes. "Mija, I had to go home early. I lasted till three, but then I just couldn't stay awake. I'm so sorry I missed the end."

Lupita laughed. "I'm glad you lasted that long, but next time you have to stay for the whole night! You missed the best part!"

The Palacio Nacional (national office building, including the president's offices) on the Zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) in Mexico City, all dressed up for the Fiestas Patrias.

Viva México! Qué viva!

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15 de September de 2018
Fireworks in San Lucas Evangelista, Jalisco :: Castillos en el Aire

Decorating the church for the feast day of St. Luke, in San Lucas Evangelista.

Several years ago on the Catholic feast day of Saint Luke, I invited my friend Julia to drive to San Lucas Evangelista, Jalisco, with me to meet the coheteros (fireworks makers). It was the final day of the fiestas patronales (patron saint's festivities) for Saint Luke and I knew his little namesake town would be in full party mode.

We drove along the main street of the tiny town looking for the church. Usually a village church is easy to locate—I just look for the church tower and point the car in its direction. This town was different; we couldn't see a tower. Finally I pulled to the side of a narrow street and asked an elderly shawl-wrapped woman how to get to the church.

"Ay señora," she sighed, "No se puede." (You can't.)

I was momentarily puzzled, but then light dawned. "Because of the fiestas?"

"Yes, the whole street is blocked with the rides and booths. You need to go to the last street in town," she pointed, "and park your car there. Then you can walk." She shook her head, scandalized by the madness of the fiestas.

Chuckling, I followed her directions and parked the car almost directly in front of the church, but on the rocky unpaved side street rather than the main street. We walked a few meters to the churchyard and immediately saw that the castillo (the "castle", a large set-piece fireworks display) was under construction. We also noticed that the church has no tower—no wonder we hadn't spotted it immediately from the edge of town.

Coheteros preparing the castillo in San Lucas Evangelista.

As I approached a group of men working on part of the castillo, they stood up to greet us. "Buenas tardes, how can we help you?"

I explained that I was interested in talking to the boss about the fireworks and that I was going to write an article about the fireworks. The first young man laughed and pointed at a second young man crouched on the ground working. "Talk to him, he's the boss's son. He'll help you." Then he laughed even harder. The young man in question rolled his eyes and grimaced.

"My name is Gerardo Hernández Ortiz, and I'm not the boss's son. I'm just a helper here. You want to talk to the big boss—he's over there." He pointed at another man standing by the churchyard gate. "Wait here a minute, I'll go get him." He socked the first young man in the arm as he walked to the gate. I watched as he talked briefly with a man in a navy blue plaid shirt. He glanced toward me and nodded

Very shortly that man came over and shook my hand. "I'm Manuel Zúñiga of Cohetería del Pueblo (Town Fireworks Makers). My worker said you wanted to talk with me?" I explained my interest again and he became very serious.

A spinning castillo (castle) lights up the night.

"You have to explain to your readers that my profession is not dangerous. The majority of accidents happen because of juguetería, the small 'toy' fireworks such as palomitas (poppers) and luces de Bengal (sparklers) used by children. Those fireworks are imported from China and are much less stable than the ones we make here in Mexico. Those are very dangerous, very.

"Yes, there have been some bad accidents with our kind of fireworks, like the one in Veracruz in January 2003 (28 people were killed and more than 50 were injured when illegally stored fireworks exploded in a central market), but those incidents are very unusual.

"Our philosophy is that one person dies, but others follow in his footsteps and the work carries on and becomes better.

"My family has been making castillos, cohetes (rockets), bombas (bombs) and other fireworks for three generations. My grandfather, may he rest in peace, started making fireworks in San Juan Evangelista, the next town over there," he gestured to a spot in the distance beyond the church, "and then the whole family moved to Cuexcomatitlán, just up the road from here, and we've lived there ever since."

"It's always been a family business. You might say that we're Zúñiga and Sons." He smiled broadly. "I'm Manuel Zúñiga, at your service. We make a unique style of fireworks and we're very good at it. We've won many contests, including first place in the State of Jalisco. We've been asked to be judges at a pyrotechnics contest in the State of Mexico.

Putting together the castillo.

"Most people think that the Chinese are the kings of gunpowder, that China is the world capital of fireworks. We've found out that the tradition of fireworks is very strong in England and that the English are really more knowledgeable than the Chinese. Their designs and innovations are at the forefront. We hope to travel to England one day to see their work in person."

I was fascinated with the construction of the various parts of the castillo. "It looks as if you have to be an engineer to figure out how this entire thing fits together and works," I said, reaching up to move several parts of the mechanism.

The fireworks attached to the wheels of carrizo (similar to bamboo) are color-coded.

"Yes, it's very complicated. Every tube that you see attached to the structure is filled with gunpowder and the chemicals that create the colors of the designs. We use several different kinds of materials to make the framework, like carrizo (bamboo canes) and madera de pino (pine wood). The bamboo is very flexible, the pine is rigid. There are other kinds of wood that we use to give more shape to the designs. Some of the sections of the castillo are hinged so that they move up and down as they spin.

"Designs are made with long thin tubes filled with gunpowder and with the thicker tubes that shoot fire. You might see flowers, a heart, a horse or a cow, or some religious symbols." He walked over to a large section of castillo lying on the ground and traced the outline of the design with his finger. "This one is a chalice with the communion host above it. Can you see it?" I certainly could. "It will look beautiful when it's lit up tonight."

More tubes of gunpowder, color-coded and attached to part of the castillo.

"When it's time to put the whole castillo together, the parts are set onto a pole. We start with the topmost part and then use a system of pulleys to raise it up. Then we add the middle section, and then the bottom part under that."

"Come with me, I want to show you some other things." As we walked to the fireworks-filled storeroom next to the church, Sr. Zúñiga continued explaining the intricacies of his family business.

"Here, this is something different. It's a torito, a little bull. See the shape? Late tonight, we'll bring these out to play." He laughed. "A boy carries this little bull over his head—yes, after it's lit and while it's exploding with color and fire—and runs through the crowd. He'll chase whoever looks like a good victim. He hunts for whoever looks nervous. This torito has buscapíes fastened to it. Those are a kind of fireworks that shoots off the framework of the little bull and skitters along the ground. It literally means 'looks for feet'. It's only a little dangerous." He grinned and winked.

These "toritos" are in fact turkeys, not little bulls. The young men standing behind the toritos made them; they explained to me that even though they're not little bulls, they're still called toritos.

I grinned too, remembering a fiesta night in Guadalajara when a small boy with a blazing torito chased me down a cobblestone street as the festive crowd laughed to see the señora running to escape.

A mid-section of a castillo, burning brightly in a churchyard.

Sr. Zúñiga talked as we walked back through the churchyard. "We work all year round. There are 25 of us who build the fireworks.

Raising the castillo in San Lucas Evangelista.

"We'll be in Ixtlahuacán de los Membrillos on October 21 for a visit of Our Lady of Zapopan and in Ajijic on October 31 for the last day of the month-long celebration for Our Lady of the Rosary. There will be a castillo in each town. Of course we've already started preparations for the nine-day festivities in Ajijic at the end of November."

We gazed up at the castillo being mounted just outside the cemetery fence. Curious, Julia asked him, "What does it cost to have one of these built?"

"The simplest ones start at $7,500 pesos—about $665 U.S.. The price goes up from that to about $20,000 pesos—about $1,800 U.S.—for more complicated castillos built on a central pole, like this one. Then there is another category of castillo, much more complex, that starts at $25,000 pesos. For that kind, the sky's the limit." He shook my hand. "Can't you stay until we burn this one at around eleven o'clock tonight?"

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KeA0_7QgMe4&w=560&h=315]
A castillo in all its brief glory in La Barca, Jalisco.

"I wish I could—maybe next year." With a last look at the work in progress, Julia and I headed for the car. I knew I'd dream of castillos that night. The sky was the limit.

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1 de September de 2018
El Istmo de Tehuantepec :: Tierra del Mar, Tierra del Sol, Tierra del Buen Comer, y Tierra de Sorpresas

Along the 2-lane highway between Tlacolula and the Isthmus, Chef Silvana and I stopped to have the gas tank filled. (In Mexico, a gas station attendant performs that chore. There's no self-serve here.) In a little nicho between the men's and women's bathrooms, this figure on his miniature golden throne caught our attention. El Niño Dios de Pemex patiently awaited a visit from anyone who cared to visit him. He looks very sweet in his Pemex uniform–compete with company patch!–and straw hat.

Entering the city of Tehuantepec, this sculpture of a tehuana–the symbol of the region–greeted us. She's dressed in full tehuana vestido de gala, including her resplandor, the lace headdress.

Another sculpture of La Tehuana, with a silver over copper mask and resplandor of actual lace, electroplated with silver. Work of Mexican sculptor Ana Pellicer, Santa Clara del Cobre, Michoacán.

A glorious hand-embroidered made-to-measure velveteen huipil (regional Istmo de Tehuantepec blouse) created by fabulous costurera (seamstress) Sra. Nancy González at Taller Bizuudi, 16 de septiembre #99, Ixtepec, Oaxaca. That's her handsome son behind her. The highly colorful embroidered huipil (blouse) and its companion enagua skirt, the characteristic dress of the women of the Istmo, are available in a range of quality and price in the markets and shops of the Istmo.

Here's a good look at the traje de gala (fancy dress) of the tehuanas–the women of the Istmo de Tehuantepec. Chef Silvana and I were invited to this dance–more about that in a minute!

The Isthmus (Istmo, in Spanish) of Tehuantepec is the largest region in the state of Oaxaca, connecting the southwestern part of the state of Oaxaca with the western part of the state of Chiapas. Part of the Istmo is on southern Oaxaca's Pacific Ocean coast, part is inland to the north and east. Prior to the building of the Panama Canal, the Istmo was the shortest land trade route between the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico; if you look at a map of Mexico, you'll see that the Istmo is the narrowest part of Mexico's "waist". Fairly distant from more populated parts of Oaxaca, the Istmo has its own cultures, its own manners of dress, and its own foods. Several distinct indigenous groups live in the Istmo, each with its own language.

The first night we were in Tehuantepec, we enjoyed wonderful tlayudas at Cenaduría Juanita, an outdoor supper stand near our hotel. The tlayuda is one of the iconic foods of Oaxaca; made from a very large corn tortilla (actually called tlayuda), the dish can be eaten for desayuno (breakfast), comida (Mexico's main meal of the day), or cena (late-evening supper)–or any time in between! These were absolutely wonderful, maybe the best tlayudas I've eaten.

Here are a lot of tlayudas–the simple tortilla–pressed, toasted, and ready to be prepared as tlayudas–the meal. These measure about 13-14" in diameter. Each one will be spread with asiento (the delicious brown fat at the bottom of a pot of newly rendered pork lard), then layered with smoothly blended black beans, then with tasajo (seasoned semi-dried beef) or cecina (seasoned semi-dried pork) or chorizo (spicy pork sausage) or even with shredded chicken. Then one adds shredded quesillo (you might know it as Oaxaca cheese), then shredded fresh cabbage, slivers or slices of green chile (either fresh or pickled), sliced tomatoes, sliced avocado, fold it in half, and toast it on a griddle or a grill till the cheese melts. Add the salsa that you like best and get your mouth ready for a taste of heaven. Any tlayuda recipe is very forgiving: add this, leave this out, put more of this or that, add (as in the picture above this one) pickled red onions, turn your avocados into guacamole and add that. However you prepare them, the only "requirement" is that you start with that freshly toasted tlayuda base.

Chef Silvana holds a memela. A small, freshly toasted tortilla is the base for a smear of asiento, a smear of creamy black beans, maybe some tasajo or cecina, a lot of queso fresco (fresh crumbly white cheese), some sliced avocado, and then topped with either red or green salsa. These Oaxaca-style memelas are usually about four inches in diameter.

The next morning, we went to the Tehuantepec market to see what it had to offer. Mid-market, we met the delightful María del Carmen Suárez, who sells her famous home-made budín (in this case, a type of flan that she makes with breadcrumbs) and her excellent pickled vegetables. We spent quite a while chatting with her; she sells at the market several days a week. She did tell us that she'd be working the following day, but not the day after that. We didn't ask why, but we later found out. Remember that photo (up there ^^) of the tehuanas dancing? The plot thickens.

María del Carmen's budín. It was very good, with no indication of bread crumbs in its texture other than a pleasantly slightly thicker consistency than normal flan.

So: the surprise! Silvana and I had been out the entire day, driving among several small towns around the city of Tehuantepec. Mid-evening, we pulled back into town and parked, intending to go find something to eat. Wait–music! Drums! Shouting! Flags and banners! What's that coming toward us? A PARADE, and not just any parade–dancing down the street came a contingent of laughing, shouting muxes, the "third sex" of the Istmo world. Much associated with the city of Juchitán, muxes also live and work–and play–in Tehuantepec. These gorgeous creatures beckoned to us: "Vénganse! Vénganse! Vénganse con nosotras al Baile del Barrio!" ("Come on! Come on! Come with us to our Neighborhood Dance!") We scurried out into the street, linked arms with some of the beautiful muxes, and paraded through town, backed by flags, banners, flowers, and music.

A few blocks outside Tehuantepec's Centro Histórico, we were led to a blocked-off street covered with a lona (tarp), decorated with papel picado (cut paper streamers), and alive with joyful, dressed for the gala muxes, their companions, and people handing out plates of food, pouring tequila, passing around bottled beer, and hugging everyone who came along–including us. We were invited to sit down, invited to eat, invited to drink. And then, shouts of, "A bailar! A bailar!"  ("Get up and dance! Get up and dance!")

And suddenly we heard a scream: "Amigaaaaaaas! Amigaaaaaaaas!" We turned around to see–María del Carmen, from the market! She grabbed both of us and hugged us hard. "AMIGAAAAAAS!" So this was why she didn't work today–she had to get ready for the Baile del Barrio! "María del Carmen, why didn't you tell us the other day?" "Bueno–bueno, I wasn't sure…" We laughed and hugged and were so glad that we actually had met someone before who was at the dance. She looked beautiful, in her traje de gala.

Our delicious dinner: Tehuantepec-style chicken in a flavorful, spicy sauce, served with macaroni salad and a pile of tortillas. "Is that enough? Do you want more chicken? More tortillas? Another beer? Wait, here's another shot of tequila! No, wait, let's dance first!"  The people at the dance made us feel entirely welcome and totally at home.

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUUI3NXBU9Y&w=420&h=315]
We had the best time ever!

EVER! I'm grinning ear to ear just looking at these pictures. Such sweet, beautiful memories we made, all of us together.

Beautiful young women, beautiful older women–nothing separated us during this magical evening. I know for sure that the next time I go to the Istmo de Tehuantepec, someone will scream out, "AMIGAAAAA!" and she will be a friend from this night, connected by the joy of music, dance, and by our shared experience of a chance encounter that meant the world to all of us.

Next week, further travels and surprises around the Istmo. Come along! Get up and dance!

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23 de June de 2018