During Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead), under the sun dappled light filtering through graceful several centuries old ahuehuete trees in the panteón of Tlacolula de Matamoros, the living offer the scent of cempasúchil (marigolds) to guide their departed home. And, to nourish them during their journey between the worlds of the living and the dead, fruit (thoughtfully opened), along with nuts and beverages are provided.
The fruit and flowers during Día de Muertos also beckon me to this Zapotec village in the Valley of Oaxaca and they nourish my soul.
The Zapotec village of San Antonino Castillo Velasco is known for its flowers. Their difuntos (departed) await them on November 3, as they understand their living loved ones have been occupied in providing flowers to decorate the altars and graves of neighboring villages in the valley of Oaxaca. I returned yesterday and my senses were filled with the beauty and aroma. However, as I was carefully navigating a winding route among the tumbas to leave, the sound of a lone saxophone beckoned me.
And, I was overcome with gratitude for the privilege of being present to experience that time and that place.
A few days ago, I completed my Día de Muertos shopping — mandarinas (mandarin oranges), manzanas (apples), cempasuchil (marigolds), cresta de gallo (cockscomb), chocolate, and pan de muerto (Day of the Dead bread), thus allowing construction of my ofrenda to begin. I unwrapped photographs of my parents, grandparents, and extended family members; selected some of their favorite things to put on my ofrenda; placed fruit, nuts, bread, and chocolate among the photos; positioned candles, flowers, and incense; and poured my departed a copita (little cup) of water and another of mezcal.
Tonight, the candles and incense have been lit — all to beckon, entertain, and sustain my departed during their brief stay. However, this year, because Muertos falls on the weekend, I choose to believe, like the folks in Teotitlán del Valle, that my loved ones will being staying for 48 hours instead of only 24 hours.
An ofrenda is an offering and I’m hoping my very dearly departed, after their long journey to southern Mexico, will find it warm, welcoming, and nourishing.
Tonight, El Grito de Dolores, also known as El Grito de la Independencia (the Shout of Independence), will echo from the balconies of government buildings throughout Mexico. Mayors, governors, and La Presidenta Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo, Mexico’s first female president, will re-enact Don Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla’s 1810 call to arms (with a lot of improvisation) that announced the start of a ten-year long war for independence from Spain. Bells will chime, the flag will be waved, the Himno Naciónal will play, fireworks will explode, and the gathered crowd will, no doubt, be bursting with pride. Tomorrow, September 16, Día de la Independencia, patriotic parades will take over the major streets of cities and towns of Mexico.
However, this year, l’m in el norte and won’t be standing on a sidewalk in Oaxaca watching the parade pass me by. These photos from Mexican Independence Day 2023 of marching bands, forestry students, search and rescue organizations, nurses, military, police, and more will have to suffice. (Click on images to enlarge.)
To close the parade, my favorites, escaramuzas and charros riding their magnificent horses.
Ah, Oaxaca. Another year, another birthday. Today, marks the 493rd anniversary of the elevation Oaxaca de Juárez to the rank of a city by Charles V of Spain. It was a political move by villagers to keep Antequera, as it was then called, out the hands of the Marquis, Hernán Cortes, who controlled the surrounding territory and villages. And, in honor of her birthday, I’m posting some of my favorite recent Oaxaca sights.
Barbacoa Caprino outside Mercado de la Merced on a Sunday morning.
Outside wall of Galindo Laboratory on Constitución at the corner of Benito Juárez.
Street sweeper (barrendero), with his handmade twig brooms, navigating Calzada de la República.
Looking down on the Alameda de León from the Biblioteca Beatriz de la Fuente.
Looking up at the flowers of a Guayacán, also known as árbol de la primavera (tree of spring).
Courtyard of the Museo de las Culturas de Oaxaca in the ex Convento de Santo Domingo de Guzmán.
Of course, we know Oaxaca’s history goes back thousands of years before Spain even existed. Her past is still present and that’s one of the things I love most about Oaxaca.
From the west came Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, riding a warhorse and flanked by armed soldiers bedecked in the full pageantry of an oppressive empire. Every year during Passover, a Jewish festival celebrating liberation from Egyptian oppression and slavery, Pilate entered Jerusalem to suppress any unrest set off by that memory.
His arrival wasn’t ceremonial; it was tactical — a calculated show of force, what the Pentagon might now call “shock and awe.” It displayed not only Rome’s power but also Rome’s theology. Caesar was not just the emperor; he was deified and called “Son of a God” on coins and inscriptions. His rule was absolute, and the peace it promised came through coercion, domination and the threat of violence.
From the opposite direction, both literally and figuratively, came Jesus’ procession.
Jesús, known as San Salvador, atop a donkey festooned with the most succulent fruits, vegetables, and breads outside the panteón in San Antonino Castillo Velasco.
It takes thirty men to carry the laden San Salvador and his burro.
Jesus entered the city not on a warhorse but on a donkey, not with battalions but with beggars. His followers were peasants, fishermen, women and children — people without standing or status. They waved palm branches — symbols of Jewish resistance to occupation since the Maccabean revolt — and cried out “Hosanna!” which means “Save us.” Save us from a system of oppression disguised as order. Save us from those who tacitly endorse greed with pious language and prayers.
Villagers begin the procession to bring the best of their fruits, vegetables, herbs, livestock, clothing, flowers, and much more as offerings to be sold to raise money for a designated charitable project.
The procession continues along the kilometer route from the panteón to the church.
San Salvador entering the church atrium where he takes his place of honor on a stage set up for the outdoor Palm Sunday mass.
Year-after-year, despite the challenges of life, on Palm Sunday I have been uplifted by the warmth, generosity and devotion of the people of San Antonino Castillo Velasco. Alas, it’s been two years since I have had this privilege and must content myself with looking through my photos from 2023.
Today, March 19, is Día de las Artesanas y Artesanos (Day of the Artisans). In celebration, I would like to honor three of Oaxaca’s passionate, talented, and innovative artisans whose exhibitions I was fortunate enough to see last month.
To all artisans, thank you for your passion, commitment, and creativity. Your dedication to your art, often calling upon centuries of tradition, enriches our lives — bringing us joy as well as making us think.
Although I’m spending Christmas in the San Francisco Bay Area with family, I’m dreaming Oaxaca holiday dreams of piñatas, often seemingly floating in air. [click on images to enlarge]
Nacimientos (Nativity scenes) and neighborhood posadas, at once solemn and joyful.
And, the wild and whacky rabanos (radishes), totomoxtle (corn husk), and flor inmortal (dried flower) creations on December 23, Noche de Rábanos (Night of the Radishes).
Thus, after a year’s hiatus, I’m reviving my Nochebuena tradition and presenting to you, “Pancho Claus” by Chicano musical legend Eduardo “Lalo” Guerrero and sung by Irma Garza. The song is a delightful parody of the Clement C. Moore classic, “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” — and it has inspired real life Tex-Mex Santas. I hope it brings a chuckle or two on this Christmas Eve.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the casa Mama she was busy preparing the masa To make the tamales for the tamalada And all the ingredients for the enchiladas
Papa in the front room with all the muchachas Was dancing the mambo and doing the cha cha My brothers and sisters were out in the hall Listening to Elvis singing rock ‘n roll
When all of a sudden there came such a racket I jumped out of bed and I put on my jacket I looked out the window and in front of the house Was my old uncle Pedro as drunk as a louse He ran in the casa he grabbed the guitarra He let out a yell and played “Guadalajara”
I was starting to wonder as I lay there alone How old Santa Claus was to visit my home With all of this noise they would scare him away When all of a sudden I hear someone say Hey Pablo, Chuchito Hey! Arriba! Gordito, Jose Get up there you bums or you don’t get no hay
And then to my wondering eyes did appear Eight cute little donkeys instead of reindeer They pulled a carreta that was full of toys For all of us good little girls and boys
The fat little driver waved his big sombrero And said Merry Christmas! Feliz Año Nuevo! That means “Happy New Year” And then I hear him sing
I am Santa’s cousin from south of the border My name’s Pancho Claus and I bring you your order I hear him exclaim as he drove past the porches “Merry Christmas to all and to all Buenas Noches”
From my home to yours, I wish you peace, good health, and Felices Fiestas (Happy Holidays)!
It’s Halloween time up here in el norte and the occasional house features spiders poised to pounce in webs strung across bushes, witches with broomsticks guard front gates, and pumpkins decorate entries signaling trick or treaters are welcome. A few skeletons have moved into the neighborhood but none are as well dressed and accessorized as those seen last year loitering on sidewalks, hanging out on walls, and dining in the restaurants of Oaxaca during Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead).
What can I say? I’m missing these guys and gals inhabiting Oaxaca this time of year.
To all the fathers (biological and adoptive), stepfathers, grandfathers, godfathers, and father figures everywhere, I wish you Happy Father’s Day as you continue sharing traditions…
teaching skills…
and, most of all, caring.
May you fulfill your most valuable role with great love, kindness, and respect.
Yesterday, May 3, Mexico celebrated Día de la Santa Cruz (Day of the Holy Cross). Tradition calls for workers to erect crosses festooned with flowers at the highest point on construction sites. According to Mexconnect, in 1960, Pope John XXIII removed Día de la Santa Cruz from the liturgical calendar, but Mexico being Mexico and construction workers being construction workers, they ignored the Pope. Eventually, understanding the relationship of forces, he gave Mexico a special dispensation to celebrate on this day.
In the Zapotec village of Teotitlán del Valle, the custom is to climb their sacred mountain, el Picacho (Quie Guia Betz in Zapotec). The trail winds along the face of the mountain with almost no shade. It’s a challenge, but the vistas and community spirit at the top makes it well worth it. As I sit here (still) in el norte at the foot of Mt. Tamalpais, my sacred mountain — mountain of my childhood dreams, teen driving lessons, and place of retreat — I’m remembering the last time I climbed el Picacho…
Except for the patter of rain and the sound of the occasional car on wet pavement, all is gray and quiet on this Good Friday in my San Francisco Bay Area home. I miss the colorful and creative sights and sounds of Viernes Santo in Oaxaca. Thus, today finds me looking back to the Santo Viacrucis (Holy Way of the Cross) procession last year in Barrio de Jalatlaco on Viernes Santo.
8th Station of the Cross where Jesús meets the women of Jerusalem.
1st Station of the Cross where Jesús is condemned to death.
7th Station of the Cross where Jesús falls for the second time.
Jesús carrying the cross through the streets of the Jalatlaco neighborhood.
John the Baptist follows Jesús.
Mary Magdalene following Jesús.
María heading toward her final encuentro (meeting) with her son.
Jesús enroute to his final encuentro (meeting) with his mother.
María and Jesús in their final encuentro (meeting).
While I don’t subscribe to any religion, the people of Oaxaca, their devotion, and their creativity in celebrating their faith always moves me.
March 19 is Day of the Artisans in Mexico. And so I say, ¡Feliz Día de las Artesanas y los Artesanos! — especially to the budding artists who are appreciating and learning to carry on folk art traditions.
Young artisans at work carving radishes on the morning of the 2023 Noche de Rabanos.
Mexican Peso Converter
View From Casita Colibrí 