Día de los Muertos

It was impossible to catch a combi this past week. Starting October 26^th, my usual route was blocked by a marketplace specifically set up for the Day of the Dead. This market stretched almost 5 blocks, crowding the streets with sugar skulls, catrinas and calaveras, miniature ofrendas, and brilliantly gold and purple cempasuchil (very large marigolds). You also have your hojaldras (delicious bread served only this time of year), fruits, candles of all colors and sizes, and I even found some chapulines to share with my students. Surprisingly, many of them were grossed out by the fact I enjoyed eating the crunchy, little critters.

Catrina in the plaza of Izucar

My very own Catrina bought at the market.

Little mini ofrenda bought in the market.

Sugar skulls

Scary skull in the plaza

This special market takes place to prepare for a most amazing holiday, Día de los Muertos. Because I am a Spanish teacher, I had a little background on this famous celebration. It is a ritual that dates back before the Spanish Conquest. Therefore, you see many pagan traditions passed on from the indigenous Aztec culture sweetly blended into the Catholic customs complete with crosses, La Virgen and Jesus Cristo.

Families can buy their food, flowers, and adornos to decorate their ofrendas – usually a 3-tiered display symbolizing the life of a recently deceased love one and the faith of the family. My students tell me if I am going to spend Día de los Muertos in the state of Puebla, I have to visit the town of Huaquechula, which is about 30 minutes from Izucar. A quiet girl speaks up; Huaquechula has become very touristy and if I really want a traditional experience, I should visit her town, Cacaloxuchitl which is only 5 minutes from Huaquechula. I tell Coco this, and Nov. 1^st, la familia and I pack up and take off for a Día de los Muertos adventure.

We arrive in Cacaloxuchitl at 5:00 with empty stomachs. I was told to not eat anything beforehand because we would eat about a week’s worth when we arrived. I am hungry.  As we enter the town we are greeted by a “trick or treater”, a boy about 11 years old, in an ugly monster mask with a bucket. Jorge, our driver, gives him a few pesos. We continue on and realize we have no idea where we are suppose to go. Jorge yells out the window at a few boys standing on the corner. “Dónde están las ofrendas?” he asks – Where can we find the ofrendas? The boys respond with “Hay un chingó allá” pointing down the street. We laugh at the phrase – it’s kind of like saying “There’s a sh*tload down the street!” to perfect strangers.  Jorge tells me this is typical banter of small villages such as this.

However, the vulgar-mouthed boys guided us perfectly – we begin seeing trails of marigold petals, beginning in a cross in the street and then leading visitors (and the deceased loved ones) into various houses. We follow the first orange path into a rustic yard – tables and chairs have been set up, dogs and turkeys walk freely around, taking part in the festivities as well. I almost trip as I try to avoid stepping on a baby chic. The dueña de la casa invites us to follow her. Her hair is pulled back in a long graying braid; she is probably in her seventies.

She takes us into a very simple room with cement walls and floor; on one side of the room chairs are lined up for visitors and on the other, a magnificent altar stands in memory of both her daughter and her grandson. I learn that these types of altars are created for those who have died in the past year. Her grandson passed away in March of this year, and her daughter two months later. Los poblanos believe the spirits of their loved ones are in limbo in this year, still between earth and heaven; the altars are designed to guide them back to their home one last time, which explains the trail of marigolds.

Combining indigenous and Catholic traditions, altars are made of three levels. Each level is decorated with flowers and delicately cut papel picado. The first level represents “earth,” and traditional food and drink that the deceased enjoyed are placed to tempt the loved ones to return and enjoy. Tamales, hojaldras, pipían, mole, and various fruits cover this first level, in addition to cigarettes (if the person smoked), and tequila, mezcal, and/or Mexican cerveza.

papel picado

The second level of the altar represents the magical place between earth and heaven and is decorated in brilliant flowers, candles, and a 10’’ x 7’’ picture of the loved one. Many of the photographs that we saw were photo-shopped so that the person appeared to be walking in a garden, with a beam of light on them as if guiding them to heaven. On some, statues of crying angels stood guarding the photo.

The third level represents heaven, and there is usually a religious painting of La Virgin, a statue of Jesus Cristo, or a cross.

Along with marigolds, incense and candles stand at the base of the altar, lighting the path for the deceased.

Each major at UTIM builds elaborate altars honoring a Mexican hero

A montón of marigolds.

What is an ofrenda?

We pay our respects to the woman’s family. Coco makes “a sign of the cross” and kisses her thumb as she finishes the gesture. The señora leads us back into the patio and tells us to enjoy some of the wonderful food they have prepared. All of the women in the family are working hard; some making tortillas over an open fire, two are stirring enormous pots of mole and the others are busy preparing tamales for the visitors.

Café - with sugar and a lot of caffeine.

Making tamales

Bowls of mole poblano are brought to our tables, also, aguas made from sweet fruits, and of course, warm tortillas. We eat, give our thanks and continue on to the next casa.

In this small town, thirty-six altars were created this year – thirty–six loved ones passed away in just this past year.  We visit two more, an older man in his seventies who is mourning the loss of yet another son, and another family remembering their sweet abuelita (grandmother). We eat pipían – a green mole sauce made from pumpkin seeds over a chicken leg - and tamales wrapped in cornhusks. I am so full, but the family tells me it is a “grosería” (insult) to refuse to eat. So I eat another tamal.

En memoria de un hijo (son).

Altar in memory of an abuelita (grandmother).

These families are very poor, yet immediately after someone in the family has died, they begin saving their money to prepare for these altars and the grand feast. They could spend up to 30,000 pesos (about $3000), inviting complete strangers to meet and pay respects to their loved ones. These people believe the dead truly return – Lily tells me stories she has heard, food disappearing, candles flickering strangely. Superstition is as strong as the Catholic faith here.

Afterwards we travel to Huaquechula where there is a huge festival, with traditional Mexican folk dances, rides and games for children, and a market place selling a variety of Día de los Muertos souvenirs. The altars here are famous around the world I find out as I run into five Americans also taking in the spectacular tradition.

Altars in Huaquechula cost thousands of dollars to build.

Ballet Folklórico en Huaquechula

We take an alternative route home and decide to visit one more town with altars. A woman guides us into a small room with an altar dedicated to her husband. Her eyes are red; I can tell she has been crying. I read the sign by his photo – August 27, 2011.  This is a week after I arrived in Mexico, which seems like only yesterday.

The last altar we visit is a family celebrating the life of their grandmother. They are happy and pass around a bottle of tequila. They offer us candied pumpkin and atole – which is a sweet rice pudding-like substance. I thought I couldn’t eat anymore but I ended up enjoying THREE cups of this amazing stuff!

The next day Coco’s family invites me to the November 2nd Día de los Muertos tradition in Izucar’s panteón (cemetery). On this day, the tradition continues, taking the flowers, food, and candles from the altar to the graves of the loved ones. Doña Juanita (Coco’s mother) carries a large bouquet of cempezuchitl and a small, torn prayer book. Coco and her sister carry 2 large candles.

When we get to the cemetery, I am shocked at the amount of people. The place is packed with families, eating and even drinking Modelo around the gravesites. The afternoon sun is powerful; everyone carries umbrellas, and venders sell popcicles and ice cream in the paths between the tombs. Some family members have hired Mariachi bands to play for their relatives. The tradition of Coco’s family is much more simple and sweet. We visit five tombs, Doña Juanita leads us in prayers of the rosary, and we end in a joyous song, which Diego sings at the top of his lungs.

As a Spanish teacher, I thought I knew a lot about the Mexican culture, and particularly about Día de los Muertos. But after experiencing the kindness, generosity, and faith of these people, I realize I have a lot more to learn.