La isla de las muñecas (The Island of the Dolls)

In November, I had a chance to tour the Palacio Nacional in the historic center of Mexico City. This is the home of many gorgeous murals of Diego Rivera - Mexico's most famous muralist.

Palacio Nacional en México D.F.

An amazing mural by Diego Rivera that tells the history of México from the indigenous people's point of view.

The canals of Mexico city.

http://jgerardbreiner.blogspot.mx

One of our fulbrighters was knowledgeable in the murals, explaining that the small islands that appear amongst the system of canals were used as fertile agricultural plots during the time of the Xochimilca (a tribe of the Nahua - aka Aztecs) in 900s.  Xochilmico means flower fields, but the islands, known as chinampas, were used to grow corn, squash, beans, chili peppers and much more. I put Xochimilco on my mental Mexico bucket list, knowing I had to see this magical place before I left Mexico.

It was about six months later, I found my opportunity. Another fulbrighter, Jonathan, who was placed in a public middle school in the massive city, happily obliged to be my tour guide.  His roommate, a Chinese American who works for the US Embassy in Mexico, is hosting a bachelor party for a friend on the canals of Xochimilco (so-chee-MIL-co), so we head to the canals with about 12 Americans, and a few British embassadors as well. 

We hop in a large gondola-type boat called a "trajinera" and start our two-hour journey. Luckily, we arrive early enough that the canals aren't filled with too many families enjoying their Saturday afternoon. But there are plenty of smaller boats carrying merchants selling jewelry, mariachi bands playing "Cielito Lindo", and lots of chabelas (poor man's bloody Mary) and tacos to help you stay nourished during the trip.

On our journey, we pass a tree with four or five decaying dolls hanging grotesquely from the tree. Apparently, it's a preview to an island located 2 hours away. Jonathan's friend tells me the story of the Island of the Dolls.

In the 1950s, a small girl was playing in the canals off of one of the many chinampas. Somehow, the water overtook her and she drowned. The island's only inhabitant, Don Julian Santana, found her body, deeply affecting him. He was haunted by her spirit, engulfed in sadness for the poor girl, and so he began to collect and hang dolls from the trees of the island, both as gifts for the girl and also to protect his home against any additional evil. 

Our tour would not be taking us to this crazy island but I knew I would be returning soon.

About a month later, a fulbrighter who is about to end her fulbright experience, asks me to join her for one last trip to Mexico City. Of course I tell her of the island of the dolls.

We meet at "our" hotel the Holiday Inn Zona Rosa where we always stay on these reunions and head downtown via the metro. The Mexican Subway system is an adventure in itself - venders and beggars, selling everything from gum to a really bad rendition of Cielito Lindo.  But it's relatively easy, quick and super cheap. We maneuver our way to a Diego Rivera and Frida Kahloa museum to soak up some Mexican culture before we take our haunted journey to the island of the dolls. 

Then, we find a cab who takes us through the winding streets of Xochimilco. Our driver is led by an official tour guide on a bike who makes sure the tourists make it to the docks. We pick a boat and head out into the canals.

Where we are going, there are no mariachis, or nice señoritas selling food or drinks - so before we are hoisted over the dam, we wave over a young couple and ask for two chabelas, (clamato-tomato juice, tajin-chili/lemon pepper, salsa inglesa-Worcestershire and Valentino-spicy chili sauce) and of course, Victoria beer.

Our journey to the island is about 2 hours, but the time flies as we catch up on our last few weeks of teaching in Mexico. Our experiences are pretty similar, bouts of loneliness, frustrations with the bureaucracy and constant class interruptions, great students, and a few fabulous friends who have made our year worthwhile. Suddenly, we realize there are creepy dolls hanging all around us. We've reached the island.

We meet Anastasio Santana Velasco, the nephew of Don Julian, who has taken over the island. He leads us across a bridge to a small shed. Broken, tattered dolls hang from every tree, fence post, and from the shed as well. Entering the shed, we find a "Día de los muertos"-like alter, created by Don Julian in honor of the little girl who drowned. In the center is Don Julian's favorite doll - she is bigger than most of the other dolls, with long blond hair, and cold blue eyes. There is a bowl filled with small change, an offering for both Don Julian and the little girl.

Anastasio asks if we understand Spanish; we nod and he breathes in a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, there is no translator for the non-Spanish-speaking tourist. He tells us the sad story of the niña and her untimely death, and the obsession that haunted his uncle for fifty years after the accident - up until his own death, in fact. Don Julian died in the same spot as the little girl, 50 years later. Many claim he drowned too, but his nephew insists it was a heart attack.  Now Anastasio runs the place seven days a week, hardly sleeping due to the frequent night tourists as well. 

We are only on the island for 20 minutes. It's tiny, and we walk through the three small shacks and the tall trees quickly. Everything is covered in dolls. As we leave, we pass Don Anastasio and his family sitting around a rundown cabaña type bar. Two boys about 7 or 8 years-old play in a boat in the canal. Don Anastasio invites me to a shot of tequila. "Salud!" I say, and we head back to our trajinera.