The candles shone brilliantly against the yellow, orange and purple marigolds. I never imagined standing in a rural village cemetery in Central Mexico would have such a deep and profound impact on me. Ironically, the most beautiful parts of my journey were the cemeteries and the scariest part of my journey was the hotel.
With three classmates and my professor of Intercultural Communications, I journeyed to Tetela del Volcan, a tiny village in the state of Morelos, to experience the Mexican holiday – Day of the Dead. Tetela del Volcan, or just Tetela as it is commonly called, has more traditional rituals and ceremonies than the thriving capital of Mexico City.
An hour and a half southeast of Mexico City, the village can easily be accessed by car, but we took a bus from Tasquena station to the next closest city Cuautla, and then transferred to a ‘combi’, a Volkswagen type van that continues to pick up passengers off the side of the road until there is not a breath of space remaining.
The graceful white slopes of the active volcano Popocatepetl, or El Popo, were the first sight that greeted us upon our arrival into the village. The second sight? A parade of vibrantly dressed and masked women dancing up the street towards the town square. Or so we thought. As these dancers drew closer towards us, we realized that these women, in their high heels, dresses, and mini-skirts, were actually men participating in the traditional ‘Danza de Huehuenches’ (Dance of the Old Man) that occurs throughout the course of the Day of the Dead celebrations; traditionally, the dancers dress up as old men and farmers, but in this town the men dress up as women and wear masks resembling old, grandfather like men.
After watching the dancing spectacle, we ventured off to find our hotel, “Albuergue Suizo”, which was situated near the edge of town through some small, dark and creepy streets. The hotel, if you could call it that, bore a striking resemblance to a jail or an insane asylum complete with barred windows and two barred entrance doors, that required the outer door closing prior to the inner door opening. While the clanging shut of the doors did provide us with a little feeling of safety, we were mostly scared by the jail-like similarities the hotel had with its minimally furnished rooms, barely working bathrooms, and barred windows.
On this first evening, our tiny tourist looking group partook in the traditional visits to homes within the village. Each home visited had an ‘ofrenda’, or offering table, complete with photos of the deceased and favourite foods, enveloped by an abundance of orange, yellow and purple marigolds, offerings brought by others out of respect for the dead. The final touches were the candle filled vases, which cast a dim hue on the ‘ofrenda’, creating a somber ambiance. The overwhelming generosity of these families was obvious when we were presented with plates of chicken mole, rice and tamales at every home and since it was considered disrespectful not to accept the food, we ate at every home while talking with the families and hearing about their lives and experiences. We all embraced this moment – the chance to sit in a traditional Mexican farm home and talk with local farmers about their lives.
When the morning sun rose over the village’s graveyard the next day, the view before us was one of love and dedication to something that most of us had never done or ever experienced before. Every family was washing, cleaning and weeding around every one of their ancestors graves, and so when the marigolds from the ‘ofrendas’ the evening before were placed on the graves, the colourful, beautiful and magnificent picture of love towards their dead was created.
There is nothing that comes to close to standing in a graveyard as dusk settles in, with the autumn leaves falling around you. There was a sort of an eerie calm that made me feel at peace with myself and everyone around me, and I found myself wandering among the graves and just embracing the brilliance of the marigolds colors reflecting off the candlelight.
**Published Nov. 1, 2008 - Calgary Herald**
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