DAY OF THE DEAD TRIPTYCH – Naolinco, Oaxaca, Mérida

To experience Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) in Mexico is, for many, a once-in-a-lifetime joy. If you’ve ever done so—or if you’ve watched the wonderful animated film, Coco—you understand something of the meaning and wonder of this magical occasion.

I feel blessed to have done Día de los Muertos in Mexico three times—most recently this fall in Mérida, Yucatan.

I’ve reflected here after each of those first two trips, and was starting to write about Mérida’s version when I realized the real story might be to compare all three.

NAOLINCO, VERACRUZ
In Naolinco—a mountain town of 20,000 known for its profusion of cobblers and shoe and leather goods stores—nearly every shop in town had some depiction of skeleton figures (catrinas) posed to act out some everyday scene.

A tram stop was peopled with catrinas checking their watches, reading the newspaper—whatever folks would normally do there. Even the barber shop had skeletons standing in for barber and customers. 

The last two days of October, families gathered in the panteon (cemetery) to clean up the grounds and paint and decorate the spiffy little mausolea built atop nearly every grave. 


Then, on November first and second (All Saints Day), the same families would return to the panteon after dark with blankets, chairs, maybe a picnic and, of course, lots of candles. In one group a young man strummed lightly on his guitar as everyone sang.

It was lovely and quiet, reverent but not somber. I didn’t eavesdrop, but there was laughter. And frequent lulls in the conversation, left, I imagined, to listen for the voices of their dearly departed. 

In contrast, closer to el centro, groups of mostly young people donning glam catrina outfits and makeup partied in the streets. No outrageous behavior, but certainly far from solemn. 

So much to see and feel, but one engaging experience stands out: as I walked quietly around the side streets that night, many families had left their doors open. Some were selling drinks, arrayed on small tables or crates. From fruit waters to horchata to home-brewed mezcal, all were displayed in a ragtag assortment of repurposed bottles.

Folks loved it when visitors would stop and admire their alters. Several families invited me in for a closer look, and offered me tamales and drinks.

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CIUDAD OAXACA
In Oaxaca, I saw those same charming little scenes around town. Folks showed off their family altars; businesses put up decorations; and catrinas were everywhere. But Oaxaca’s a medium-size city of nearly half a million. So picture the scale of Día de los Muertos—of the colors, the costumes, the music—scaled up about 2,500 percent from that in Naolinco. And the tone: imagine Naolinco’s solemnity dialed down a bit, the partying dialed up a lot.

So, here the festivities start at least a week before the actual dates. Truckloads of cempasuchil (marigolds) and cresto de gallo (cockscomb) get dumped around town for decorating on a grand scale. 

People and organizations build their altars, decorated from floor to ceiling. The huge community version arrayed just outside Oaxaca’s main cathedral had to be 40 feet wide. 

At nearly every hour of the day and night one can hear bands, salvos of fireworks and the joyous voices of people partying emanating from the various neighborhoods. 

For me, the most splendid of all the Oaxacan Day of the Dead traditions was the comparsa. Comparsas—some scheduled and well choreographed, others apparently spontaneous—are like parades, turning certain streets into pulsing arteries of lavishly costumed dancers, singers and musicians. Each array of costumes and performances depicts one of the widely divergent cultures of the various regions of Oaxaca state. It’s all bigger, brighter and louder than life.



Another tradition, one I’ve not seen elsewhere, is the display of tapetes, rectangular mats or “rugs” crafted on the ground of sand and flowers. It’s a custom that originated in Spain and has achieved work-of-art status in Oaxaca.

My night at the Panteon de San Miguel, Oaxaca’s general cemetery, couldn’t have been much different from that endearing night in Naolinco. First off, it’s a huge cemetery. And it wasn’t just the scale. Instead of surfaces adorned with freshly painted white and pastel colors, the Panteon General is one big study in gray and black. 

It’s possible that I was just there at the wrong time, but I saw just a small percentage of the tombs decorated. And very few families gathered around graves. 

(This dark, rather depressing ambience became all the more visceral when, as I picked my way around the tombstones in the feeble light of my iPhone, gaggles of cockroaches dodged my feet.)

I’d brought some color with me in the form of a big bunch of long-stem marigolds, intending to lay a single stem on each of the most abandoned-looking graves. In the near absence of family gatherings and the scarcity of even flowers and candles, that little gesture turned out to be the highlight of my evening.

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MERIDA, YUCATAN
Day of the Dead in Mérida is unique in many ways. For one, its origins in Mayan—not Aztec, Zapotec, Nahuatl nor Olmec—culture. In fact, most Meridanos consider it a different thing altogether, calling the occasion by its Mayan name, Janal Pixan. 

Still, there are many similarities with Mexico’s other events to remember and celebrate the dead. I was glad to see one of my favorite little customs shared in Yucatan: the laying of trails of marigold petals leading from the streets into people’s homes—to show returning souls the way home. (By the way, I noticed none of the magenta cock’s comb flowers I'd seen in both Naolinco and Oaxaca.)

In my admittedly limited view, Mérida’s Janal Pixan celebration seems pretty subdued. For example, instead of the typical seven-layer ofrendas, or altars, stacked up to welcome the return of antecedents in Oaxaca, the Yucatecos build just three. 



Other features are more subdued too. I saw limited use of crepe paper decorating people’s altars, whereas in Oaxaca it often creates an intensely-colored, beautifully textured canopy over the displays.

There are just two major Janal Pixan parades in Mérida: the larger, more important Paseo de las Animas—Walk of Souls—which starts from the main cemetery, and the Desfile de Catrinas—Parade of Catrinas, the emblematic female skeleton figures, starting at the city’s main plaza.

PHOTO: Ayuntamiento de Mérida

Sadly, I got my dates mixed up and missed the Paseo de las Animas, but the catrinas parade was great fun. Despite a delay of more than an hour, the event—running from Plaza Grande to the foot of Paseo Montejo and on to the Parque La Plancha—proved worth the wait. 

Loud music blared from the beds of pickup trucks, each introducing its own group of performers. Marchers sang, danced, and engaged spectators—some with smiles, others with playfully menacing moves. A few groups featured bigger-than-life characters on stilts or animated with sticks and strings loomed over the rest. 

I heard someone mention an event remembering and celebrating the souls of mascotas (pets). So I headed over to Parque La Plancha, expecting some kind of parade similar to those for human spirits. And, if the on-line reviews were accurate, lots of living pets either painted or in costume. 

But the affair turned out to be quite small and commercial, with lots of small stalls hawking pet supplies and just four or five pets dressed up. 

There was, however an impressive altar featuring hundreds of candles and what looked like at least 1,000 names of folks’ deceased pets. 

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SEE GENEROUSLY
If I’ve persuaded you to visit any of these locales for Day of the Dead, I suggest you plan ahead by at least six months—a year if you’re really fussy about where you stay. By not doing so I’ve had to depend on as many as 40 inquiries—and considerable luck—to find decent lodging. (I’d be happy to share the names of those finds. Send me a Facebook private message or email me: jeff@willius.com)

Whether it’s Mexico for Día de los Muertos or anywhere else, remember, seeing is far more than acquiring images. At its best, it also involves giving. So I urge you to travel with not just open eyes, but also an open mind and an open heart. See generously!