A ghostly weekend

Dia De Los Muertos

My initial understanding of the Day of the Dead festival was that it was Mexico’s version of Hallowe’en.  I now realise it’s much more than that.  Like our Pagan inspired festivities during All Hallow’s Eve, Dia Los Muertos is centred on souls who have passed before us.  But while we run from door to door dressed as the latest comic villain, the Mexicans give the event a more personal touch.  Altars are constructed and displayed in homes and businesses, and are dedicated to people who have passed away.  They are usually decorated with marigolds, and filled with the favourite foods and drinks of the person being remembered, as it is believed that they will return on the night to eat and drink from it.

Cemeteries are, in my mind, places of mourning, quiet but for the deafening din of loss.  However, on the night of this Mexican celebration, they are festooned with flowers and altars, the food is eaten, and music is played in celebration of those who have died.  It’s bright, it’s colourful, and it’s noisy.  For me this seemed a strange tradition, for I am not a fan of cemeteries, I don’t like to think of our dead there in that hollowed ground.  But in Mexico it is believed that the spirits arrive and visit for one more night, an ideal that most long for after losing a loved one. From my perspective, I feel ill at ease with having to face the memories of someone who has gone, to feel their loss all over again, so I was yet to be won over on the ‘partying at the graveside’ front.

At school we had a celebration of our own and the teachers constructed a fabulous altar dedicated to the children’s song writer, Cri Cri (Francisco Gabilondo Soler), who died in 1990.  Each of the Kindergarten teachers played a part of one of Cri Cri’s animal characters and we put on a show for the students where we danced around to a selection of his songs.  I played a mouse and, with hindsight, I realise that dangling costume elements may not have been a great idea as I jumped about escaping little hands that were trying to pull off my tail.  You live and learn in the world of Kindy teaching.  After the performance everyone sat down to the food and drinks that were displayed on the altar; Mexican favourites such as tamales, pozol, and pan de muertos. Having experienced my first Dia Los Muertos celebration, and witnessed delight rather than sadness, I felt more at ease with the idea of the celebratory customs and began to feel like it was a much more positive tradition for all involved.

With my lifted spirit I took a trip to San Cristobal de las Casas for the weekend to see what the folks there had in store for their celebrations.  You may remember from my last post, I spoke very highly of this pretty town in the mountains and, as I had a visitor from England, I thought it the best option to make a good impression.  I arrived late on Friday night, after a week of prepping for Halloween and Dia Los Muertos activities in both the schools I work at (It turns out the Mexican cost of living is higher than that of Thailand, and the salary is lower.)  I fell exhausted onto my bunk bed in the hostel, not even a nightcap to be had, and woke on Saturday, rested and ready for the weekend.  After some exploring in the bustling market we had a chocolate break in a little chocolate café on the main street where we people-watched and plotted our next move.  We headed in the direction of one of the big churches, where we were met by a lady reading tarot cards.  I couldn’t resist, I handed over 100 pesos for a rather generic reading advising me I had a decision and, although I should look at all my options, I already have the tools I need to make the right choice.  So with that golden nugget in my back pocket, where my 100 pesos could have been, I trundled on up the several million (or so it felt) steps to a brightly painted church overlooking the town.  I basked in the golden afternoon sun as I heaved breath back into my lungs.  I need to get back to the gym; I admit I’ve been milking the ‘no exercise’ rule given to Chikungunya convalescents for long enough now.

The day jaunted along in the beautiful glow of the sun which made everything so much more iridescent, the shiny gold of a VW beetle contrasted with a dark wall of graffiti, and the brightly coloured shops and churches.  It all inspired so much relaxation.  The day evolved to night as we sipped another glass of wine, and while the marimba bands serenaded us as we washed down the delicious tapas, we decided we were far too settled in and cosy to go back to our room to refresh.  By now I was far too relaxed … 

While I chatted and sipped beer, my 8 year old leather handbag from a previous trip to Hong Kong was sitting beside me on a chair.  In the blink of an eye it got swept away by an inconsiderate opportunist, along with my market purchases, my Kindle Fire, my crappy old smartphone, my sunglasses, and my wallet with my driving license and the rest of my weekend’s funds.  The money I can earn again, the phone was so old it had cataracts, the sunglasses were cheap old things from Tesco Lotus, and the driving license is replaceable, although it will cost me the equivalent of 2 evenings at my second job to replace.  What knocked me most about this whole ordeal was losing my tablet.  I know what you’re thinking; first world problems, right?  I suppose you could call losing the thing that kept me connected to my family while I am living 5,000 miles away (already feeling homesick) a first world problem but, for me in that moment it was a kick in the guts and a rip in my heart.  I acknowledge now that this is rather an overreaction; however I’ve not had something stolen from me since my coat was taken from the cloakroom in first year (7^th grade), so you can imagine my disgust and lack of experience with this sort of thing.  Anyway, over the next week I decided that it was probably best to just forget it, as it’s been implied that there’s nothing anyone (one would normally turn to) can do in these situations, even if they cared enough to bother with the paperwork, so I admitted defeat and bought the cheapest Samsung tab I could find and loaded it with all sorts of security software that will allow me to shut it down and shut out a venomous klepto should I fall victim again. A word to the wise: keep all personal information off mobile devices.  Just think of what the sticky fingered feckers have access to once they hack in.

My premature departure from San Cris, and it’s continuing Dia Los Muertos festivities, on Sunday was with nauseous feelings, and I’m not talking about the wine from the previous night.  I just wanted out of there.  I was also saddened that the short time my friend had with me had been shortened further, having to comfort me while I mourned a device.  I was so frustrated that the handbag incident had threatened to ruin my view of such a wonderful place, a place that I had heard so much about in my research into living in Chiapas, and once again I felt intense anger at that being taken away from me too.  

However, positive thoughts will prevail.  I intend on going back to San Cristobal to give it a chance to redeem itself, with my head held high and my handbag superglued to my shoulder.

Images: Sinéad Millea.