Día de Muertos

After a long trip home to Pittsburgh two years ago for Easter vacation, my dad picked me up from the airport, eager to spend time with me. I thought we might go out to eat or that he´d bring me to the house to see my mother, but instead we made a trip to a flower store to pick up carnations which we then took to my grandmother´s gravestone. After saying a prayer there, we proceeded to walk through the cold, damp grounds and visit several other deceased relatives. The detour really wasn´t too surprising to me as oftentimes when we are in the car together, my Dad decides that a visit to the cemetery is in order. While most people in the United States prefer not to think about the dead, he goes out of his way for them, as he cantors at the funerals of strangers, loves to attend wakes, and of course, visits the cemetery several times each year.

This past weekend, I learned that my Dad would fit in here in Mexico, as the country celebrated Day of the Dead, the holiday in which it is said that it is easier for souls to come visit the living. Here, people put out offerings for their relatives such as bread, flowers, cigarettes and candy. For the past few weeks, the bakeries have been serving pan de muertes (sugary bread) and skull figurines are sold in shops. The holiday is based on indigenous traditions, but coincides with Catholic holy days honoring the deceased--All Saint´s Day and All Soul´s Day.

Jessica and I began Saturday with a trip to a graveyard to see the festivities. Outside the pantheon, vendors were selling flowers and food for double the normal price. Inside, families cleaned headstones, mariachi bands were playing at the foot of them, and there were floral displays everywhere. In Mexico City, coffins are on top of the ground and sometimes they are inside elaborate little rooms that also contain carpets, photos and statues.

Not having our own relatives to honor, we felt slightly out of place and didn´t stay for too long. That night we went to the parish, were a large paper cross had been placed on the grounds and topped with sawdust. Surprisingly, there were not too many people attending Mass, but apparently many people were traveling to visit relatives. We spent the night passing out candy to costumed children (Mexico has adopted that Halloween tradition for the Day of the Dead.) While I was warming up in the kitchen, chit-chatting with Father and Guilloto as we munched on pumpkin seeds, a friend called to invite Jess and I to the Zocalo (the city square) to see the offerings that different sections of the city had prepared.

Jessica asked Father his opinion about whether it would be worth it to stay up so late to see the offerings, since we had been planning on going anyway the following day. Sweetly, he misunderstood her and thought she was asking for permission, and said that since the two of us would be going together and picked up and driven home, it was okay. With his blessing, off we went with Ricardo (Javier´s brother), his friend Julio and Martha, who volunteers at the parish.

It was better that we ended up going at night because it added to the spooky ambiance of the displays of offerings. There was a bus of skeletons to honor dead people who died in traffic accidents, as well as various displays of food and flowers, and skeletons of children at play. People dressed in cloaks and white masks ran around having their picture taken (for a price we learned) and vendors sold corn, cotton candy and chips. After touring the city square, we ate at a crowded diner where various costumed persons came in and out, and waitresses sold bread of the dead by the trayful.

The next day was another busy day at church as the Day of the Dead is celebrated both November 1 and 2. (For children and adults.) Again, we passed out more candy and at the end of theday, we had a ceremony in which the cross was dismantled. Unfortunately, as far as I know, none of my relatives paid me a visit. However, the Day of the Dead definitely made me appreciate the living who helped us celebrate the holiday. It also made me feel a little less homesick for people at home, because the holiday showed that no matter where someone is or how often you get to talk to them, you can always feel close to them.