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What makes a great city is not what it is, but who it is. More than the ghosts of its illustrious past, a great city must also be
the real and ready smile of the present, and during this week of Bicentennial festivities, Mexico City was that and more, for
all the world to see.
In eager, tri-color painted faces, frizzy wigs and flashing glasses, waving “banderas” of every description, Mexicans from all
over the country filled the streets of the capital, flocking to the immense main square of the “zocalo” by the thousands,
braving long but orderly security check lines with patience and good humor.
President Felipe Calderon was clearly looking to catalyze that elusive “mexicanidad,” a sense of cultural distinctiveness,
when he sent a flag to every family in the country, and in a way, it worked. Not a state or a contingent was left out of the giant
tapestry that is Mexico, and they came because they wanted to, college kids from Tijuana, friends and parents from
Tlaxcala, grandmothers from Guanajuato, children and pets, couples and colleagues.
To unify a city of this size takes an extraordinary event, and what a show it was, without a single incident of the kind that has
dominated recent negative coverage of Mexico, a tribute to the skills and persistence of thousands of organizers, officials,
artists, soldiers and citizens.
With only three days in hand during the celebrations, we criss-crossed this vast metropolis in search of clues and color, of
tastes, traditions, and a feel for this place where history is often right underfoot, from the “Plaza de las Tres Culturas” to the
canals of Xochimilco.
the real and ready smile of the present, and during this week of Bicentennial festivities, Mexico City was that and more, for
all the world to see.
In eager, tri-color painted faces, frizzy wigs and flashing glasses, waving “banderas” of every description, Mexicans from all
over the country filled the streets of the capital, flocking to the immense main square of the “zocalo” by the thousands,
braving long but orderly security check lines with patience and good humor.
President Felipe Calderon was clearly looking to catalyze that elusive “mexicanidad,” a sense of cultural distinctiveness,
when he sent a flag to every family in the country, and in a way, it worked. Not a state or a contingent was left out of the giant
tapestry that is Mexico, and they came because they wanted to, college kids from Tijuana, friends and parents from
Tlaxcala, grandmothers from Guanajuato, children and pets, couples and colleagues.
To unify a city of this size takes an extraordinary event, and what a show it was, without a single incident of the kind that has
dominated recent negative coverage of Mexico, a tribute to the skills and persistence of thousands of organizers, officials,
artists, soldiers and citizens.
With only three days in hand during the celebrations, we criss-crossed this vast metropolis in search of clues and color, of
tastes, traditions, and a feel for this place where history is often right underfoot, from the “Plaza de las Tres Culturas” to the
canals of Xochimilco.
This material is copyrighted Jay Dunn 2012, as is all associated content on www.mexicoculturalcalendar.com |
| Mexico City |
One of the most surprising things about Mexico City is
that it is easy to find calm in the middle of twenty million
people. In the cool silence of a church interior, in an
unexpected public garden sheltered by high walls, on a
thoughtful bench along a quiet back street, there are
plenty of peaceful harbors in which to rest.
The crazy colors that are part of life here – they are
indeed deliberate, jaunty, reverential. The vivid hues of
the street blend seamlessly with the muted tones of
places of worship - rather than clashes, there are
complements: crimson and gold, amethyst and
aquamarine, all a symphony over window sills and
archways. With spaces hushed as a prayer, shade trees
everywhere, and all of a rainbow's possibility, from
delicate to garish, from iridescent to serene, this is a
good place to have a conversation, or be a lover by the
fountains.
Mexico City is renowned as one of the most important,
and densely populated, cities in the world. To add to its
credits, however, it also seems a place of civility by
nature, where in our frenetic world of high culture,
international business, and people on every corner, it is
still possible to have public places that soothe the
anxiousness of being urban.
that it is easy to find calm in the middle of twenty million
people. In the cool silence of a church interior, in an
unexpected public garden sheltered by high walls, on a
thoughtful bench along a quiet back street, there are
plenty of peaceful harbors in which to rest.
The crazy colors that are part of life here – they are
indeed deliberate, jaunty, reverential. The vivid hues of
the street blend seamlessly with the muted tones of
places of worship - rather than clashes, there are
complements: crimson and gold, amethyst and
aquamarine, all a symphony over window sills and
archways. With spaces hushed as a prayer, shade trees
everywhere, and all of a rainbow's possibility, from
delicate to garish, from iridescent to serene, this is a
good place to have a conversation, or be a lover by the
fountains.
Mexico City is renowned as one of the most important,
and densely populated, cities in the world. To add to its
credits, however, it also seems a place of civility by
nature, where in our frenetic world of high culture,
international business, and people on every corner, it is
still possible to have public places that soothe the
anxiousness of being urban.
Viva Mexico! Happy 200th Anniversary
The Pilgrims of Guadalupe
At times it feels like all Mexico is on the move, streaming toward the Basilica as if magnetised,
disheveled, defiant, on knees bent and shoes scuffed from miles and miles of trudging along
unforgiving concrete. For this will be a celebration, the “Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe,” patron
saint of Mexico, and these are the true believers, the “peregrinos.”
They come for many different reasons, profound and personal, to find something, to forget
something, or to fulfill their “manda,” solemn promises made in public or in private. One wish
unifies them all, that they on this day can claim a place close to Guadalupe, who embodies at once
the Christian Virgin Mary, the Aztec earth goddess Tonantzin, and everything else that is seen to be
good and miraculous in this vast, complicated country.
From Puebla, from Hidalgo, from far-flung states or the outskirts of the Distrito Federal, from tiny
towns and devout congregations, every year “peregrinos” save up to make this pilgrimage of faith,
in groups, small or large, in trucks and buses and many on foot, in the traditional way.
They come alone, they come with friends - working men, teenagers, grandmothers, and
householders with babies in tow, carrying the most remarkable things strapped to worn
backpacks: huge portraits of the Virgin in green and gold, thirty-pound statues, rosaries and
figurines, crosses of dark wood and shiny metal, elaborate altars in boxes made of glass.
disheveled, defiant, on knees bent and shoes scuffed from miles and miles of trudging along
unforgiving concrete. For this will be a celebration, the “Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe,” patron
saint of Mexico, and these are the true believers, the “peregrinos.”
They come for many different reasons, profound and personal, to find something, to forget
something, or to fulfill their “manda,” solemn promises made in public or in private. One wish
unifies them all, that they on this day can claim a place close to Guadalupe, who embodies at once
the Christian Virgin Mary, the Aztec earth goddess Tonantzin, and everything else that is seen to be
good and miraculous in this vast, complicated country.
From Puebla, from Hidalgo, from far-flung states or the outskirts of the Distrito Federal, from tiny
towns and devout congregations, every year “peregrinos” save up to make this pilgrimage of faith,
in groups, small or large, in trucks and buses and many on foot, in the traditional way.
They come alone, they come with friends - working men, teenagers, grandmothers, and
householders with babies in tow, carrying the most remarkable things strapped to worn
backpacks: huge portraits of the Virgin in green and gold, thirty-pound statues, rosaries and
figurines, crosses of dark wood and shiny metal, elaborate altars in boxes made of glass.
But mostly they walk, steadily putting one foot in front of another, shuffling along with determination and pride in their faces, one and all with
awkward bundles tied with string, filled with blankets, bandages, tortillas and tamales. As they approach their goal, some collapse with
exhaustion and some, from a place deep inside, find renewed energy at the end.
For Miguel Benancio Cepeda, and his wife Maria, from San Miguel Canoa in Puebla, their third journey is to give thanks, and to ask that the
baby Maria is carrying be blessed. After three days of walking from five in the morning till ten at night, they were within sight of the Basilica.
Fifty-one year old Jose Luis Gomez Pereira made a “manda secreta,” a secret promise to the Virgin, and when his friends didn't come with
the horses, he came anyway, staying here in the city without any money. Thanks to local volunteers like Israel Aguilera, who works with
twenty families to provide free food and drink for the pilgrims, Jose Luis and many others can show their devotion knowing help will always
be there.
In 1531, the farmer Juan Diego's vision of a young woman atop a hill in Tepeyac gave birth to an enduring legend. To build the church she
asked for, the Catholic bishop needed proof. Surely in the journey of millions to this huge square, which today encompasses the original
sanctuary with its beautiful gardens and a sweeping new basilica, there is proof and more that faith in her existence was justified.
Both the city and the church provide ample support for these pilgrimages. There are medics, lost and found services, meeting places, and
plenty of personnel for information and security. The center walkway of the “Calzada de Guadalupe,” a main route, is made smooth to
assuage the knees, and near the Basilica, the vista widens, and the path turns to marble, shiny now in pain and pride.
But despite the crowds, the community of it, these are individual journeys, made of heart, soul, and something indefinable that links pilgrims
of faith around the world. In the will to put one foot in front of another, day after day, every one of these people has to meet their measure and
make it greater.
For forty-five year-old Norma Campo Trejo, on her fifth pilgrimage from Chalco, Estado de Mexico, it is a “manda” she has made for the
health of her mother. On her knees, and blindfolded, she is within a few hundred yards of her goal. She does it this way so she cannot know
where along the road she is, confident in her devotion and the strength that wells from within.
Jay Dunn, Mexico City, December 12th, 2011
A sincere thanks is given here to Andrea Fernandez, whose gracious help was essential to two of these stories...
awkward bundles tied with string, filled with blankets, bandages, tortillas and tamales. As they approach their goal, some collapse with
exhaustion and some, from a place deep inside, find renewed energy at the end.
For Miguel Benancio Cepeda, and his wife Maria, from San Miguel Canoa in Puebla, their third journey is to give thanks, and to ask that the
baby Maria is carrying be blessed. After three days of walking from five in the morning till ten at night, they were within sight of the Basilica.
Fifty-one year old Jose Luis Gomez Pereira made a “manda secreta,” a secret promise to the Virgin, and when his friends didn't come with
the horses, he came anyway, staying here in the city without any money. Thanks to local volunteers like Israel Aguilera, who works with
twenty families to provide free food and drink for the pilgrims, Jose Luis and many others can show their devotion knowing help will always
be there.
In 1531, the farmer Juan Diego's vision of a young woman atop a hill in Tepeyac gave birth to an enduring legend. To build the church she
asked for, the Catholic bishop needed proof. Surely in the journey of millions to this huge square, which today encompasses the original
sanctuary with its beautiful gardens and a sweeping new basilica, there is proof and more that faith in her existence was justified.
Both the city and the church provide ample support for these pilgrimages. There are medics, lost and found services, meeting places, and
plenty of personnel for information and security. The center walkway of the “Calzada de Guadalupe,” a main route, is made smooth to
assuage the knees, and near the Basilica, the vista widens, and the path turns to marble, shiny now in pain and pride.
But despite the crowds, the community of it, these are individual journeys, made of heart, soul, and something indefinable that links pilgrims
of faith around the world. In the will to put one foot in front of another, day after day, every one of these people has to meet their measure and
make it greater.
For forty-five year-old Norma Campo Trejo, on her fifth pilgrimage from Chalco, Estado de Mexico, it is a “manda” she has made for the
health of her mother. On her knees, and blindfolded, she is within a few hundred yards of her goal. She does it this way so she cannot know
where along the road she is, confident in her devotion and the strength that wells from within.
Jay Dunn, Mexico City, December 12th, 2011
A sincere thanks is given here to Andrea Fernandez, whose gracious help was essential to two of these stories...
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Click here for a full-screen slideshow
"B-Boy" Dancers, Mexico City from Jay Dunn on Vimeo.
This group of about thirty young hipsters just hanging out
together made me do a double take. I first ran across the
“B-Boys,” for want of a better name, in Alameda Central,
the public park next to the Palacio de Bellas Artes in the
center of the city.
The graceful layout of this green space can be hard to
see behind a crazy array of blue tarps, circus rides and
vendor stalls full of every imaginable item, but it is indeed
a well-planned public place, with fountains, lots of
benches, and a central raised platform for performances
and events. With so many nearby cassette salesmen
and DVD hawkers playing their wares, I might not have
even heard them, but they were laughing and shouting
up on the covered platform, and I felt compelled to find
out why.
In the late-afternoon light, Karen Merida, 14, explained
that high school had just gotten out for the Christmas
holidays, and that they were all “waiting for the music” to
arrive. They meet every Thursday and Saturday to dance,
she said, and there are teams who compete. By their hip-
hop clothes, I imagined some sort of group effort, but I
couldn't have imagined the cheering rugby scrum that led
to the first dances of the day.
Powered by a cell phone and a portable speaker,
everyone that could crowded around one dancer and
then the next, each of whom tried to push people back
and outdo the other's awesome new moves to a barely
audible techno-rap tune. This was no break dancing – no
head-spins or body-bending, just plain creativity plus a
lot of attitude made for a winner, acclaimed and
acknowledged by popular demand. The girls were every
bit as competitive as the boys, and often better.
“D.F.” is a very fashionable place, peopled by residents
whose sense of style encompasses both the traditional
and the modern with care. What impressed me about
these kids, though, was not just that they can do what
they do, it's that they appear to do it with such elan. With a
gracious, democratic ease, they win, they lose, they
respect each other - these are citizens any country would
be proud to claim their own.
together made me do a double take. I first ran across the
“B-Boys,” for want of a better name, in Alameda Central,
the public park next to the Palacio de Bellas Artes in the
center of the city.
The graceful layout of this green space can be hard to
see behind a crazy array of blue tarps, circus rides and
vendor stalls full of every imaginable item, but it is indeed
a well-planned public place, with fountains, lots of
benches, and a central raised platform for performances
and events. With so many nearby cassette salesmen
and DVD hawkers playing their wares, I might not have
even heard them, but they were laughing and shouting
up on the covered platform, and I felt compelled to find
out why.
In the late-afternoon light, Karen Merida, 14, explained
that high school had just gotten out for the Christmas
holidays, and that they were all “waiting for the music” to
arrive. They meet every Thursday and Saturday to dance,
she said, and there are teams who compete. By their hip-
hop clothes, I imagined some sort of group effort, but I
couldn't have imagined the cheering rugby scrum that led
to the first dances of the day.
Powered by a cell phone and a portable speaker,
everyone that could crowded around one dancer and
then the next, each of whom tried to push people back
and outdo the other's awesome new moves to a barely
audible techno-rap tune. This was no break dancing – no
head-spins or body-bending, just plain creativity plus a
lot of attitude made for a winner, acclaimed and
acknowledged by popular demand. The girls were every
bit as competitive as the boys, and often better.
“D.F.” is a very fashionable place, peopled by residents
whose sense of style encompasses both the traditional
and the modern with care. What impressed me about
these kids, though, was not just that they can do what
they do, it's that they appear to do it with such elan. With a
gracious, democratic ease, they win, they lose, they
respect each other - these are citizens any country would
be proud to claim their own.
There are the contrasts, of course, the old-world, cobblestone charm of Coyoacan against the gleaming steel of bank buildings along the Reforma, the sweet-spicy lime bite of a mango shaved-
ice “raspada” against the flavors of this season’s patriotic dish, “chiles en nogada,” bright red pomegranate seeds, green poblano peppers, white walnut sauce.
But it is the people that make visiting this city memorable, the young skateboarder on the subway making sure I got off at the right stop, the father on his knees, carrying a newborn to the Tepeyac
shrine of The Virgin of Guadalupe, at the zocalo, the burned woman in full traditional dress, knitting Bicentennial wool hats with her two prosthetic arms.
These are the “gente” of Mexico City now, from all walks of life, resisting definition. Whether they lived here or not, everyone had an opinion about the “Bicentenario,” most often expressed right on
their brilliant red, green and white sleeves. Even though I hadn’t paid for a song, mariachi musician Victor Aranda was pleased to explain that business at the Plaza Garibaldi was great, “because
people are in a good mood!”
When I asked what the commemoration meant to them, two university students at a bus stop answered, “It’s like they want us to have an identity, but we’re all so different.” Yet this is the strength
and the endless possibility of the capital, and indeed of Mexico itself, that between the shopper's glitz of Polanco and the working-class grit of Ixtapalapa, between the poles of Cortez and
Cuahtemoc, there lies the happy medium of today.
Jay Dunn, Mexico City, September 16, 2010
ice “raspada” against the flavors of this season’s patriotic dish, “chiles en nogada,” bright red pomegranate seeds, green poblano peppers, white walnut sauce.
But it is the people that make visiting this city memorable, the young skateboarder on the subway making sure I got off at the right stop, the father on his knees, carrying a newborn to the Tepeyac
shrine of The Virgin of Guadalupe, at the zocalo, the burned woman in full traditional dress, knitting Bicentennial wool hats with her two prosthetic arms.
These are the “gente” of Mexico City now, from all walks of life, resisting definition. Whether they lived here or not, everyone had an opinion about the “Bicentenario,” most often expressed right on
their brilliant red, green and white sleeves. Even though I hadn’t paid for a song, mariachi musician Victor Aranda was pleased to explain that business at the Plaza Garibaldi was great, “because
people are in a good mood!”
When I asked what the commemoration meant to them, two university students at a bus stop answered, “It’s like they want us to have an identity, but we’re all so different.” Yet this is the strength
and the endless possibility of the capital, and indeed of Mexico itself, that between the shopper's glitz of Polanco and the working-class grit of Ixtapalapa, between the poles of Cortez and
Cuahtemoc, there lies the happy medium of today.
Jay Dunn, Mexico City, September 16, 2010
The angel came early to number sixty-eight Calle Centlapatl, carried on a
plain wood palanquin the way it would be during the first of the year's
“Posadas,” by hand, from the church of San Martin de Tours a few blocks
away. With a late afternoon's winter light slanting eastward over
Azcapotzalco, this December 16th would be a special one, as the
Marquez-Perez family had made great preparations to welcome their
friends and fellow parishioners in celebrating one of Mexico's sweetest
traditions.
“Posada” means “inn” in Spanish, and on each of the nine days before
Christmas, groups of devout parishioners like these will reenact Mary and
Joseph's search for shelter during their Biblical journey from Nazareth to
Bethlehem. In the story, the pair were helped through the cold and dust by
an otherworldly guide, and this guardian angel, too, in colorful plaster and
paint, has made the trip from the church to be here on this humble street
in Mexico City.
plain wood palanquin the way it would be during the first of the year's
“Posadas,” by hand, from the church of San Martin de Tours a few blocks
away. With a late afternoon's winter light slanting eastward over
Azcapotzalco, this December 16th would be a special one, as the
Marquez-Perez family had made great preparations to welcome their
friends and fellow parishioners in celebrating one of Mexico's sweetest
traditions.
“Posada” means “inn” in Spanish, and on each of the nine days before
Christmas, groups of devout parishioners like these will reenact Mary and
Joseph's search for shelter during their Biblical journey from Nazareth to
Bethlehem. In the story, the pair were helped through the cold and dust by
an otherworldly guide, and this guardian angel, too, in colorful plaster and
paint, has made the trip from the church to be here on this humble street
in Mexico City.
“In the name of heaven, I ask for shelter, My beloved wife, She can walk no more,” answered by
“This is not an inn, I cannot open up, Go on ahead, Don't think me heartless.”
This is followed by: “Posada I ask for, Beloved Home, She will be a mother, the Queen of Heaven” and they are refused again “For if she is a
queen, who asks, how is it that tonight, she is so lonely...”
But at the third gate, the innkeeper takes heart, and after some solemn silence, then, in the street, the gates open, and all that is inside
welcomes the weary travelers.
For Father Francisco Mendieta Bueno, facing his own struggle with dialysis, these traditions kept alive by his parish are a lifeline of warmth and
community. He offers some serious words for contemplation, and everyone joins in a “Padre Nuestro.” But then, the party begins, and there is
food, drink, and pinata-breaking to look forward to. With so much going on, conversations flow, and children are everywhere. Everyone's door is
open, and no one seems to notice the chilly breeze.
Many people in Mexico take two weeks off before the end of the year to wind down, and the general festive mood, with its resultant gridlock,
meant holiday time was finally a reality. But this Friday night, some folks didn't seem to be in a hurry, and this working-class neighborhood
feels frozen in time. Several times we had cars behind us, our modest group led by little girls with candles. No one honked or was impatient,
and in the sweetness of the evening, most seemed to want to share the moment.
Jay Dunn December 16th, 2011, Azcapotzalco, D.F., Mexico
“This is not an inn, I cannot open up, Go on ahead, Don't think me heartless.”
This is followed by: “Posada I ask for, Beloved Home, She will be a mother, the Queen of Heaven” and they are refused again “For if she is a
queen, who asks, how is it that tonight, she is so lonely...”
But at the third gate, the innkeeper takes heart, and after some solemn silence, then, in the street, the gates open, and all that is inside
welcomes the weary travelers.
For Father Francisco Mendieta Bueno, facing his own struggle with dialysis, these traditions kept alive by his parish are a lifeline of warmth and
community. He offers some serious words for contemplation, and everyone joins in a “Padre Nuestro.” But then, the party begins, and there is
food, drink, and pinata-breaking to look forward to. With so much going on, conversations flow, and children are everywhere. Everyone's door is
open, and no one seems to notice the chilly breeze.
Many people in Mexico take two weeks off before the end of the year to wind down, and the general festive mood, with its resultant gridlock,
meant holiday time was finally a reality. But this Friday night, some folks didn't seem to be in a hurry, and this working-class neighborhood
feels frozen in time. Several times we had cars behind us, our modest group led by little girls with candles. No one honked or was impatient,
and in the sweetness of the evening, most seemed to want to share the moment.
Jay Dunn December 16th, 2011, Azcapotzalco, D.F., Mexico
Our hostess has been busy – the tree inside is glowing with lights, gift bags of alternating red and silvery green are filled to the brim with
peanuts, candy and snacks for the kids, flowers are everywhere, especially at the Virgen de Guadalupe's altar to the left of their living room
entrance. There are not one, but three pinatas ready, to be won later in the evening at the right whack of a carefully taped broom handle.
As everyone gathers, the children take candles, the adults take sparklers for later. Two parishioners take up the heavy palanquin. The
procession begins, their symbolic journey tonight a long and arduous one. Pausing at a first, then a second doorway, the group outside the
gates, the “peregrinos,” trade touching verses in song with the “hosteleros,” the innkeepers, inside:
peanuts, candy and snacks for the kids, flowers are everywhere, especially at the Virgen de Guadalupe's altar to the left of their living room
entrance. There are not one, but three pinatas ready, to be won later in the evening at the right whack of a carefully taped broom handle.
As everyone gathers, the children take candles, the adults take sparklers for later. Two parishioners take up the heavy palanquin. The
procession begins, their symbolic journey tonight a long and arduous one. Pausing at a first, then a second doorway, the group outside the
gates, the “peregrinos,” trade touching verses in song with the “hosteleros,” the innkeepers, inside:
"Posadas" in Mexico City
