Day 226 in Mexico
Hello again, and happy April! I’d like to write about the last couple weeks in March, which were certainly eventful. First, I had a visit from my boyfriend, Ehsan, and secondly, it was Semana Santa (Holy Week) which is a very important week here in Catholic Mexico. I’ll start with the former; Ehsan was thankfully able to visit me during his spring break, and because I had all of Holy Week off of work as well he was able to stay a little longer. It was a much anticipated trip for me, and it did not disappoint. When I originally asked him what he wanted to do, he said, “I want to see ruins.” (What he actually said was, “I want to see Incan ruins,” but since the Incas inhabited Peru, that would have been logistically difficult). Ruins, though, were doable; just north of Mexico City is one of the most important ruin sites in Latin America, Teotihuacán. Teotihuacán, in its heyday, was a powerful urban center, both religiously and commercially speaking, and was one of the most influential cities in the region. It’s now an amazing archeological site; two of its most impressive features are the Pyramids of the Moon and the Sun. The Pyramid of the Sun is the third tallest pyramid in the world, behind the pyramids in Egypt and another in central Mexico. So the day after he arrived, a Sunday, we set out for the archeological site, which is an easy bus ride from Mexico City. Upon arrival, however, we found it absolutely teeming with people. Literally, there must have been 100,000 visitors at the site. I had read in my Lonely Planet (my travel bible) that Sundays were generally the busiest days, but I didn’t expect anything like that. Little by little, however, it became clear that this was a special day; it was the first day of spring. Many people make a pilgrimage to Teotihuacán on the first day of spring, dressed in white, to welcome the incoming season, worship the sun, and draw energy from the ancient site. We silly tourists had no idea. While it was cool to see in some ways, it also meant four hour lines to climb the Pyramid of the Sun and the site’s museum, which was supposed to have some very interesting artifacts and exhibits, was closed due to the high volume of people. We decided, therefore, to come back the next day as well to see the things we didn’t get to the first time around. Sure enough, we showed up on Monday afternoon, and the site was all but deserted. We got to experience Teotihuacán both as a teeming city and as a site of silent ruins, and, most importantly, we got to climb the pyramid (below is a picture of us atop the Pyramid of the Sun, with the Pyramid of the Moon in the background). In Mexico City, we also explored the zócalo (central plaza) a bit, went inside the National Cathedral, and also saw the fabulous Diego Rivera murals in the National Palace.
After Mexico City, I brought Ehsan to Cuernavaca for a couple days. The first day, we took a break from site seeing, after having packed a lot into just a couple days in Mexico City. The second day, I took him to work with me to show him a day in the life of Katherine the kindergarten teacher. It was a lot of fun. My parents, unfortunately, visited my work on a day when classes weren’t in session, so this time around I was really excited to have someone from home see me as a teacher. The week before, I had begged the kids to behave well when I brought my visitor, and they actually did pretty well. I did a shorter class with each group, just reviewing what we were learning, took Ehsan on a tour of my site, ate delicious enchiladas at the breakfast program, introduced him to all the mothers that were there, and had him take a mountain of pictures. For me, at least, it was a thoroughly enjoyable morning, and Ehsan also said that he had a lot of fun seeing what I do everyday. It’s still interesting to me that over the past months I’ve morphed into a teacher; I remember when I first arrived without a clue in the world what I was going to do with a group of preschool aged children and no teaching experience, and now I’m making lesson plans. I also took him to see my house; unfortunately, my host family wasn’t around, so he didn’t get to meet them, but it was still good to be able to show him where I’m living. That same night, after our couple days in Cuernavaca, we took an overnight bus to Zihuatanejo, a city on the beach north of Acapulco. The night bus was no fun at all, but our beach vacation itself was amazing. I’m not a huge fan of Acapulco itself; it’s crowded, there’s terrible traffic, it’s noisy, and the beaches are both not very clean and completely lined with high rise hotels. Zihuatanejo was virtually the opposite; a small town that was once a quiet fishing village, it’s a laidback, relaxed town on a bay with absolutely gorgeous beaches. Our hotel was perfect, the water was calm and warm, we got to do all sorts of activities like jetskiing, snorkeling, and parasailing, the seafood was great, and every night we fell asleep to the sound of waves on the beach just below our hotel balcony. There were no high rises, the beaches were clean, and the weather was perfect. It was, hands down, the best beach vacation I’ve ever had (Do you happen to recognize the name Zihuatanejo? It’s not as well known as, say, Acapulco or Cancun, but it is where Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman escape to in the end of The Shawshank Redemption. Check it out).
After our wonderful vacation, it was time to take Ehsan back to Mexico City and say goodbye. Thankfully, I didn’t have to jump straight back into work; it was Semana Santa, Holy Week here in Mexico, which is a much bigger deal than it is in the US. Many people have the whole week off, and schools have two weeks off (which means yes, this teacher is still on vacation). My new host family left to spend the week in Guerrero, participating in a number of church activities, and I spent the week with my friend Sara. While we spent most of the week quietly in Cuernavaca, visiting some of her host mom’s family for a cookout and attending a Maunday Thursday service, we went to the city of Taxco for Good Friday. Taxco is known for having elaborate processions and other activities throughout Semana Santa, but perhaps the most well known event is the procession of los penitentes (the penitent ones) on Good Friday. Following a noontime procession which commemorates the three falls of Jesus as he carried his own cross to his crucifixion, the procession of the penitentes involves three different acts of penitence, all of which require self sacrifice and even some degree of self mutilation. Though I really wanted to see it, I was a little nervous that I would be able to handle the gory parts. Sara also had some feeling of trepidation, I believe, but in the end we decided it was an experience we shouldn’t miss out on.
Unfortunately, we got a little bit of a late start on Friday. By the time we got to the bus station, the next bus was already full, so we had to wait until after 11 to leave. When we finally arrived in Taxco, people were pouring out of the zócalo. Crap, we thought, we missed the procession of the three falls of Jesus. We decided to head to the ex-convent, the church where many of the day and week’s services and activities were taking place, and on our way there we ran into the same procession, also on its way to the ex-convent. There was a river of people following that as well, so I only got pictures from behind. Large teams of people were touting religious figures, including the Virgin Mary and Jesus in a coffin.
Once at the church, the procession entered for a brief service; since there were so many people, we couldn’t really fit into the church until it was all over. We hung around for a bit, watching the crowds, trying to snap a couple pictures, and waiting for things to die down. It was a very interesting atmosphere; it was simultaneously had the feel of an important religious event and a popular tourist trap. There were Mexican families with small children, foreign tourists with their backpacks and expensive cameras, and older women dressed somberly, with veils or shawls over their heads. At one point I was trying to squeeze into the church door to snap a picture of the goings-on, and when I turned around I realized I was in front of a small old woman who only came up to my shoulder. Her head was veiled, she had no camera, and she was trying to peek inside. In that moment, I felt like a bad tourist; it was very odd for us to be smashed up against people for whom this was an incredibly sacred event. Needless to say, I backed out of the church and got out of her way.
For the rest of the afternoon, we relaxed in the town, grabbed a very tasty bite to eat, and waiting until five o’clock, when the penitentes were slated to begin their procession. At about four, we grabbed on a spot on a doorstep of a closed shop along the street where they pass by. The penitentes were supposed to leave from the church, and our spot was purposefully close to the beginning in order to see the procession while the participants were still fresh and hopefully not too bloody. We kept seeing people pass by on their way to the church; women dressed in black and veils, teams men carried large bundles of thick spiky stems, about as big around and as spiny as a saguaro cactus, and a surprising number of vendors, I suppose taking advantage of the large number of people in town. Then, a few minutes after five, it started. The first group to come through were children; first a group of babies and toddlers carried by their mothers, dressed in white angel costumes. Then came a group of slightly older children, dressed in black and carried candles, followed by people hoisting a large angel over their heads, then by veiled, barefoot women carrying incense.
Then, the penitentes. I heard them before I saw them, the sound of heavy chains being rhythmically dragged on the cobblestones. It was the first group of penitentes, the animas, which is the only group that women can participate in. They were dressed in head to toe black, including black hoods over their heads (all the pentitentes do this to preserve anonymity), barefoot, with thick, rough ropes tied around their waists. They were bent over, almost at a ninety degree angle, and their feet were shackled; they dragged the chains behind them through the streets, creating the eerie sound that preceded them as they went. They were also carrying tall candles that dripped wax onto their bare hands. The procession stopped every so often (I’ll explain why in a second), and even while resting many of them stayed bent over. It would be hard to simply walk through the rough, cobblestone streets barefoot; it would be extremely hard bent over. It must have wreaked havoc on their backs.
The next group to come through were the encruzados (the cross carriers). This was an even harsher treatment. All of these men (only men in this group) had the bundles of thorny branches tied to their outstretched arms. In some ways, they looked like they themselves were crucified, with their arms outstretched in a T-shape, the large bundles of thorns carried on their shoulders, arms, and necks, and their arms bound to their burden, unable to be put down for a rest. They too were hooded, barefoot, shirtless and bound at the waist by thick ropes. I’m not exactly sure how they managed to breathe in deeply enough to walk with the weight that was on their shoulders. Every time the procession stopped, there was a team that would help lift the bundle up for them, as to relieve the weight and allow the encruzados to stand upright a bit more and stretch (as they walked, their shoulders were rolled forward and they were looking at the ground, not straight ahead). Many of these men were large and burly, but some of them were thin and obviously quite young. These struggled the most; again, the weight of their burden was unimaginable. Sara told me that some of them don’t always go through the entire procession; which is almost a mile around the whole town. Their black hoods allow them to switch out with another person if they can’t go on.
The last group, however, had the harshest treatment of all. The atmosphere along the procession wasn’t quite as somber as I thought it might be. It certainly wasn’t a happy vibe, but people were talking, walking past, taking pictures; some people were even observing from restaurant balconies that overlooked the streets. However, things got a lot quieter when the flagelantes passed. They, again, were shirtless, hooded, barefoot, and bound with rope, and each was carrying a wooden cross and a white cord that had one end that was covered in small barbs. They were the ones for whom the procession stopped. Every so often, everyone would stop, the flagelantes would hand their cross to a helper, and then kneel down at the ground. After praying or often crossing themselves, they would take their barbed cord and begin throwing it over their shoulders, flagellating their own backs with the barbed end. It was kind of intense; each man didn’t flagellate himself every time they stopped, so some of them were just beginning when they stopped in front of us. We watched as small pricks of blood began to surface on their skin. Some of them had already been flagellating themselves, and they had large, bloody sores on their backs. There were young men, old men (their poor skin tearing like delicate paper), big men, thin men. Some of them didn’t use much force when hitting themselves; it sounded like a gentle fwap, fwap. Some hit a lot harder. There were a couple men that were bad enough to have the blood dripping onto their black robes and feet. I saw a couple looking at their white, barbed whips when they were done, covered in blood. I don’t know what must have been running through their minds. It was both enthralling and hard to watch; I can’t believe people brought their kids to the event. However, it seemed that many people were pretty accustomed to the event; it was the tourists that sometimes looked a bit queasy.
The procession went on for a long time; we were easily watching for an hour and a half from our spot before the end of the procession came though, with Jesus in a clear casket being carried through the crowds. When we left Taxco later that evening, it was still going on. How they went on like that for hours, I don’t know. I didn’t really know what to make of the whole thing. It definitely seemed like a very ascetic, medieval form of Christianity. Sara’s host mother, a devout Christian, was not a fan. As she put it, “God doesn’t want his creation to be hurting themselves like that.” In part, I agree. What does it mean that people are willingly committing to inflicting pain on themselves on the same day that Jesus died to take away our pain and sin? I wish I understood the ends of such a procession. Was it truly an act of penitence, for either individual transgressions or the transgressions of a humanity that crucified the Son of God? Were they expressing their inward, spiritual sorrow on the outside? Was it an act of solidarity with Jesus, trying in some way to absorb or share in his pain? Was it simple tradition, an act of masochism, a misguided sense of faith, a shock factor tourist attraction? I really don’t know; I think it could have elements of many things. But part of me feels that the men and women who participate in this have a greater understanding of Good Friday, and thus perhaps Easter, than I do. Good Friday has never been more than a passing thought to me, an acknowledgment of a sad day in the church but really just a stepping stone to get to Easter. I think I’ll continue to puzzle about it; though it was difficult to watch, I’m glad I saw it.
The rest of my Holy Week was not nearly as intense. Many Mexican holidays seem to follow the pattern of having a lot of buildup but not much activity on the actual day. Easter, then, was actually a pretty quiet day; people didn’t really seem to do much. I went to the English-speaking Anglican church in Cuernavaca, which has a service not that difference from the Lutheran one, as well as a very talented choir and some good hymn choices. I don’t get a lot out of Catholic Mass, and on Easter, I want to feel like I’m actually getting something out of church. And after all the intensity of the Passion, I was very much in need of some good Easter news. Afterwards, there was a wonderful brunch at the church that included some very tasty mimosas (more good news!). I went in the afternoon to a friend of Sara’s house for a lunch get together, and then we had our monthly volunteer gathering at my coordinator’s home. It was a busy but very good day.
Now I’m wrapping up the last of my vacation, actually getting excited to go back and get to work on Monday (vacation’s not as fun when I’m not traveling), and ready to get back into the swing of things. Hasta luego!
