11/ Christmas in Oaxaca
“A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.”
-- Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home
As December begins in Oaxaca, even winter-hardened expats take notice of the change. There you are, walking down the street on a pleasantly warm afternoon, your gossamer, quick-dry Ex Officio sunshirt offering just enough protection against the still-strong tropical sun. Then, without notice, the gentle breeze becomes a steady wind, and as the shadows lengthen the temperature drops a good 30˚ Fahrenheit. Arms crossed, you hurry back to your adopted home to put on what little warm clothing you brought with you. It is a freinte frio—a cold front—and it will hold the dusty Oaxacan landscape in its grip for the next several days.
We’re told there will be dozens of these fronts coming through between December and March, and we’re suddenly wondering why we didn’t come better prepared. Shivering, we think of our storage boxes gathering dust back in Seattle, full of the warm clothes we now long for. Since the only heating source in our drafty apartment is the stove, we are grateful when some friends offer us a small electric heating fan, which suffices to warm the frigid cement floor of our bedroom on mornings when the thermometer has dipped into the low 40s. In a few days the temperature will warm again, and the trusty Ex Officio will come back out of the closet into which it was temporarily exiled.
Oaxaqueños, of course, are prepared for all of this. Overnight they reemerge from their homes wrapped in down parkas, vests, woolen hats, gloves and extravagantly long scarves. It is a little like seeing penguins in the Galapagos. Department stores are full of these warming items as winter approaches, and, to be honest, many locals began wearing them back in October (see El Frio de Los Muertos), if not earlier.
There’s another reliable sign of approaching winter, and it would feel almost comforting were it not such a disappointment to behold in southern Mexico: the bedecking of every hall, house, store and cafe with garlands of glittering Christmas decorations.
Yes, American-style Christmas has invaded Oaxaca, complete with herds of adorable, Bambi-style reindeer and plenty of plump Santas. Worse yet, the always-loud PA systems in stores and restaurants are now blaring American Christmas music as well, begging the question of whether there is any place left on Earth where a humbug like me can escape it. There seems to be no Mexican equivalent to this kind of music, which is why, I suppose, they had to borrow ours.
A Tale of Three Virgins
In Mexico, as in most of Latin America, Mary seems a much bigger deal than Jesus, and as the intercessory link between mortals and their God she receives a lot of attention from people who are poor, disenfranchised, infirm or otherwise miserable, and who are just plain hoping for a miracle to make their lives better.
The festivities kick off late in the first week of December with the celebration of La Virgen de Juquila. Santa Catarina Juquila is a tiny town in the mountains between Oaxaca City and the coast. Back in the 16th century a Dominican friar brought a statute of the Virgin from Spain to adorn its newly-constructed chapel, but not long afterwards the church caught fire and burned to the ground. Miraculously, the statue was the only thing to survive the conflagration; however, in the process her face was darkened by the heat and now more closely resembled the town’s indigenous occupants, which only served to intensify their devotion to her. Thereafter there were several attempts made by rival bishops to move the relic to another nearby village, but mysteriously, she always managed to return home.
Thousands of people travel at this time of year to Juquila in order to honor and beseech remedios from the miraculous Virgin. They go on foot, on bicycle, and in some cases, on their knees, along the rock-strewn shoulder of a congested, impossibly windy two-lane highway through the mountains. Many people have been injured and even killed in this dangerous enterprise, which has become the most important pilgrimage in this part of Mexico, second in importance only to that of the Basilica de la Virgen de Guadalupe in Mexico City (see below).
Religious keepsakes for sale, including the Virgins of Guadalupe and Juquila (in white).
Just as the Juquila celebration is winding down, the festival of La Virgen de Guadalupe is ramping up. After the Pope, she is perhaps the most important religious figure in the country—in effect, the Protectress of Mexico.
According to legend, Mary appeared to an indigenous Aztec peasant named Juan Diego (a recent Christian convert) on December 9, 1531. She requested of him that a shrine be built to her on the spot near present-day Mexico City where she appeared. Upon his return to the village, a skeptical bishop demanded some proof of her presence before he would authorize construction of the shrine. Several days later, Juan Diego passed near the hill and beheld Mary a second time, during which she ordered him to collect some roses. Returning to the bishop a second time, Juan Diego opened his tilma, or cloak, letting dozens of roses fall to the floor and revealing an image of Mary imprinted on it.
Miraculously, the purported tilma survives to this day, on display in the Basilica of Guadalupe in a Mexico City suburb (I have seen it). Its iconic image of La Virgen de Guadalupe has come to symbolize the successful assimilation of the Catholic Church into the New World, and is arguably the most recognizable single image in Latin America (although lately Frida Kahlo has been giving Mary a run for her money).
The festival of La Virgen de Guadalupe begins around December 12th in the Parque El Llano, the largest park in the city. This generous open space is crammed to claustrophobic proportions with food stalls, trinket peddlers, carnival rides, religious paraphernalia and photo booths wherein parents can bring their young children to pose, often on a miniature stuffed donkey, against a Disney-esque backdrop of tropical foliage in which the Virgin is featured. Another attraction is standing in line for hours in order to have those same children blessed by church officiants in the cathedral adjoining the square. It’s hard to tell which is the bigger draw.
Ready to receive the blessing of Guadalupe.
Finally, in the week before Christmas comes the festival of Nuestra Señora de la Soledad (Our Lady of Solitude). This is an aspect of the Virgin that originated in 16th-century Spain and represents Mary as she would have appeared on Holy Saturday after the death of Jesus. Nuestra Señora de la Soledad is the patron of both Oaxaca and Acapulco, and in Oaxaca her basilica is one of the largest Catholic churches in the city. The festival in her honor spills out beyond the grounds of the Basilica to occupy many streets in the surrounding neighborhood, clogging traffic for several days with food stalls and other distractions.
Posadas
Posadas are reenactments of the arrival of Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem. Taking place in neighborhoods throughout the city, these solemn processions feature Mary and Joseph (often represented by children dressed in makeshift robes and, for him, a scraggly beard) along with an entourage of assorted shepherds, conscripted onlookers and the odd superhero, as they wander from door to door seeking shelter for the night and a place where Mary might deliver her baby. Finally, when the procession reaches the house of a neighbor who, by prearrangement, welcomes them in, everyone happily piles into the courtyard for food, music, dancing, a hot fruit ponche and, undoubtedly, mezcal.
La Noche de Los Rabanos
But the Christmas fun is just beginning. There’s another time-honored tradition in Oaxaca that coincides with the arrival of the baby Jesus: The Night of the Radishes. On this one night in December (the 23rd), hundreds of contestants from around the state carve up oversized radishes into a menagerie of creations, ranging from the quasi-realistic to the wildly imaginative, to be put on public display in the Zocalo.
Yes, it’s a turkey. Made of radishes.
While this may seem like modern tourist stunt, its origins actually date back well over 100 years, to a time when farmers began carving radishes into figures as a way to attract customers’ attention at the Christmas market held in the main square. The competition for attention grew, and today the artistry has spilled into a variety of other plant-based materials such as corn husks and dried flowers, with the winner receiving a cash prize of $1,000 US—which here in Oaxaca is some serious do-re-mi.
Word of this annual display has clearly gotten around, because this year the event attracted a throng of thousands that overwhelmed the minimal crowd-control measures put in place by the local authorities—causing us to abandon any hope of being to walk on the wooden catwalk fronting the contestants’ stalls. Still, being a foot taller than the average oaxaqueño, I was nonetheless able to enjoy their often-hilarious creations from behind the backs of the other onlookers.
El Desfile de Las Pastorelas
There’s still one day to go before Christmas, and the locals don’t let it go to waste. On Christmas Eve in the Zocalo, which just the night before had been the scene of a hundred radish-stalls and thousands of visitors, there is a parade of flatbed trucks that have arrived from church parishes around the city. Creeping slowly around the square, each truck tows a complete Nativity scene (or pastorela) populated by Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus, along with the expected complement of angels, shepherds, and, in some cases, live barnyard animals. All of the Biblical participants (except for the animals) are typically portrayed by adorable, lavishly attired and clearly terrified young children, who manage nonetheless to bravely smile and wave to the adoring masses lining the narrow pavement. Accompanying these trucks is the usual assortment of exuberant brass bands, fireworks, giant puppet-people, spinning oversized globes, and even a premonitory Wise Man or two on a donkey.
A passing angel during El Desfile de Las Pastorelas.
And then, finally, it’s Christmas Day. But guess what?—It’s not that big a deal. Most of the celebrating happened the night before, in homes across Oaxaca where families gathered to enjoy savory meals wrought by the experienced hands of mothers, aunts and grandmothers—the rich, savory moles of turkey, a Christmas ponche and other bounty from the local mercados.
But as I said, Christmas Day here, just like back home, is pretty quiet. The main difference is that on Christmas Day in Oaxaca, few people are opening presents. Despite the now-ubiquitous appearance of Santa in malls and shop windows, he plays no part in holiday gift-giving. For that, anxious children must wait another two weeks, and the arrival of Los Reyes Magos.
Los Reyes Magos
Yep, it’s our old friends from the Bible story, the Three Kings. And in Mexico, where there isn’t the same infiltration of Northern European pagan traditions into the Christmas storyline, these guys appropriately bear the burden of bringing gifts, not just to the baby Jesus, but to every young child in the land. (Exchanges of presents between adults, or even gifts to children older than 9 or 10 years, are rare.)
In the days leading up to January 6th (or El Día de Los Reyes Magos), freelance kingly trios begin to appear in parks around the city. Done up in garish robes, flimsy golden crowns, strap-on beards and even blackface, they offer parents a chance to pose their young children with Los Reyes Magos and have the image printed out on an annual calendar as a keepsake. Sometimes dueling trios set up shop next to each other, leading to good-natured, competitive frenzies of pantomime intended to woo passersby.
Los Reyes Magos (or at least, a reasonable facsimile thereof).
The celebration of El Día de Los Reyes Magos is accompanied by a traditional bread called rosca. A Bundt-like creation, rosca is decorated with colorful, gummy-worm fruit candies, and everyone scrambles to buy theirs from one of the well-stocked panaderias as the day approaches. In its consistency and flavor it is similar to the bread sold here year-round, with one important exception: each ring-like loaf is embedded with anywhere from 4 to 8 miniature plastic figurines of a baby.
As families celebrate the Day of the Magi, they gather around the table and take turns tearing off pieces of rosca. Anyone who bites into the baby Jesus becomes the object of much hilarity and celebration—for they will be the unfortunate persons responsible for furnishing the tamales at the next big fiesta to come down the pike.
La Candelaria
La Candelaria, or Candlemas Day, occurs every year on February 2—forty days after the Nativity. In Catholic traditions it represents the day on which the baby Jesus was presented at the local temple after a period of mandatory sequestration by his mother. Here in Oaxaca, people buy dolls of El Niño Dios sporting a flowing, snow-white dressing gown, wavy tresses and Maybelline eyes, at one of the many religious stores in order to have them blessed by the priest at their local church.
A shrine honoring the Baby Jesus in a local mercado.
On this day, the unfortunate losers of the rosca competition must bring tamales—ideally homemade, but in a pinch purchased from a mercado or street cart—to a celebratory party for friends or family. (One of my younger Mexican acquaintances remarked that she was planning to bring pizza, since it was so much easier than making tamales. Kids these days!)
And with the passing of La Candelaria, so ends the marathon Christmas season in Oaxaca. The last of the Nativity scenes are finally removed from public view and the glittering decorations put into storage. Los freintes frios will continue to come and go for at least another month, after which, it is said, the hottest season of the year will arrive. And for a winter-hardened expat like me, that is a daunting thought indeed.
