Sunday in Coyoacán: Encountering Medieval Spain in a Neighborhood Park

Yes, we're pretty much hooked on Mexico! Sunday afternoon we went for a quiet stroll in a park near the ex Convento Churubusco. Although this neighborhood park wasn't particularly crowded, it nonetheless bustled with the energy of a pickup soccer game being played on the basketball courts by neighborhood youth and the sounds of little kids clambering on the jungle gyms.

Our plan was to stroll around the perimeter, then explore the center. Unlike many paths in Mexico, which are nothing more than unevenly placed rough stones, the walkway was smooth with newly laid paving stones. We ambled along, commenting lazily on the huge palm and juniper trees and the few random flowers able to grow in the deep shade.

In the distance, the faint sound of group singing reached our ears. Strolling on, people-watching all the while, we paused to enjoy various fountains and a bust of Lázaro Cárdenas commissioned by the state of Michoacán. As we turned to cross the park, the singing grew louder. Now I could hear guitars. My first thought was whether it might be a rondalla group—serenaders who accompany themselves on their own stringed instruments.

Then we became aware that the music was coming from a kiosk at one side of the park. As we neared, we could see it was an actual performance. About a dozen singers with guitars and other stringed instruments stood in front of a small audience of perhaps fifty sitting in white plastic chairs.

At first we thought it was a private party, but when we mounted the stairs, a young man brought two chairs so we could sit down. When we were settled, Reed leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It's a Tuna ... a group of troubadours from the university like the ones we heard in Morelia."

In Morelia, the Tuna walks along the esplanade, stopping to serenade people sitting at the outdoor cafes, but here they were giving a most informal performance. The music was just right for a lazy Sunday afternoon in the park. The voices, accompanied by soft string sounds accentuated by tambourine, drum or even castanets, sang lyric songs about love and life. 

Have a listen! Here's a 13-minute YouTube recording of a mix of Tuna songs. Lovingly chosen, the music is good. The visuals are photographs of various Tuna groups dressed in the medieval university dress  that is the tradition and hallmark of a Tuna. While working on this post, I listened with growing pleasure both to this recording and to others listed below.

On Sunday, the occasion was highly informal. We suspect the audience was made up of family and friends. Members of the group took turns introducing the songs, a little girl (about five years old) clung to her troubadour-mom's knees for awhile, and a toddler meandered around until recaptured by her grandmother.

"So What's a Tuna?"

The origins of the name Tuna stretch back to the rondalla tradition that arose in Medieval Spain and Portugal and refers to an ensemble of plucked, stringed instruments. In Spanish, the last meaning of the verb rondar is "to serenade," but its primary definitions are to patrol or wander—suggesting the wandering troubadour or serenader.

According to Wikipedia, there were four types of rondalla:

• Groups of young men who played and sang regularly in front of homes; these were often serenades that a young man arranged for a young woman as a sign of his serious intentions;
• Bands of musicians known as murza or murga, who begged for alms;
• A group of musicians known as comparsa [troupe], who played together onstage; and 
• Groups of university musicians known as estudiantina [student-like], who were dubbed “tuna”. 

The Spanish brought the Tuna tradition with them to New Spain, today's Mexico. Estudiantina musicians in Spain and Mexico wear 16th century attire: "short velvet breeches, ornate shirts and a short cape with multicolored ribbons". Some songs feature a tuno swirling his or her cape in elegant and increasingly complex moves. On Sunday, we saw both a young woman and a young man display their skills with the cape.

Tuna Group in Guanajuato, Mexico
Note: Variety of shapes and sizes of their instruments
(Photo: Wikipedia)

Stringed Instruments

Given my Northern European heritage, my idea of stringed instruments before moving to Mexico was limited to violin, viola, cello, double bass, harp ... and maybe the highly suspect ukulele!

Living in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, broadened my horizon stringed instrument-wise because on the nearby Purhépecha Meseta [Highlands] is located the pueblo of Paracho, known world-wide for the quality of its stringed instruments. The photo above suggests the multitude of different kinds of stringed instruments played in Mexico and throughout Latin America. 

I had a vague idea about the lute as a medieval English and even French instrument and maybe I even had a vague notion of the mandolin (a member of the lute family), but the Mexican vihuela or bandurria or the ...? Well, you get the idea!

Bandurria

Here's a YouTube solo performance of the Lágrimas Negras Bandurria [1:19] "Bandurria Black Tears."

Mexican Vihuela

YouTube solo performance of Valdarrabano, Soneto [1:19 min] on the Mexican vihuela.   

Lutes ... all sizes and shapes!
The mandolin is in the Lute Family

Umpteenth Cultural Wakeup Call!

We in the U.S. may be known for our cultural myopia, but I pride myself on being at least a little bit culturally aware. So imagine how humbling it felt to discover that the words "lute" and "oud" derive from the Arabic al-ʿud (العود — literally means "the wood").

In turn, ʿud may be an Arabized version of the Persian name rud, which meant "string," "stringed instrument," or "lute." Moreover, "wood" may have been placed in the name to distinguish the instrument with its wooden soundboard from its skin-faced predecessors. Gianfranco Lotti suggests that the appellation "wood" originally carried derogatory connotations because of early Islam's proscriptions on all instrumental music. 

Thus it is that the origins of our Northern European family of stringed instruments are most likely found in instruments from Persia brought to Spain by the Muslim Moors from North Africa who dominated the Iberian Peninsula for 800 years (711 to 1492). Ferdinand and Isabel, in fact, celebrated their final victory over the Moors at Granada by funding Christopher Columbus' voyage West!

So we circle around again to the origin of the name Tuna, which may come from the French roi de Thunes, "king of Tunis," a title given to leaders of vagabonds or wanderers [rondar].

But there is also the legend of a real King of Tunis. Geography alert: Tunisia is on the Mediterranean Coast of Africa between Algeria, its western neighbor, and Libya, on its eastern flank.

This King of Tunis, known for his love of music and partying, enjoyed walking around the streets at night playing and singing, which may explain the origin of both 'king of the vagabonds' and of the Tuna.

¡Bienvenida a México! where life is never dull, and there's always something new to learn and appreciate on the cultural front!

Still Curious?

As an undergraduate music major, I developed a real love for the pure simplicity of Renaissance music. Here are a couple of other pieces, among many I've just discovered on YouTube. Enjoy!

• Borinquen (lamento borincano por laud) "Borinquen Lament for Lute" [4:45 min];
• 4 Pieces for Vihuela [6:03 min]: Gorgeous music from the Spanish Renaissance;
• Music in the Court of King Carlos V (Spain) [1:12:09] performed by the Orphénica Lyra. 

On Buying Embroidered Cushion Covers from Chiapas...Mañana

Reed and I are urbanites. When we met and married, we'd both already lived in Manhattan for several years. Our children were born while we lived on Manhattan's Upper West Side, and we walked the six blocks up Broadway first to pre-schools, then to the elementary school run by Bank Street College of Education.

At some point during those years, it dawned on me that we didn't live in a metropolis of eight or nine million people so much as we lived in a neighborhood where we knew the shopkeepers and fruit and vegetable vendors all along Broadway. We knew the guys behind the counters in our favorite delicatessens, the booksellers in our local bookstores, and the waiters in our most-frequented restaurants.

Recently, all this came home to me in a completely new way. At Christmas, my seatmate on the flight to Chicago was a charming art professor from Uruguay who has worked in Mexico for twenty years. Born in Mexico City, her children are thoroughly Mexican. I made sympathetic sounds as she related that her mother had asked her incredulously,

"How can you live in a city of 8.9 million people when you grew up in Montevideo, which has a population of only one million?"

We shared a companionable chuckle when she reported telling her mother,

"But I don't live in a city of 8.9 million people; I live in a neighborhood where I know many people, and many people know me."

We live in Coyoacán at the southern end of Mexico City. We're definitely known in our local neighborhood, but not in Centro ["downtown"] Coyoacán. At least that's what I'd always assumed, but what happened recently is causing me to rethink.

Over a year ago, we were perusing the artisans' stalls at the back of the Casa Cultura Coyoacán when Reed spotted a terrific pillow cover from Chiapas. Embroidered in fall colors on a lovely soft-green fabric, it would complement the colors in our livingroom. When we bought it, I asked if they had another like it. The artesana said that was the only one, but she could get another in two weeks.

We checked back in two weeks ... and the two weeks after that, but the answer remained the same,

"No, señora, todavía no ha llegado" — "No, ma'am, it still hasn't arrived."

Before dinner Reed and I enjoy a glass of wine sitting in front of our picture window. When the air is clear, we watch the reflected sun set against the volcanoes. During the rainy season, we watch storms arrive from the East, directly over the ancient Aztec site, Cerro de la Estrella, Hill of the Star.

My chair is opposite the love seat, so for months the Lone Green Pillow has been directly in my sight line. On occasion, I've been known to remark about it—just ask Reed.

Lone Green Pillow ...
(Photos: Jenny, with consultation from Reed)

So last summer I was quite pleased when during a Sunday stroll in Parque México in the La Condesa neighborhood, we came upon Chiapas artisans selling the same embroidered pillow covers. They didn't have the green-fabric one we were looking for, but they did have one in the same fall colors. We bought it to complement the Lone Green Pillow. I stuffed a cushion in it and put it on Reed's chair.

 One Complementary Pillow Cover,
compliments of Parque México

Months passed. A couple of weeks ago, we decided to go for tea at La Via Seda (The Silk Road). Located at one side of a small plaza walking distance from Centro Coyoacán, the outdoor cafe is a neighborly place—rather like our old neighborhood on Manhattan's Upper West Side. The wait people engage in animated exchanges with customers, whom they clearly enjoy. Their teas and coffees are excellent and, oh, yes, their pasteles, pastries, are superb.

As we sat down, Reed pointed out a car parked across the street. Its hood and trunk were colorfully draped with artisan textiles from Chiapas. After we ordered, I said that I wanted to take a quick look to see what they have.

As I crossed the street and approached the car, the young woman reached into the back seat and pulled out ... the fraternal twin to my Lone Green Pillow!

Impromptu Artisan's Stall in Coyoacán

¡Qué milagro! — What a miracle, I exclaimed. Not only was I delighted but slightly stunned to realize that she remembered me. Apparently, she'd been carrying this pillow cover around with her for months. How long will it take before I really get it that the Mexican sense of time is not at all like the one we Northern Europeans take for granted?

Where time for us is not only linear but precisely measured and tracked in seconds, minutes and hours, time for the people of Mexico is far more fluid, cyclic—everything has its season, including the possibility that I would return mañana—not tomorrow in the Western understanding of twenty-four hours, but mañana in the sense that in the natural course of human events, the season would probably arrive for me to return. And if I didn't?  Cómo sea ... whatever ....

The artesana told me that they're at the Casa Cultura Coyoacán on the weekends and at this corner Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday. Yes, they work a six-day week, yet another reminder of how hard ordinary Mexicans work in the informal economy (on a cash basis, i.e., without benefits), which supports 60% of Mexico's workforce.

All this went through my mind as I clutched the green pillow cover and selected another to complement it. Now I had four! Such excitement! Of course, now nothing would do but to traipse up to visit Tomás in the artisan's furniture market where we'd had our dining room furniture custom-built. Tomás also made pillows and cushions for us, and he was delighted to make the new pillows for the covers.

Yesterday I picked them up. When I got home, I carefully placed them on the loveseat and side chairs. I love them ... not just because they provide the right accent for the room, but because of the thoroughly Mexican way they came to be part of our lives.

Complements: His and Hers

As I was busy getting the pillows just right, it suddenly occurred to me:

"Why expect that a purchase be made all at once ... all components readily at hand? Why not a months-long search that yields a result not just pleasing to the eye, but to the heart and mind as well?"

Yet one more answer to the oft-asked question, "But what do you do in Mexico ... ?"

Home At Last!

Saturday is Market Day in Coyoacán, Mexico City

We've just celebrated our second anniversary of living in the Coyoacán area of Mexico City, and every day we find ourselves feeling more and more at home.

Saturday is market day. During the week, I walk to our local mercado, which is a block and a half away, but I call a taxi to go to the supermarket. By the time I take the elevator down, it's a short wait until the taxi arrives. Today as I approached the car, I realized the driver was arranging the front seat for me. I didn't recognize him, but obviously he'd driven me before because he knew that I prefer to ride in front.

He knew that I was going to the Superama, which is on the same corner as his taxi stand. But I asked him to wait while I made a stop at the tianguis de sábado (Saturday's Open Air Market) to make one quick purchase. Reed and I are enjoying amaranth granola laden with raisins, seeds, nuts and a little shredded coconut. Slightly sweetened with natural sugarcane, it is incredibly healthy and considerably less expensive than commercial cereals. Served with sliced banana and almond milk, it's good. Served with applesauce, it's great, but served with nothing more than puree of an insanely ripe papaya (my favorite), it's a real breakfast treat.

How is it sold? In bulk from a street stall run by a friendly husband-wife team who make it up from their own family recipe. I tell them how much I want, and they scoop it out from a plastic bag.

"Granola" puesto at Saturday's Open Air Market:
Mother-in-law uses green scoop to measure out my order of "tres cuartos"
of a kilo (1.5 pound) of granola. The husband looks up from
making change, as his daughter peeks curiously to see what I'm doing.

Somehow we seem to establish relationships with the shopkeepers we buy from. It seems to be a tradition. I treasure the description a Mexican friend sent to me of her memories of Saturday Bazar in Mexico City.

It's hard for me to believe, but the couple remembered that we'd been 'away' and asked how our grandchildren are. Teasing and joking is an integral part of the experience of shopping in Mexico.

My day was pretty much made when a middle-aged Mexican woman asked me what I was buying. As soon as I replied, "Granola de amaranto....", her husband began making soft sounds of approval. Music to my ears.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the same stall also offers several varieties of beans—black beans, flor de mayo (mayflower beans), and Peruvian beans; plump, soft raisins and craisins; almonds, pecans; and even rice. All are displayed in bulk. Desired amounts are scooped out, placed in a small plastic bag and weighed.

Orange tubs center front hold the mole purchased by most Mexican
cooks—way too many ingredients and too time-consuming for
anyone to attempt today. Grains of all kinds, nuts, seeds—
products in bulk I can't identify.

Oh, and I can't forget to mention that they also sell a chocolate mole that is out of this world. They offer two versions: one quite spicy; the other, fortunately for us, less so. The mole is also supplied in bulk, so the amount desired by each customer is scooped into a plastic bag and weighed. I buy by weight, x-grams, but many Mexican shoppers buy by the peso, say, 25 pesos of mole ($1.90 USD).

Purchases made, it's back to my waiting taxi and on to Superama. The driver and I bid a friendly farewell, and I walk into the supermarket. I guess now's the time to confess that Superama is a Walmart store. Let me hasten to add that more than one expat has confided to me, "I would never step into a Walmart in the U.S., but it really comes in handy here."

Superama imports products, not just from the U.S. (such as A1 Sauce and Pepperidge Farm's Dark Pumpernickel bread), but also from Europe—especially Spain. Those imports have started tasting pretty darned good after years away from the familiar tastes of ingredients from our homeland. Superama also has a terrific fish department, where I buy salmon, tilapia and shrimp.

While we were in Chicago, I went to the supermarket to pick up a few items. Talk about reverse culture shock!

• First, Jewel-Osco Supermarkets in Chicago are HUGE;
• Second, the number of brands of basically the same product is overwhelming. I became so confused in the cereal aisle that I nearly found myself unable to decide;
• Third, U.S. supermarkets are designed to optimize the exchange of goods for money. Human conversation is not efficient, so it is kept to a minimum. Ideally, it is non-existent. The epitome of anonymous efficiency and effectiveness is the self-service check-out line!
• Fourth, shelves are mostly stocked and the store cleaned at night or in the early-morning hours, which means that shoppers have more or less free rein of the store.

Reed may be the epitome of the U.S. shopper. His idea is that you make a grocery list before you leave home, then at the supermarket you select items on the list, go through the checkout process, pay and depart. End of story.

That's not how it works in Mexico, where mercado—buying and selling—is a cultural tradition that long predates the arrival of the Spanish. Somehow the process is highly personal. Who would believe that I would come to prefer the frijoles negros [black beans] sold in one tienda (shop) in our local mercado, or believe that the queso de rancho (a semi-hard cheese that's a delicious addition to a sandwich when softened on the grill) from the same tienda is far superior to all others?

I thought of this as I walked through the bakery department at Superama using tongs to select chapatas and bolillos and put them on the circular metal tray I carried for this purpose. The next step is waiting in line for the bakery clerk to weigh, bag and attach a price sticker.

The woman in front of me had selected a couple of donuts, which the clerk wrapped in a small waxed sheet before bagging them. She had run out of the sheets normally used, so she took a plastic bag, scored it with a pair of tongs, pulled to separate the two pieces—voilá, she had what she needed.

"Muy ingenio, ingenious" I remarked admiringly. Then, when she looked up and smiled slightly to acknowledge the compliment, I added, "in my country we have a saying, es la madre de la invención—'necessity is the mother of invention'."

She did a slight double-take, and I could practically see the light bulb go on as understanding dawned. She rewarded me with an even warmer smile. México.

Even in a Walmart supermarket, shopping in Mexico is just plain different. For one thing, not only are the shelves stocked, but the store is also cleaned during the day. This makes for interesting moments as we customers make our way around stock clerks with their cartons of product and dodging the floor sweeper's broom.

For another, I have no idea what the Superama's order-delivery process actually is, but as a customer, I can verify that it is impossible to predict what's going to be on the shelves on any given day. So much for Reed's carefully calibrated grocery list with its assumption of efficient product selection from a store whose shelves are always fully stocked!

Instead, I keep at the back of my mind a kind of Master Grocery List and surf the aisles checking to see what's available today, what's come in that wasn't there last week...or last month. At the moment, I'm waiting for A1 Sauce to reappear. It will...eventually, just as the organic amaranth bars suddenly re-appeared after a three-week hiatus. It's a bit difficult to explain the rather irrational pleasure I get when a long-awaited item finally appears. Victory!

There is one other difference. Products are moved around almost constantly, so locating desired items becomes somewhat of a challenge. I can't tell you how pleased I am when I come upon a Mexican shopper who seems to be feeling just about as frustrated as I feel...our sisterly commiseration brightens the day.

Groceries finally paid for and packed, I make my way to the taxi stand for the ride home. The young woman who dispatches taxis greets me with a warm, "Buenas tardes, good afternoon", and the driver of the taxi at the head of the line also cleared the front seat and pushed it back.

Jokingly, I acknowledge his effort on my behalf, "Discúlpe la molestia, 'scuse the bother...for having to re-arrange your office, your dining room and, occasionally, your bedroom" (the drivers work 10-12 hour days, which some break up by parking on a quiet side street, reclining their seat and taking an afternoon siesta). Predictably, the latter reference brings a comradely chuckle.

As we set off, he initiated conversation with a smile and a cheery "¿Cómo estamos? How are we?" After he confirmed our destination, "¿Calle Dakota? Dakota Street?", we chatted comfortably about the weather and life in general. It's taken two years, but many of the drivers at that taxi stand now know who I am. It feels good.

As I mentioned, we also shop at the neighborhood Mercado Churubusco, just a block and a half from our building. Interestingly, the longer we live here, the more I buy at our local Mercado and at Saturday's Open-Air market and the less I buy at Superama, but there's a glitch.

Reed and I spend our mornings translating for the Mexico Voices Blog, so it's often 3:00 or 4:00 PM before I can get to the market. By then, the polleria, chicken vendor, is out of chicken breasts. He has given me his card and told me he'll not only deliver chicken breasts, but buy and deliver fruits and vegetables as well, but I've been dragging my feet at making the effort to make that first phone call.

It's not easy to establish a new business relationship in Spanish over the telephone. But the other day it was almost 5:00 PM before I could get to the market. Predictably, he was out of chicken breasts, so today I asked Reed if he'd go buy chicken and confirm that I had the correct business card. It's a good thing I did, because it was the wrong card. So poco a poco, little by little, we're establishing a network of trusted and trusting shopkeepers.

Here we are, living in one of the world's most populous cosmopolitan cities, but our little neighborhood feels more like the Upper West Side of New York City, where for a decade we lived and shopped at the fruit and vegetable stands run in the 1970's-1980's by Koreans.

When we took friends who are very well-traveled in China to the mercado in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, their response was a delighted, "It's just like markets in China." And my sister who lives in San Francisco observed, "It's just like the Farmers Market in the Old Ferry Building."

There is something that feels quite positive—even hopeful—about making these kinds of connections. Needless to say, it also feels pretty darned good!

Still Curious?

Related Jenny's posts:

• Mexico Culture: What makes it so different from U.S. culture?
• Saturday Market in Coyoacán;
• On Searching for Coriander in Mexico City;
• All's Well That Ends Well: Repairing Jenny's iPad.

After Five Years: Do We Feel Safe in Mexico?

Early in our marriage, Reed and I lived in New York City for twenty-years, including the 1970's when NYC was dubbed "Dirty, Dangerous, Destitute". We got used to calls from family asking "Are you okay?" every time the press reported yet another gruesome  drug crime.

We learned where it was safe to go...and when. We learned first-hand how the media feature the sensational while ignoring the ordinary realities of everyday life. In short, we're accustomed to the complexities that urban living can present. But periodically, concerned friends and family ask, "Is Mexico Safe?"

So when this article appeared today in CNNMéxico (in Spanish), I immediately thought that Jenny's readers might find it useful. The piece interests me because it was written for a Mexican audience, rather than for potential U.S. tourists. My translation follows.

Getting back to our personal situation, the short answer is, yes, we feel safe in Mexico City and in the regions of Mexico that we visit. We're cultural history buffs with a keen interest in the Mesoamerican cultures that flourished before the Spanish arrived, so we tend to focus on Mexico's southern states and, of course, we are exploring the areas around Mexico City. 

We live in the tree-lined neighborhood called Parque San Andrés, a short ten-minute taxi ride from the center of Coyoacán. We enjoy Coyoacán because it's a little like a Mexican Greenwich Village—artists, musicians, writers, intellectuals...and families! On Sunday the Plaza is filled with families and couples, young and old, strolling along, children blowing bubbles, and everyone enjoying Coyoacán's famous nieves—ice cream.

It's not our intent to minimize the violence arising from the ill-conceived "War" on Drugs that is convulsing Mexico (and Central America) or the difficult issues that Mexico is wrestling with during its journey toward a fully functioning democracy, but at the same time we want to affirm that the underlying society in many parts of the country remains steady.

 CNN Mexico: Mariano Castillo

Violence in Mexico is back in the news along with the question: Is Mexico Safe?

In recent weeks several stories have appeared: like the twelve young people allegedly abducted in broad daylight from a club in Mexico City; the death of Malcolm X's grandson, also in the capital; the kidnapping of a member of the U.S. Marines from his father's ranch in Tamaulipas; the release of 165 illegal immigrants, including two pregnant women; and the case of an Arizona mother who was detained in Sonora and accused of drug smuggling while traveling back to the U.S. in a bus [with her husband, returning to their home in Utah from a family funeral] .

According to a report by Human Rights Watch, the death toll from the violence generated by fighting between security forces and organized crime numbers at least 60,000 people during the years from 2006 to 2012 [during the presidential administration of Felipe Calderón]. Other observers say the number is higher.

Outside the areas where there is fighting, more Americans have died in Mexico in the last decade than in any other country outside its national territory. The deaths increased from 35 in 2007 to 113 in 2011.

But these figures do not lead to any simple conclusion.

Millions of Americans visit Mexico each year without incident, and the number of tourists continues to climb. Nearly six million U.S. citizens visited Mexico in 2012, according to the Ministry of Tourism of Mexico. The first quarter of 2013 has seen a rise of 5.9% in U.S. tourists compared with the previous year.

Analysts and travel experts agree that security in Mexico varies, sometimes dramatically, from one place to another. The country is a contradiction. It is both dangerous or as safe as ever, depending on destination, activities and common sense.

"I think that what we have seen in Mexico in recent years is a nuanced view of what is safe and what is not safe," said Shannon K. O'Neil, a researcher at the Council of Foreign Affairs for Latin American Studies.

 "It's possible to be injured anywhere, but the risks are different for a business trip to the capital, from seeking the sun and beach in Cancún, to visiting family across the border," says O'Neil.

The Danger in Mexico City

Residents of Mexico City turned their attention this week to the disappearance of twelve young people in the Zona Rosa, a popular entertainment area famous for its night life. Families of the missing, one of whom is only sixteen-years old, allege they were abducted in broad daylight by an armed group.

Investigations have confirmed that the group was in the Heaven bar after going to a discotheque, but the case remains a mystery: there was no sign of an armed group or a struggle at the scene, authorities say.

The incident attracted attention because it was a particularly brazen crime in the country's largest city. Mexico City has remained secure even in light of the violence generated by the war on drugs, but the nation's capital is not immune to gang violence.

Twenty years ago, the city had a reputation of being a dangerous place, but successive local administrations have made it safe for residents and visitors. O'Neil states that there is a large police presence, and security cameras keep an eye on key locations.

"Although there is presence of organized crime, the capacity to enforce the law in Mexico City is much higher than elsewhere in the country," said the analyst.

Malcolm Shabazz, grandson of Malcolm X, died last month after suffering a beating in the nation's capital. Many of the details of that night are still unknown, but it is known that he had been in a bar a block from the Garibaldi Plaza, a famous place in the capital known for its gathering of mariachi bands. Those who know the city say that, like any other large metropolis, there are areas where visitors should stay away at certain times.

"Physical security is not a problem if you are in the main tourist areas and are sensible," in Mexico City, said John Bailey, professor emeritus at Georgetown University, who has studied public security in Mexico. "Bad things happen to good people, but it's only a small fraction."

The U.S. State Department has issued travel warnings not to visit Mexico City.

Jenny's Note: I just double-checked the U.S. State Department web site listing of travel warnings for Mexico, which states "Mexico City: No advisory is in effect. See also discussion in the section on Estado de Mexico (State of Mexico) for areas within the greater Mexico City metropolitan area." Travel warnings are in effect for some areas surrounding Mexico City.

Security at the Beaches

The majority of the millions of U.S. citizens who visit Mexico go to the cities along its coasts. According to Mexican authorities, the most popular destinations are: Cancún, Riviera Maya, Los Cabos and Puerto Vallarta.

According to O'Neil, although it is impossible to separate completely the routes along which drugs are transported from places that tourists visit; nonetheless, there is a degree of separation. Drug trafficking can occur in Cancún just like anywhere else, but the tourist areas are generally safe, she added.

One thing that tourist destinations have in common, besides the beaches, is that neither is under a travel warning. Jill Noble, owner of Cruise Therapy Travel Co., in Texas, firmly defends Mexico as a safe destination.

"I've never felt threatened in any way, and that's what I tell my clients," she said.

She blames the media for focusing on fear and provoking fear in travelers:

"That's all people read," Noble said. "I've seen more paranoia [in my clients], of course," but it passes.

"Once your clients return from their holidays in Mexico, they wonder why they were so scared," she said.

The Border Remains a Mystery

Two recent incidents stood out in the headlines: the imprisonment of Yanira Maldonado, accused of smuggling marijuana and the search for U.S. Marine Armando Torres III. Both incidents occurred near the border.

This area between Mexico and the United States is culturally unique. Across it pass trucks laden with hundreds of billions of dollars of cross-border commercial trade. However, the proximity between the two countries makes many border cities key targets for illegal activities.

Drug cartels fighting to control smuggling routes engage in turf battles that can turn cities into war zones. Nuevo Laredo experienced this in the mid-2000s and later, Ciudad Juárez suffered the same misfortune.

Some things are changing. The murder rate in Ciudad Juárez, which is across from El Paso, Texas, has fallen enough to strip the city of the title "murder capital of the world". For the last two years, San Pedro Sula, in northwestern Honduras, has topped the list. Shootings in broad daylight and mass killings in the state of Tamaulipas, across from Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico, no longer appear in the news.

But that does not mean that all is well.

"Tamaulipas is under the control of criminal groups," said John Bailey, a professor with expertise in public safety in Mexico."The cartels can no longer have daily shootouts in the streets, but the risks for those who venture into the wrong place at the wrong time remain," he said.

Yanira Maldonado was arrested in the state of Sonora after the bus in which she was traveling was stopped at a military checkpoint. The soldiers stated they had found nearly six kilos of marijuana under her seat and arrested her. A campaign conducted by her family pressured a judge to release her, as they showed, by means of a video, that she did not board the bus with illegal packages.

Buses have previously been targets of criminal gangs for extortion and kidnapping.

In 2011, the U.S. Consulate in Matamoros, across the border from Brownsville, Texas, issued a warning not to ride the bus after they learned of at least three reports that buses in which Americans were traveling were boarded by criminals. In one instance, male bus passengers, including one U.S. citizen, were forcibly taken and disappeared. In Tamaulipas this week, authorities released 165 migrants apparently kidnapped for ransom.

The U.S. State Department has issued a travel warning for visitors to "defer non-essential travel" to most areas of the border states of Mexico.

Professor Bailey of Georgetown said that trips to Mexico are safer today than they were two years ago. But it has much to do with common sense and, in a twist of the old saying, he observes: it's not so much what you know, but where you are going and what you do.

"We Americans," said Bailey, "have a knack for finding trouble if we go looking for it."

A Sense of Time in Mexico

Once we'd decided to move to Mexico, Reed and I began reading everything we could get our hands on about Mexico, including a delightful book titled On Mexican Time: A New Life in San Miguel de Allende. Written by U.S. expat Tony Cohan, it is a readable, affectionate account of the cultural adventures encountered by Tony and his wife as they slowly made the transition from life as busy professionals in Los Angeles to full-timers in Mexico.

As I began this post, the title On Mexican Time quickly came to mind. Mañana must be nearly a universal idea these days. At the least, it conveys the notion that Mexicans have a concept of time a bit different from that held by most folks in the U.S. But what is it exactly?

I was reminded of this when we had to replace the vertical blinds in our bedroom. The strong winds that come up in the afternoon had broken several of the slats, which meant we had a gaping hole about 18" wide. But finding someone to replace them seemed a 'mission impossible' until Victor, our trusted vigilancia (building guard and informal majo domo), introduced us to Antonio, the albañil (master tradesman) who does a lot of work in our building. We began to believe that new blinds might be in our near future.

Antonio arrived promptly the same day to measure the window, and he told us he'd return on Friday at noon with the sample book so we could make our selection. The story gets a little complicated here, so before I go on, bear with me while we take a small detour. It'll be worth it, I promise.

Time Viewed in Mexico

Twenty years ago I did a two-year project with Pemex (Mexican oil company). One of my co-consultants recommended the little book Mexican Etiquette and Ethics: Anticipating and Understanding Mexican Social and Business Behavior (1996). I just discovered that the book has been lightly updated, and it remains remarkably useful. Where it seems outmoded, we ask ourselves, Does this still apply today? If not, we use the text as a jumping off point for understanding our own experience.

One section, titled Hora Mexicana / Dealing with Polychronic People, draws on the work of social scientist Edward T. Hall, who identified two kinds of time values that operate in different cultures:

• Monochronic, or one-thing-at-a-time time, which includes most people in Anglo-European cultures, including most people in the United States; and
• Polychronic, or many-things-at-a-time time, which includes most Asians, Mexicans and most other Hispanics.

Monochronic people (M-people) see time (M-time) as moving constantly forward in a straight line. Compulsively measuring time in tiny segments to keep track of its passing, they schedule things to happen sequentially—one at a time in specific time frames, and they tend to be obsessed with things happening "on time". M-people find any deviation in their precisely structured use of time to be very upsetting. Sound familiar?

Polychronic people (P-people) have a much more amorphous view of time. When we visited Teotihuacan, I wrote about the Mesoamerican view of space and time. Teotihuacan's first god-kings and city planners designed Teotihuacan to illustrate their vision of the cosmos. Above all, the Mesoamerican view is a cyclic view of time represented by the symbol ollin, the Life-Force that animates all life.

Ollín - Intertwining Ribbons represent the Life-Force that neither begins nor ends.

P-people, then, have a far more fluid, even seasonal sense of time. By seasonal I mean a morning, a mid-day, afternoon and evening recognized more as seasons than as specific hours, let alone minutes. Even days and nights are somewhat seasonal, or fluid. Far more open-ended than precisely segmented into strict minutes and hours, or even days and weeks, seasons neither start nor stop 'on the dot'. Instead, they seem to flow into each other. Agrarian societies all over the world, operate on P-time.

P-people routinely schedule—or allow—many things to occur at the same time. They are at ease juggling things around so that eventually all of them—or, at least, some of them—get done. They don't think twice about scheduling more than one appointment at the same time, accepting more than one work assignment that is "supposed" to be done in the same time frame, or intermittently doing two or three things during the same time period.

I wish I could remember where I came across this definition of mañana, but it is very useful. When a person on P-time agrees to do something mañana, it doesn't necessarily mean in twenty-four hours. It means that the task now has a place on the doer's list of commitments, and it will get done...when it more-or-less rises to the top of the list, or when it seems to be the next natural thing to do.

Maybe now's the time to mention that one of Mexico's many cultural divides is between the global, neoliberal business sector and the rest of Mexico. A relatively latecomer to the world scene, M-time arrived with industrialization, which demands it. As key sectors of Mexico become increasingly global, more and more Mexicans are becoming accustomed to M-time. Many here in Mexico City even speak of being puntual, punctual.

Back to the Vertical Blinds

But Reed and I don't live in modern Mexico and, most assuredly, neither does Antonio. So we weren't surprised when he didn't show up at the agreed-upon time. Feeling ourselves to be 'old Mexico hands', we were cool for the first several days, figuring that he'd show up in good time. Nothing.

Then one day as I passed through the Lobby, and there he was! Victor was on duty, so we had a lighthearted exchange around "What happened?"  I told Antonio that I thought he wasn't interested in doing the work. The genuinely shocked look on his face told me that he did want the work, which reassured me enormously.

He hung his head in mock guilt and agreed to come on the following Monday at noon, but Monday noon came and went with no sign of Antonio. Maybe now's the time to mention another trait we've noticed: it seems to be very difficult for Mexican tradespeople to tell us that they either don't have or can't do something.

Three weeks had now passed, and I'd given up when I again came across Antonio in the Lobby. This time he told me that the salesman had brought the sample, but he had to pay for it and he didn't have the money.

"But now I have it," he added, and we made yet another appointment.

This time I decided to pull out the stops—well, actually, I pulled out the only stop I know: suffering. I told him that so many of the slats have broken that now when our upstairs neighbor across the air-shaft leaves a light on in the bathroom, it shines right on my face so I can't sleep:

"Estoy sufriendo, Antonio; es muy dificil"—"I'm suffering, Antonio; it's very difficult". 

I was appealing to Antonio's chivalry and his sense of honor toward women. Maybe my tactic worked, because this time he arrived at the appointed hour with sample book in hand. We chose the color and made an appointment for him to install the blinds on the following Saturday at noon.

Now here's the fun part of P-time. I next chanced upon Antonio on Monday, and he told me he had the curtains and could install them on Thursday at 4:00 PM. On the appointed day, I made a quick trip to the local market, arriving back at 3:30 PM, a full half hour before our appointed hour.

Who was waiting for me in the Lobby with the new curtains at his feet? Antonio...all smiles. He'd been chatting with his good friend, Victor, while he waited for me to return. Obviously, installing my blinds had risen to the top of Antonio's list. When I mentioned this to Reed, he observed,

"Yet another example of the personalismo, where business is conducted subjectively based on personal relationships rather than objectively based on an impersonal fee-for-service transaction."

To us M-timers, a specific date and time is sacrosanct, but for people operating on P-time it is just one more task that will occur sometime in its season. I'm convinced that personalizing my experience—I'm suffering because I can't sleep—is what propelled installation of our blinds to the top of Antonio's list. Oh, yes—the blinds look great, and I'm sleeping much better, thank you!

Still Curious?

Jenny's Post: Mesoamerican God-Kings As City Planners.

Another book by Tony Cohan Mexican Days: Journey into the Heart of Mexico.

Mother's Day on Francisco Sosa Street in Coyoacán, Mexico City!

In Mexico Mother's Day is celebrated on May 10, which was Friday. Reed and I had decided to walk across Sosa Street to buy Mango Chutney to take as hostess gifts for family in California and Chicago.

We love Sosa Street. It's a narrow, one-way stone street said to be the oldest colonial street in Coyoacán, which places it in the sixteenth century.

Calle Francisco Sosa, Coyoacán

Sosa Street is lined with colonial properties. All that's visible from the street are walls, but the house where Mexico's Nobel laureate Octavio Paz, poet and writer, died is on Sosa. Today it houses the Octavio Paz Foundation, which in addition to classes and cultural events gives the public access to the property.

Colonial House where Octavio Paz died

Colonial properties are often quite grand. Behind the walls are not only large houses, but extensive gardens as well.

Formal entrance to Octavio Paz garden. 
The property extends to the right with more walkways, trees and open spaces

Half-way across Sosa is the little Plaza Santa Catarina in front of Santa Catarina Chapel, a simple sixteenth century structure originally built to hold open-air masses for Coyoacán's indigenous people.

Santa Catarina Plaza in front of the Chapel

Usually we go to the Culture Center in another colonial mansion on Plaza Santa Catarina with another extensive garden, but today we had a different destination in mind: Lupita's Restaurant.

Lupita's Restaurant (Photo: Internet)

The restaurant occupies the ground floor rooms of a corner colonial house, so the dining rooms have windows on two sides. The white-washed adobe walls and low beamed ceilings create a comfortable, very human space. The rooms are colorfully decorated with cut-paper works hanging on clotheslines strung just below the ceiling.

Lupita's menu is muy mexicano featuring family-style Mexican cuisine on a fixed price menu for 80 pesos [$6.61 USD]. We were served sopes (good) and an exceptional creamed poblano chile soup. For the main course, Reed had chicken enchiladas with mole that he pronounced delicious; I had tasty chicken tostadas—and we shared!

Dessert was just right—a tiny piece of quintessentially delicious carmelized panque (similar to pound cake). We topped it off with agua de jamaica (prepared like tea with dried hibiscus or roselle flowers)—refreshing and delicious!

But maybe the best part was the large family comida (dinner) at the table in front of us. There must have been twelve or fourteen people of all ages, including at least a couple of grandmothers. 

As we passed their table on the way in, Reed gallantly wished all the women Feliz Día de la Madre—which they loved! I saluted them with the traditional courtesy as you walk past diners,  Buen provecho (bon apetite).

Their lilting chatter, interspersed with the quick, easy laughter of people who enjoy each other enlivened our own comida. On the way out, the host at the table, probably in his mid-40's, rose deferentially to greet Reed, then asked if he's the padre (priest) at the Capilla of Santa Catarina across the street.

Reed replied with a warm smile—being mistaken for a priest, now that's a first!

"No, but we live here in Coyoacán," he replied. 

Their pleasure at hearing Reed's reply was palpable. Instantly, we were enveloped in the welcoming warmth of their smiles...smiles that reflected their pleasure in our pleasure to be living here!

I believe I heard a "¡Qué padre!"—That's fantastic!

The older woman sitting at the corner of the table next to where I was standing got up and gave me an abrazo (embrace), wishing me a Feliz Día de la Madre...to which I replied,

"Thank you for your greeting from my grandchildren." 

At which point, she said something that preceded her kissing me on the cheek! I was deeply touched.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, beats the warmth and generosity of a Mexican welcome. There's nothing quite like it...anywhere! 

Happy Mother's Day!

International Dance Day: Ballet Folklorico in Coyoacán

Sunday afternoon, Reed and I took a little vacation. The good news is that it's no more than a ten-minute taxi ride to the plazas at the Center of Coyoacán. Something interesting always seems to be happening there. It's a little like Sunday afternoon in Central Park, but somehow more 'animated'.

Last weekend was International Dance Day. Next to the Church, a large tent open on four sides had been erected. This tent was at least fifty yards long—yes, half a football field! At one end, a good-size stage had been set up.

Let me get this over with. Shamefully, we had not brought a camera. The day before, Reed had been at the plaza with his photography workshop. The light was difficult, so we didn't bring the cameras—not even my little one! The photos here are a combination of Reed's older pictures that show traditional dress and what I could find on the Internet.

We arrived just in time for the procession and ritual of a Mexica (Meh-SHE-kuh) or Aztec group. The men wore elaborate feather headdresses which either really are, or are intended to simulate, the long tail feathers of the Quétzal bird were worn ceremonially by Mesoamerican priests and rulers.

Quetzal bird, sacred to the Aztecs and Mayas

During mating season, the male grows blue and green twin tail feathers three feet (1 meter) long.

Accompanied by a conch shell, drums, a windpipe and copal incense, the danzantes (dancers) began by paying homage to the six directions—North, South, East, West plus the Sky above and the Underworld below. For each direction, a narrator chanted first in Nahua, language of the Aztecs, then repeated the chant in Spanish.

Each chant invoked the specific character associated with each of the directions and was accompanied by a ritual 'dance' that ended with an upraised offering of copal incense, whose rising smoke evokes the ineffable nature of the spiritual. The effect was mesmerizing.

Mexica (Aztec) Dancers at the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe 2011
(Photo: Reed)

Next the group danced to the Wind. I'm struggling for words to describe it. The dance began slowly, even lyrically, perhaps representing a gentle breeze. As the dance progressed, it gathered strength more typical of a proper wind. But suddenly, the drumbeat quickened noticeably. The dance became more harsh—the danzantes became whirling, swirling dervishes, representing what could only be hurricane winds.

The dance left me breathless...with goose pimples. It is sobering to realize that dance rituals similar to these have been performed on these lands for thousands of years—for two thousand years, at least. Without asking, it's impossible to know what is in the hearts and minds of Mexican people as they watch these dances, whether they view them distantly—as we might watch re-enactments of Revolutionary War battles, for example—or whether they feel some kind of kinship with the dances, or perhaps their experience is a combination of both.

What is undeniable is that the performance received the audience's rapt attention. No one moved. When it was over, the applause began slowly...as if we were all waking from a dream...but then the volume built steadily.

The enthusiasm of the audience suggested that I wasn't alone in my reaction. As I looked around, I was struck by the sheer size of the audience. Chairs for about 500 people filled half the tented area, but an equal number of people were standing at the back and on both sides. There must have been at least 1,000 people there on a Sunday afternoon watching these traditional dances.

* * * * * 

We'd arrived intending to have lunch at one of our favorite restaurants on the plaza. Starving, reluctantly we left, only to return a short time later considerably refreshed...just in time for a performance by a troupe from Guerrero performing 'traditional' dances of their region.

Guerrero Couple Wearing Traditional Dress (Photo: Internet)

I was struck to see that the women wore 'character shoes' with a one-inch heel, like those worn by Spanish dancers. Also like the Spanish, the Guerrero dancers used their shoes to create percussive effects.

The Guerrero dances were highly ritualized, somewhat like medieval European court dances. The music was played on a variety of stringed, guitar-like instruments brought by the Spanish and endlessly modified by Mexico's musicians—yet another reminder of Spain's profound cultural influence.

Many of Mexico's traditional dances (Balet Foklórico) are actually social dances performed by couples. But traditional dances are more than mere reminders of Spanish influence, they are also important examples of the creativity and ingenuity employed by Mexico's original peoples as they tirelessly adapted Spanish customs of dress, musical instruments and dances to reflect their own cultures.

* * * * *

The next group was arguably the best of all. Women from the local Centro de la Tercera Edad (Center of the Third Age, Senior Citizens!) performed dances from Veracruz State—the long, narrow state that hugs the Gulf of Mexico. Veracruz music is Caribbean in style. Its irrepressible joy at the simple pleasure being alive is contagious.

Elegant 'Senior' Wearing Guerrero Traditional Dress
(Photo: Reed)  

The women obviously enjoyed dancing. What a kick seeing them enthusiastically shakin' it—shoulders and hips—as they performed what are, after all, Caribbean mating dances! Their joy is contagious. They have not forgotten—and neither should we!

"Cover Me With Your Rebozo" - Museum of Popular Culture

A funny thing happened to this post on its way to publication. I thought I knew what I was writing about. A year ago, I published a post about rebozos. For months, Rebozos in Michoacán and Elsewhere has been among Jenny's Top Five All-Time Most-Viewed Posts.

So when the Museum of Popular Cultures in Coyoacán announced a rebozo exhibit titled "Cover Me With Your Rebozo", I was one of the first in line.

Rebozo from Exhibit "Cover Me With Your Rebozo" at the
National Museum of Popular Culture, Coyoacán (Mexico City)
Photo: Reed (Click to Enlarge)

The rebozo is a typical Mexican garment worn like a shawl. It is described poetically as the cradle that lulls, the jacket that covers, the shade that refreshes, the garment that crowns, the elegance that distinguishes. As an ongoing tradition in all parts of the country, it is regarded as a national symbol.

Gregorio de Gante's poem titled,"Ode to the Rebozo" makes explicit the symbolic value of the rebozo. The introduction to the exhibit quoted two stanzas from the poem. Curiosity piqued, I found the poem on the Internet. And that's where the post fell off the rails of this blogger's best intentions and editorial control. (See my translation, Poem: "Ode to the Rebozo")

Poem's Historical Context

The poem is beautiful; its imagery vivid. References to the rebozo's role in the life cycle of rural Mexicans resonated so strongly with my experiences in Pátzcuaro that I decided to translate the poem into English. But translation brought me up against references so distinctly Mexican that I considered omitting some stanzas. Fortunately, my inner self cautioned, "Not so fast, Jenny." I turned to my good friend and teacher of Spanish for help (CELEP).

The more I learned, the more I came to understand the poem's complexity and relevance. Not for the first time, my attempt to understand a seemingly isolated piece of the complex fabric called "the culture" of Mexico, seems to lead straight into the complexity that is Mexico's multi-layered cultural whole.

A light bulb went on as I read a biography of the poet Gregorio de Gante. Why was I not surprised to learn that Gante was born in 1890, which means he was twenty years old in 1910 when the Mexican Revolution broke out?

The poem's references are not only to the Mexican Revolution, which Gante and his brothers joined, fighting in the Revolutionary Forces under General Antonio Medina, but also to the War for Independence from Spain, which had taken place a hundred years earlier.

Brief History of Mexico | Setting the stage

I recall that Mexico's War for Independence (1810-1821) was begun by criollos (Spanish born in Mexico) rebelling against their lack of political rights and hence their exclusion from political power. Intent on maintaining control, the Spanish Crown permitted only peninsulares (Spanish born in Spain) to hold office. Once gained, however, Independence simply set off a hundred years of civil strife inside Mexico.

Conservatives favored establishment of a monarchy; Liberals favored populist, representative government. These forces struggled to gain control over the fledgling country that lacked practical experience in self-governance, including basic notions of compromise and rule of law.

The election of Porfirio Díaz in 1876 brought some stability to the country, but at a steep price. Once in office, Díaz held onto the presidency for thirty-four years (1876-1911), a period of dictatorship known as the Porfiriato. Primarily by encouraging foreign investment, Díaz not only achieved internal stability, but fostered modernization and economic growth. Economic progress, however, was achieved through violent repression and exclusion of most Mexicans from economic opportunity and power—injustices that triggered the Mexican Revolution, which broke out in 1910.

The Mexican Revolution (1910-1917) was not a coherent political movement under a unified leadership. Rather, it was another bitter fight between the landed elites and the masses in an ongoing political dynamic that continued to pit Conservatives (landed elites in favor of strong central government) against Liberals (populists in favor of representative government).

Nurturing Mexican Nationalism | Enter the rebozo

When the fighting wound down in 1917 and the dust finally settled in 1920 with the election of Álvaro Obregón as president, the landed elites had more or less prevailed over the populist forces. But if the government was intentional about subduing popular revolutionary leaders like Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa, it was equally intentional about fostering a sense of Mexican nationalism to support the nation's newly approved Constitution (1917).

To support its nationalist goal, the government drew on the traditional values of Mexico's indigenous peoples and actively supported the arts and artists. Literature, poetry, music, dance, photography and painting—all received government support. The common denominator in the theme of this cultural work was the Mexican Revolution, whose anniversary is celebrated annually on November 20.

Government support fostered the internationally recognized Mexican Mural Movement. The "Great Three" Mexican Muralists—Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco and David Siqueiros—embraced the twin themes of indigenous values and the Mexican Revolution. In doing so, they created a mythology around the Mexican Revolution and Mexico's indigenous people. It is a mythology that remains strong in the imagination of Mexico's people to this day.

Silent films made from 1917-1920—years recognized as being a significant precursor to the famed Golden Age of Mexican Film (1935-1959)—provided valuable documentaries of key events in the Mexican Revolution. When 'talkies' arrived, the key themes were explored in various ways, often by means of tragic love stories pairing los de abajo (those from below, indigenous peoples) with los de arriba (those from above, the ruling elite).

Mariano Azuela, a physician during the Mexican Revolution, wrote a collection of short stories titled Los de abajo (Those from Below), that have become classics...as have the short stories of Juan Rulfo titled El llano en llamas (The Plains in Flames).

Regional bands playing traditional Mexican songs and traditional dances are an integral part of this national project; the world-famous Ballet Foklórico of Mexico, for example, was founded in 1952.

This, then, sets the stage for Gante's poem and for the rebozo exhibit. My translation and notes are available on Jenny's Page "Ode to the Rebozo".

"Cover Me With Your Rebozo"

The title of the exhibit at the Museum of Popular Cultures speaks to the rebozo as a transcendent national symbol that 'covers' all Mexicans: certainly, los de abajo (those from below) but los de arriba (those from above) as well.

The rebozos in the exhibit (shown below) are winners of a national competition.

Exhibit Photographs: Reed.
Click to Enlarge.

Regional Rebozos

Crafting a rebozo is a time-consuming, fifteen-step process that moves from spinning, winding, twisting and dyeing the thread, to weaving and pressing the finished product.

Given all these steps, each rebozo takes from 30-90 days to complete, depending on the complexity of the design. Both men and women weave rebozos, but the rapacejo or tejido en las puntas ['knitting on the stitches' to create the fringes], is an art practiced only by women who, with their fine finger dexterity and skill, create figures ranging from 'grecas' [traditional geometric patterns] to stars and legendary figures.

Rebozos may be of cotton, wool, silk, raw silk, or artisela. Artisela is a synthetic silk whose cellulose is made from wood fiber. Artisela, or Chardonnay silk, was invented in 1886 in France by Count Hilario of Chardonnay. Artisela was shown for the first time in Paris in 1889. Less expensive and easier to obtain than silk, artisela is often substituted for silk, which is an increasingly expensive raw material. Because of the cost, traditional silk rebozos are today generally made to order and affordable only by the wealthy few.

Rebozos are made in several states of Mexico. Each state's rebozos are identifiable by style, form and colors. The most highly recognizable rebozos come from:

• Tenancingo, State of Mexico;
• Silk rebozos, Santa María del Río, San Luis Potosí [see videos, below];
• Los palomos, Uriangato, Guanajuato [see video, below];
• Raw silk rebozos from the Cajonos region of Oaxaca [The opening 15-second segment of this UTube video is delivered in an indigenous language, but the excellent images of manual processes speak for themselves];
• Gasa (chiffon or crepe) rebozos from the Sierra Norte of Puebla; 
• Rebozos from Piedad and Aranza in Michoacán [see video, below].

Still Curious?

"Tápame con el rebozo": Recent Exhibit at Museo de Culturas Populares in Coyocán (Mexico City); also article from Milenio newspaper (in Spanish).

Piropos al Rebozo de Gregorio de Gante (Spanish original).

Casa de las Artesanías, Santa María del Río, San Luis Potosí:

• Rebozo Designs and Colors;
• Six Remarkable Ways to Wear a Rebozo.

Elsa Castillo Gallery, seda (silk) and artisela (synthetic silk made from wood fibers) rebozos from Santa María del Río, San Luis Potosí.

History of the Rebozo (Uriangato, Guanajuato): UTube video features old photographs and segments that show the spinning of thread and weavers at looms weaving rebozos.

Sociedad Cooperativa de Piedad, Michoacán (English); web site provides useful description of the process for making rebozos, including definition of key terms.

Related Jenny's posts:

• Poem: "Ode to the Rebozo" (my translation);
• Rebozos in Michoacán and Elsewhere;
• A Short History of Mexico;
• Diego Rivera: Artist for Mexico's People.