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Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life—no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground—my head bathed in the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing. I see all. The currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature 1836

The month of May for me is always a time when I am changing gears. From October to April I work long hours, juggle many tasks and all the while try to move through the world with a smile.

As the busy season winds down in April and the temperature on the coast rises, my heartbeat softens, my muscles relax, and I come back into myself. I remember that there is no reason to rush. But who am I when I am not producing, organizing and planning? There is a meditation I like to do where I sit and close my eyes, I allow my mind to focus on my breath and then I imagine myself at younger stages of life. I sit like I did when I was 4 or 8 or 16. What is the essence of me? What is the essence of each of us when we strip away our tasks and obligations?

In May I get to enjoy leisurely mornings, long swims in the ocean or walks by the river with my dogs. With this slowing down I get to sit and contemplate my life’s purpose. Everything in nature exists in a symbiotic relationship with everything else: tree roots intertwine with fungi in the soil, nourishing flowers that feed bees, which pollinate fruit that sustains animals—and so the cycle continues. I recently read that nut producing trees don’t produce each year. In the years when there is an overpopulation of creatures that live on nuts, nuts will not produce and the population will be culled. How do the trees know? As a species do we trust in those cycles or are we pushing against them?

It is a cop-out to think our life’s purpose is amassing more stuff; homes, cars, financial security. While those things bring comfort do they really represent our purpose? I look at the tree outside my window; a large guanacaste. The sunlight flickers through its branches, a squirrel runs along a branch, a chachalaca hoots good morning, a magpie jay and a grackle screech at each other.

For me immersion in nature is as close as I feel to my life’s purpose. To just be and feel my soul as a part of something larger. Humans do not have dominion over nature, it has dominion over us and the sooner we accept that, we can stop struggling, let go, and enjoy it’s beauty.

Happy Summer,

Jane

 

Huatulco

From Baguettes to Bolillos: A Story of Cultural Exchange & Evolution

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By Kary Vannice—

Walk into almost any panadería in Mexico and you’ll notice it right away. The glass cases are full to bursting with colorful rows of conchas, cuernos, orejas, and empanadas. Trays are constantly being swapped out. It smells like sugar, yeast, and warm bread, and it feels very Mexican. And it is. But there is also something else going on that most people don’t think about.

Bread in Mexico did not always look like this. Before wheat became common, food was centered around corn. Wheat came later during the colonial period, and baking slowly developed from there. But a bigger shift happened in the nineteenth century, around the time of the French intervention in Mexico.

What changed was not so much the ingredients. These largely stayed the same. What changed was how things were made.
French baking brought a different level of precision to the process. Dough was handled differently, fermentation was more controlled, and techniques like layering and shaping became more intentional. These influences were adopted into the Mexican kitchen and affected the texture, consistency, and final result.

This French influence didn’t replace what already existed. It changed the way things were done.

A simple example of this is the bolillo. At first glance, it looks like a basic roll, but if you pay attention to the crust, the inside texture, and even the way it is scored, you can see the connection to the French baguette. Over time, it became a part of everyday life in Mexico. Today, it’s used for tortas, served at meals, and found just about everywhere. Most people wouldn’t think of it as French, but the influence is still there.

What happened next is what makes this interesting.
Mexican bakers didn’t try to copy French pastries exactly. Instead, they used those techniques as a starting point and built something new. This is how pan dulce really started taking shape. The variety that exists today didn’t come from just one tradition. It came from a system that allowed for experimentation.

Different regions created their own versions and varieties. Shapes, toppings, and recipes evolved over time. And this created the modern-day Mexican bakery culture that is both consistent and highly varied at the same time.

Another change that came with French technique is the focus on texture. Texture was always important in Mexican food, but these new methods expanded what was possible. After the incorporation of these techniques, softer interiors, crispy outer layers, and pastries that pull apart in layers became more common. These details may seem small, but they change how the food is experienced.
Today, the panadería is its own kind of space. It is not a French bakery, but it is not completely separate from that influence either. It runs on a structure that came from French technique, but everything about how it looks and feels is Mexican. There is more volume, more movement, and it is part of daily life, not something reserved exclusively for special occasions.

And this system is still changing. New techniques are introduced, ingredients shift, and bakeries and recipes adapt and evolve over time. At the same time, certain staples like the concha remain consistent, which keeps a sense of continuity and groundedness in the uniquely Mexican bread culture.

When people talk about this connection, they often call it influence. But that makes it sound like one culture affected another and that was the end of it. In truth, that’s not what really happened.
Instead, French baking provided a new framework. Mexican bakers used it, changed it, and expanded on it, and eventually made it their own. What exists now is something different. We tend to think of influence as something that moves in one direction. One culture gives, the other receives. But that’s not what happened here.
What started as a set of techniques became something entirely different once it moved through Mexican culture. It wasn’t just adopted; it was reworked into something that now feels completely original.

Most people won’t think about any of this when they walk into a bakery. They’ll just pick what looks good and move on with their day. But what looks simple on the surface is actually the result of a much bigger story that’s still unfolding in everyday life.

Perhaps after reading this, you’ll see more than just bread on your next trip to the bakery. You’ll see history, collaboration, and evolution in that bolillo or concha in your hand.

Bon appétit & buen provecho!

Kary Vannice is a writer and energetic healer who explores the intersections of culture, consciousness, and daily life in Mexico.

Huatulco

The French Food Connection

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By Marcia Chaiken and Jan Chaiken—

We love the food in Mexico. We arrive every year hungry for moles, dorado and huachinango, ripe papayas and mangos right from the trees, juicy piña, ceviche, and hamburguesa de pescado. But sometimes we have a yen for French cuisine — the kind we enjoy in Paris and throughout gourmand-pampering France. We want French food, not fusion — French-European, French-Mexican, or French-Vietnamese interpretations. When in Mexico City, this yen is more than satisfied by a meal at Au Pied de Cochon.

Au Pied de Cochon is one of several excellent restaurants in the Intercontinental El Presidente Hotel in the Polanco area. When we’re in CDMX for a short stay, we reserve a room at El Presidente not only for its location near Chapultepec Park and the National Auditorium, but also because of its ready access to our favorite French restaurant. The restaurant’s 24-hour schedule meet our ever-changing schedule, so we’ve been there for breakfast at 6am and late after-theater desserts as well as for lunch and dinner. One year, our stay at El Presidente occurred after surgery in a nearby hospital and coincided with Christmas. The Au Pied de Cochon staff was kind enough to set up a table close to the entrance that could accommodate a wheelchair.

Canadians often think that the Polanco restaurant is related to Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal. It is not. Nor is the restaurant of the same name in Geneva related. Only one restaurant is related — Au Pied de Cochon in Paris-to be more specific, the mother restaurant in Les Halles, the former central food market of Paris that existed for more than 800 years ago. The Les Halles restaurant is not as old as the market and was opened in 1947. It catered to blue-collar workers who arrived after their post-World War II shifts and was noted for its hearty onion soup and pork dishes including, of course, pig’s foot. Today the original Paris restaurant, as well as the Mexico City offshoot, is still noted for delicious onion soup but is much more upscale.

It was Grupo Presidente that negotiated with the Paris owners to open the branch in their Polanco hotel twenty-five years ago. Pork dishes are still featured, and the seafood platters are still an astonishing sight; but there are dishes that are suitable for those of us who do not eat pork or mariscos. The succulent coq au vin is indistinguishable from the same dish served in Paris, as is the duck in orange sauce. Fish fillets (red snapper, salmon, and sea bass) are perfectly prepared with delicious sides. The beef offerings are varied and each is excellent. And for those looking for a special treat, the lamb ribs served with peas are a truly French delight. The soups are wonderful, and the starters, including foie gras, are very imaginative. The desserts are extraordinary and by themselves are worth a trip to Mexico City. Our favorites are the traditional profiteroles and chocolate soufflé.

For almost fifteen years the Polanco restaurant has been under the direction of Chef Frédéric Lobjois. A native Parisian who reportedly fell in love with French gastronomy at age seven, Lobjois began his career in restaurants in Paris and luxury hotels across France. He was invited to join culinary teams in Mexico by several renowned chefs in CDMX and after several years of building his reputation in top restaurants in the city, he fortuitously was recruited by Au Pied de Cochon to be the Executive Chef. He is professionally well known in Mexico, especially for special events when he joins forces with other chefs to present extraordinary culinary creations. He wisely keeps his personal life off social media.

People living in or visiting the beach towns on the Oaxacan Coast need not travel all the way to CDMX for French food. For many years, Huatulco was the home to the French restaurant, La Bohème in many incarnations. We and other French food fanatics followed the owner-chef around the area. First located in a residential area between downtown and Chahue, then in a small out-of-the-way space in Santa Cruz and later, after a hiatus, on a main street in Santa Cruz, Francophiles could enjoy authentic French dishes. Alas, a few years ago La Boheme closed – seemingly permanently.

Currently (2026) those seeking French cuisine in Huatulco will find it at Bordeaux, one of the seven restaurants in the Secrets resort. Although she’s only been the Chef de Partie for ten months, Chef Livy Deysi has created a buzz on online dining review sites. Livy is tiny in stature but has a personality that fills a large kitchen and dining space. She was born in the town of Huimanguillo in the state of Tabasco and was raised in nearby La Venta. When asked if she cooked as a child, Livy laughed with an emphatic “no”. She found her love of culinary arts at age 16 in high school and then studied gastronomy for four and a half years at a public school in Tabasco. After studying and practicing a range of cuisines, she developed a passion for French dishes because of the complexity of the preparations.

Her first job after graduation was at Secrets in Akumal, Quintana Roo. She became a sous chef, and after 5 years in Akumal her talent was recognized. So at age 29 she was offered the position of Chef de Partie at Bordeaux in Secrets Huatulco. She is responsible for coordinating and supervising the Bordeaux kitchen staff in preparing the menu that is designed by the Secrets Executive Chef. Unlike some French chefs who are harsh and demanding with their subordinates, she acknowledges that her staff are experienced, and she welcomes their advice and suggestions. Personally, she enjoys cooking lentil ragu and preparing and presenting the Bordeaux offering of filet mignon with mashed potatoes and vegetables sautéed in butter. But for herself her favorite dish is escargot. Livy hasn’t had a chance to travel outside of Mexico, but when she has free time she heads to cooler climes with her beloved dog Maximus.

The Bordeaux kitchen is open to the view of patrons in the formal dining room. Although Secrets does not allow restaurant reservations, whether for overnight guests or visitors who purchase a pass, you can watch Chef Livy at work and enjoy the only purely French food in Huatulco by calling the concierge at Secrets and purchasing a night pass. The cost is about $120 USD per person and provides access to any of the restaurants, bars, shows and other entertainment.

We had hoped to include recommendations for true French restaurants in San Miguel de Allende, even though we have never visited one. There are several listed on restaurant review sites that appear to be more fusion or “French inspired” than actually French. We sent out a message to friends who spend extended time in SMA, resulting in no recommendations. If any of you readers are Francophiles with recommendations for actual French restaurants, please post them on the Eye website.

For those of you who are traveling to or through CDMX, we advise making an advance reservation at Au Pied de Cochon. Bon Appetit!

Drs. Marcia and Jan Chaiken have been married for 62 years and have published many justice system research reports together.

Huatulco

Yuyé Hernández, a Resilient Afro-Mexican Artist Standing Tall Even When Life Knocks You Down

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By José Palacios y Román—

Adversity can test a person’s life and shape their path toward transcendence. Some individuals become true champions through that struggle. The state of Oaxaca ranks third in extreme poverty in Mexico. One of its regions is the Costa Chica, home to some two hundred thousand African descendants whose historical presence dates back to the 16th century and beyond.

Yuyé Hernández (Santa Obdulia Hernández Nicolás) is an Afro-Mexican woman born in 1980 in El Tamal, in the municipality of Santiago Pinotepa Nacional. At the time, it was a marginalized and largely forgotten community.

Despite humble beginnings, Yuyé developed a strong character and a deep commitment to her community. Today she is recognized in many roles: as an artist, a defender of her cultural roots, an advocate against abuses of power, a public speaker and lecturer, a national voice on gender equality, and more recently, a councilwoman responsible for culture and finance.

In the mid-1980s, a Catholic priest from Trinidad and Tobago, Father Glyn Jemmot, began promoting visibility and recognition for the Afro-Oaxacan community. Years later, in 1992, the Cimarrón Cultural Center was established.

It was there that Yuyé began her artistic journey, learning to draw and paint using her feet. Yuyé was born without arms. Through her involvement with the center and her relationship with Father Jemmot, she developed a strong sense of leadership and pride in her community and her Afro-Mexican identity.

Beyond her social and political work, Yuyé is a graduate in visual arts from the Benito Juárez Autonomous University of Oaxaca. Her principal mentor was the renowned Japanese master Shinzaburo Takeda, one of the most influential figures in Oaxacan contemporary art.

Following her creative impulses, Yuyé has participated in more than fifty exhibitions, where she has earned admiration not only for the creativity and quality of her work but also for the determination behind it. Without upper limbs, she paints with her feet, transforming what many might see as a limitation into a powerful artistic tool.

Her artistic production is rich in color, expressive brushstrokes, and recurring themes that explore the relationship between women and nature. Looking back at her work over the past decade, one can see increasing maturity, confidence, and interpretive strength in the subjects she chooses to portray.

Her paintings convey harmony, candor, and touches of naïveté, creating a romantic connection with the viewer.

Finally, it is impossible not to recall the example of one of Oaxaca’s most enduring figures: Benito Juárez. A Zapotec indigenous man born in poverty, orphaned at a young age, and raised without speaking Spanish, Juárez rose to become President of Mexico and successfully resisted the most powerful armies of his time.
His story reminds us that resilience is a form of strength.
Yuyé Hernández embodies that same resilience—standing tall even when life knocks you down.

Copalli Art Gallery, committed to promoting new talent from the Oaxacan coast, proudly welcomes Yuyé Hernández as part of its collection of emerging artists.

The gallery is located in Tangolunda and is open daily from 10:00 am to 7:00 pm. All are welcome.

San Miguel de Allende

Between Names: Yásnaya Aguilar on Being Mixe and the ‘Latino’ Moment

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By Estefanía Camacho—

Latin American pride is rooted in a colonial and undeniably hierarchical category. This is how ayuujk (mixe) writer, linguist, and activist Yásnaya Elena Aguilar Gil (1981) described it in an interview during the San Miguel Writers’ Conference & Literary Festival in February 2026.

“If we were to arbitrarily mark the history of our peoples with the domestication of maize 10,000 years ago, we would have spent 10,000 years being Zapotec, Mixe, or Nahua, and of those 10,000 years, 500 as Indians and 200 as Indigenous. So where does ‘Latino’ come from?” questions Yásnaya, with her long, straight black hair, wearing black-framed glasses with a small cat-ear-like detail at the top.

She explains that “Latino” is a label that originated in France in the 19th century, coined to distinguish between two types of colonization in this part of the continent: Anglo-Saxon America and Latin America.

“’Latina’ has to do with the fact that we were oppressed (…) it is a category produced by a colonialist process. Therefore, there are peoples who have not been fully Latinized,” she explains, referring to the different Indigenous populations across the territory, who continue to keep languages alive outside Spanish and their own roots.

“Latino” in Spanish—not to be confused with how it is used in the United States—is a category that has not only regained relevance but has also gained strength in response to racist actions, especially in that country, primarily against Spanish-speaking migrants or racially profiled Americans.

Yásnaya, translator too, also understands the nuance of “Latino” as a “weapon of resistance,” but she asks that it should not be used as a folklorizing essentialization of something that comes from a violent process such as colonization, and that it remains as an external label.

The category of “Latino” and that of “Indigenous”
Yásnaya says that when she travels to other regions, she is invariably categorized as Latina, regardless of the fact that she is ayuujk and—if anything—identifies as Indigenous.

“In Europe I was Mexican, in Mexico I am Oaxacan, in Oaxaca I am Mixe, in the sierra I am usually from Ayutla. At some point I am Indigenous, but that was something I was told or intuited through contrast before the name even arrived. During an extraterrestrial attack, I will surely be an Earthling, and I will be so with passion,” she wrote in her first book “Ää: manifiestos sobre la diversidad lingüística” (Almadía, 2023).

She has frequently pointed out in her research and columns that patriarchal, colonial, and capitalist systems seek to turn “the other” as a mechanism into a homogeneous, monolithic entity in order to oppress them.

Just as with the category “Latina,” the same happens in Mexico when the category “Indigenous” is adopted as a whole, without mentioning the 68 Indigenous peoples who live in the country, including Afro-Mexicans, who represent at least 10% of the total population.
“Indigenous is a category created by a system of oppression; it is not an essence of our peoples. It is a political moment in our history. We were not always Indigenous,” Yásnaya said. “In the end, in the future, hopefully we can be Mixe without being Indigenous. Because that has already happened. That would mean there is no longer oppression,” the writer proposes.

She explained during her keynote lecture at the literary conference that in Mexico there are 11 Indo-American language families within the 68 groupings of languages, and these in turn belong to 365 distinct linguistic systems, according to the National Catalog of Indigenous Languages. “What generalization can be made about such diversity? None. What exists is a diversity of traditions and poetic mechanisms,” she added.

Now everyone wants to be Latino?
“Now everyone wants to be Latino, but they lack flavor,” sang the world’s most famous musician, Bad Bunny, in his song “El Apagón” during the halftime show of the 2026 Super Bowl.

The surge in pride around the “Latino” category was especially visible during this event in the United States, but it was also observed across much of the world. The Puerto Rican singer went on a global tour in 2025, although he skipped performing in the US out of concern that anti-immigrant raids could be organized at his concerts. The Super Bowl was the only performance he gave there, and the performance was loaded with symbolism, alluding to an independent Puerto Rico and America as a continent and not merely as the “country.”

However, Yásnaya questioned the emotional weight and sense of pride attached to the label “latino” in the days following the event: “That America that continues to resist the effects of colonization is not even America; it is Abya Yala,” she wrote a few days after the Super Bowl in her El País column titled “¿América Latina o América latinizada?. Xëëmo’oy”

There is still resistance to European colonization from the territory, just as there is today from communities resisting other processes driven by contemporary imperialism.

Spanish, its defense, and shifting contexts
In a context where speaking Spanish can be a risk in a country like the United States, or where it was fiercely defended once it was announced that Bad Bunny would headline the Super Bowl halftime show, Yásnaya explains that it is not a hegemonic language.
“I had always seen Spanish as an enemy because it is erasing my language, right? The first time I went to Los Angeles and spoke with migrant communities, I realized that their experiences were the same as mine in school and with discrimination. So Spanish is not always hegemonic; in reality, we cannot see it only as English versus Spanish and Spanish versus Indigenous languages. There are many layers of complexity,” she said.

During the interview, she also mentioned that as a linguist, she is aware that due to structural asymmetry, she cannot have something as basic as a Mixe dictionary. “Something that is so basic for another language,” she says, “you can go to a bookstore and buy books in Spanish and buy a dictionary where the words are in Spanish and the definitions are also in Spanish. I cannot have a dictionary in Mixe where the definitions are in Mixe. At best, they are bilingual.”
However, she does not see it as far off that a Mixe dictionary with definitions in Mixe could exist.

Defending diversity and multidiversity
“In short, I would not have learned about myself, about what I speak of, through the lens, the eyes, the language of others,” she also wrote in her 2023 book.

Yásnaya has been an activist for linguistic rights, Indigenous autonomy, and the revitalization of indigenous languages, while also consistently advocating against climate change and for the defense of land and resources.

She also writes about celebrating otherness and plurality, as she believes that at this moment in history there are too many “ideological political monocultures” threatening the world, as she warned during the conference.

“Let us remember that monolingual utopias, or futures designed in a monolingual way, are characteristic of the far right.”

Estefanía Camacho is a freelance Mexican journalist working across media and digital magazines. She is a specialist in gender, SMEs, economics, and business.

Huatulco

Wearing My Roots: A Queen’s Journey Through the Vela 27

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By Daira Moreno —

When I reflect on my roots, I picture myself beautifully dressed in Tehuana attire. It brings me back to my ancestors, especially my grandmother. The beauty of these dresses lies not only in their embroidery, but in the way they are passed from one generation to the next. Today, only a few artisans still know how to make Tehuana attire in its traditional form. The Zapotec language, along with the traditional techniques, is at risk of disappearing. Wearing the dress is an act of resistance, a way to keep our identity alive. The reaffirmation of Zapotec identity through the figure of the Queen of the Vela 27, embodied in my own experience of wearing the Tehuana dress, is a form of empowerment for the people of my town, the Ixtepecanos. It is also a way of preserving our culture at a time when many traditions are being lost in an increasingly globalized world.

Ciudad Ixtepec’s cultural identity lives within its traditional attire, the Tehuana dress, and in the fact that only a few artisans continue to make it in the old way. This fragility, of both language and dressmaking, shows how urgent it is to preserve these parts of our heritage. The Tehuana attire has also found its place in the larger story of Mexico. Iconic figures such as Frida Kahlo and Salma Hayek embraced it, drawing inspiration from Isthmus women and, in Hayek’s case, from her own Ixtepecana roots. Lupe Vélez immortalized the style in her film La Sandunga, helping introduce Oaxacan culture to national and international audiences. Many consider the Tehuana costume the most beautiful in Mexico. These cultural references strengthen the idea that Zapotec identity carries a significance that must be protected.

In this piece, I offer a brief reflection on my experience as queen of the Vela 27 and on the meaning of a Vela, with special attention to the clothing I wore throughout the five-day celebration which culminates in the coronation, where I step into the same role my mother and cousin once held, continuing a legacy begun by my grandmother, one of the festival’s founders.

This year, I served as queen of the Renombrada Vela 27, held in honor of San Jerónimo Doctor. It is characterized by dancing throughout the entire night, waiting for dawn to arrive. “Vela” is the name given by the friars to the indigenous festivities dedicated to the deities called “Za” or “Binnizá,” meaning “men of the clouds,” according to the agricultural calendar. With evangelization, these rituals were transformed into patron-saint festivals dedicated to Catholic saints, following the mission and religious order of the friars during the colonial period. The word vela comes from velar, meaning “to stay awake, to keep vigil all night,” which remains at the heart of the celebration today.

One of the most striking parts of the Vela is that all attendees must wear the Tehuana gala dress; otherwise, they are not permitted to enter. Women showcase their finest traditional gala dresses and high heels, each one striving to look as spectacular as possible. Men must wear a plain white guayabera with no floral embroidery.

The use of gold, coins, and ornaments in the festivities has its roots in practices of prestige and offering. In the case of coins, their presence is more recent, linked to the arrival of the Trans-Isthmus Railway and the port of Salina Cruz in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Gold in women’s attire also symbolizes the empowerment of Isthmus women, as well as well-being, economic stability, and even wealth. The use of minted coins changes the meaning significantly, which is why I emphasize empowerment.

Many of the pieces I wore are family heirlooms, and when I put them on, I feel the presence of my grandmother, my mother, and the women in my family who have kept these traditions alive. Each garment reflects the work of artisans whose techniques are at risk of disappearing.

To understand the significance of each day and the meaning behind every outfit, it is helpful to look at the schedule of the Vela 27 and the Tehuana attire I wore throughout the celebration.

The Vela 27 Schedule:
September 26 (evening): The festivities begin with the Calenda (traditional street parade) at 8 p.m., continuing until 2 a.m. The streets of Ixtepec come alive with dancing, fireworks, and music, announcing the start to the Vela 27. That evening, I wore a coordinated skirt and huipil made with the cadenilla technique, featuring pink and yellow greca designs crafted by the artisan Francisco Javier Reyes Vázquez from San Blas Atempa. My hairstyle followed the traditional style of the women of Ixtepec: two braids intertwined with a pink ribbon and adorned with artificial flowers. To complete the muda, I wore a three-strand espejito azucena necklace with a calabaza pendant in pearls and gold filigree, along with matching earrings and a bracelet made from 2.5-peso Mexican coins embellished with rubies and alejandrina.

2nd Day of Activities:
September 27 (morning): The queen’s Mañanitas begin at 7 a.m. and include serenades, prayers, and dancing. The organizers of the Vela attend, making it one of the most beautiful moments of the celebration, filled with emotion as the family prepares for the day. Breakfast is offered at the queen’s home to those who came to serenade her, and gifts are given to the attendees. This festivity also commemorates the birthday of the patron saint, San Jerónimo Doctor. For my muda during the Mañanitas, I wore a circular stylized yellow rabona skirt with a hand-stitched cadenilla huipil. I accessorized with a choker made of hinged coins and matching cross-shaped earrings.

September 27 (evening): The most significant and symbolic day of the Vela 27 gathers about 3,000 people. It begins at 9 p.m. and lasts until 7 a.m. The highlight of the event is the queen’s coronation, which includes her arrival, her first dance, and her speech. Past queens, as well as the queen from the previous year, also make their appearances. After the ceremony, the community spends the rest of the night dancing. On the day of my coronation, I proudly wore an original, hand-embroidered traditional dress crafted by the artisan Antonia Morales Lobo from the town of Santa Rosa de Lima. This community is distinguished by its mastery of the Tehuana gala dress, an art practiced by both its women and men. The making of this outfit was commissioned a year in advance.

The dress is a replica of one of my mother’s gala dresses, which she wore when she served as queen in 1985, although for my version I chose a garden of yellow Castilian roses. The outfit consists of the enagua (skirt) and the huipil (blouse). I also wore a gold fleco made of gusanillos and canelones, a distinctive accessory that sets the queen apart from the general public. My hair was styled in gathered braids with a rosette at the nape of the neck and a floral adornment on the left side, leaving the top free for the crown. The crown and its matching scepter were crafted exclusively for my reign by the master goldsmith Hugo Charo from the town of San Blas Atempa. My Tehuana attire was complemented by a set of gold doblón dos María jewelry and a matching ahogador, along with a bracelet, rings, earrings, and a hair brooch. All of these are family heirlooms in gold, passed down from generation to generation.

September 29: The lively and colorful Regada de Frutas fills the streets with decorated buses carrying the queens or captains, who toss food and gifts to the townspeople. Horses, bulls, and captains in traditional attire parade alongside, accompanied by children’s orchestras playing music from the buses. This day symbolizes giving back to the community.

During the Regada de Frutas, we rode on a float designed to match the colors and floral motifs of the outfit I wore that day. With great pride, I wore a huipil and enagua featuring multicolored orchids. This traditional ensemble from Salinas del Marqués, an agency of the municipality of Salina Cruz, Oaxaca, was crafted by the artisan Francisco Gallegos. The design itself was created by my mother, making it especially meaningful. The technique used for this dress is crochet work with yellow filled stitching. The outfit was completed with a two-strand lazo, a choker (ahogador), earrings, a bracelet, and a ring.

October 1 (noon): A mass is held in honor of the Vela 27’s patron saint, San Jerónimo Doctor. Afterward, the queen and princesses take a long walk accompanied by the music group until they arrive at the lavado de olla, where the founding members and the community await them. To enter the church and offer floral arrangements to San Jerónimo Doctor, I wore a yellow velvet Tehuana dress created with two traditional techniques known as flor en medio. The central floral motif was made using crochet work, while the edges featured geometric stitched patterns. I also wore the traditional gold fleco, and on this occasion the jewelry I used included a doblón necklace and a choker (ahogador) of great sentimental value, as both pieces belong to my mother. This dress was crafted by the artisan Francisco Javier Reyes Vázquez from the town of San Blas Atempa. This Tehuana dress uses an ancient technique that is now being revived, since velvet (terciopelo) is rarely used in contemporary Tehuana dressmaking.

As the final notes of the Vela faded, I realized that this experience was not only a personal honor but a reminder of the responsibility we carry. The Tehuana dresses, the rituals, the music, and the devotion of the community showed me how culture survives through practice, through memory, and through each generation choosing to keep it alive. Serving as queen of the Vela 27 strengthened my belief that our heritage is not something of the past, but a living tradition that continues to shape who we are.