Tag Archives: mexico

Dry Law, Elections, and a First for Oaxaca

By Alicia Flores—-

From time to time, life in Oaxaca pauses in small but noticeable ways. One of the most familiar signs is the ley seca — the temporary  suspension of alcohol sales — which often accompanies elections and official civic consultations across Mexico. For residents and visitors alike, it can raise a simple question: what exactly is being voted on?

Recently, Oaxaca held its first-ever revocación de mandato, a recall-style public consultation that asked voters whether the current governor, Salomón Jara Cruz, should continue in office. Unlike a general election, this process does not involve choosing new candidates or parties. Instead, it offers citizens an opportunity to express their approval or dissatisfaction with a sitting official midway through their term.

The consultation was organized across a state known for its political and cultural complexity. Oaxaca has more municipalities than any other state in Mexico — over 570 — many governed by distinct local systems and traditions. Coordinating any statewide vote here is no small task, and the results often reflect the diversity of voices rather than a single, unified opinion.

As is customary during electoral processes, a ley seca was put in place to help ensure public order. While the restriction can feel abrupt, it is a long-established part of Mexico’s electoral framework and applies regardless of whether the vote involves local offices, national elections, or civic consultations like this one.

In the end, while a majority of participating voters supported the governor remaining in office, overall turnout did not reach the threshold required for the result to be legally binding. As a result, the consultation did not trigger any immediate change in government.

Even so, first-time processes matter. They set precedents, reveal political undercurrents, and invite broader participation in public life. In a state as varied and decentralized as Oaxaca, the significance of such moments often lies not in dramatic outcomes, but in the signals they send — and the conversations they begin.

Para los Animales, For the Animals

By Sudhir Amembal—

San Miguel de Allende is often celebrated as one of the most beautiful small cities in the world. Its cobblestone streets, well-preserved Spanish colonial architecture, and arts scene draw admiration from residents and visitors alike. Just as remarkable is its strong sense of community, reflected in the dedication of both locals and expatriates who support a wide range of not-for-profit organizations.

Yet, behind this beauty lies a sobering reality. The city faces a persistent crisis of stray and abandoned animals, especially dogs. Every day, countless dogs struggle to survive on the streets, exposed to traffic, harsh weather during summer rains and winter nights; and, too often, human indifference. They roam hungry, thirsty, sick, and frightened — their eyes silently pleading for compassion and care. While dogs are the most visible victims, the number of homeless cats continues to grow, though they remain largely unseen.

Fortunately, San Miguel is also home to several animal welfare organizations working tirelessly to change this narrative. These groups rescue, rehabilitate, foster, and rehome abandoned animals, while also conducting sterilization programs that reduce suffering at its source. Their mission balances urgent aid with long-term prevention, offering both rescue and hope.

My own journey in animal welfare began in 1974. After years of involvement in India and the U.S., my wife and I moved to San Miguel in 2000, where I co-founded a local animal welfare organization. After a period away, upon returning, I reconnected with the animal welfare community and quickly recognized the potential for even greater impact through unity and collaboration. That realization led to the creation of Para Los Animales in July of last year.

Para Los Animales is a collaborative platform that amplifies the voices and work of seven dedicated partners: Dogs Without Borders Foundation, Esperanza Equina, Fundación México con el Corazón Nutriendo Almas, Lucky Dogs Club House, Rosey’s Wish, The Balam Foundation, and Yo Amo Animalitos SMA. Each operates independently, yet together they have

performed thousands of sterilizations and have rescued and rehomed more than 2,200 animals. Their results are a testament to their compassion and persistence. While six partners focus primarily on dogs and cats, Esperanza Equina provides sanctuary and care for horses in need.

Our mission at Para Los Animales is simple: to support, promote, and fund our partners. We connect them through a private group chat where leaders exchange ideas, coordinate efforts, and share resources. We also host regular meetings that encourage collaboration and strengthen our shared mission. To promote their work, our newsletters highlight each organization through in-depth articles, interviews, and a community directory linking readers directly to our partners’ websites. The widely distributed newsletters strive to create lasting positive change in the lives of animals throughout our community.

We also provide financial assistance to our partners, both through direct funding and by mobilizing community support via our newsletters and website. The feedback we receive from our partners speaks volumes about our impact:
“Thank you for bringing unity and hope to our community.”
“Grateful to be part of a group with a common goal—for the animals.”
“Since PLA came into my life, I’ve enjoyed advocacy work a hundred times more.”

Looking ahead, we will step up our activities to continue to support, promote, and fund our partners as they continually strive to alleviate—and where possible, eliminate—the pain, misery and suffering of the city’s most vulnerable animals: dogs, cats and horses.

You can lend your support by visiting:
http://www.paralosanimales.org, where you will find direct links to each of our partner organizations. We urge you to dig deep into your pockets to provide them with the financial resources they need; for together, we can make San Miguel de Allende not only beautiful in sight, but also in spirit — for every living being who calls it home.

Sudhir Amembal may be contacted at sudhir@amembalandassociates.com

 

The Most Beautiful Churches in SMA Centro

By Michael Solof—

It happens all the time. You’re new in town and want to see something special, or maybe you simply have a couple of hours to fill and feel like exploring somewhere different. That’s where this little walking tour comes in.

Today, we’ll visit four of the most beautiful and historically significant churches in San Miguel de Allende, all located within a few blocks of Centro. Along the way, we’ll touch on their architectural styles, histories, and why they continue to matter to the life of the city.

San Miguel de Allende is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, renowned for its well-preserved colonial architecture and striking religious buildings. Let’s begin at the heart of it all.

The Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel

The Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel is the city’s most iconic structure. The original church dates back to the early 17th century, though it underwent major renovations and expansion in the late 19th century. Its dramatic neo-Gothic façade was redesigned by local architect Zeferino Gutiérrez, who reportedly drew inspiration from European Gothic cathedrals.

The church is constructed from pink cantera, a volcanic stone widely used throughout the city and valued for both its durability and warm tonal variations. This material has become closely associated with San Miguel’s architectural identity.

Inside, visitors will find stained-glass windows, soaring arches, religious artworks, and impressive bell towers that dominate the skyline. Today, the Parroquia is one of the most photographed and recognizable churches in Mexico.

Over the years, the Parroquia has also accumulated its share of local legends and ghost stories — a common fate for historic churches. These tales belong more to popular imagination than documented history, but they add another layer to the building’s mystique, especially when seen at dusk.

Iglesia de la Inmaculada Concepción (Las Monjas)

Located near the Jardín Principal, the Iglesia de la Inmaculada Concepción— often referred to as Las Monjas—is one of the city’s architectural highlights.

Construction began in the mid-18th century, and the church is a fine example of Mexican Baroque architecture. Its most striking feature is the dome, which was inspired by European cathedral design and rises elegantly above the surrounding streets. The façade and dome glow beautifully in the late afternoon light, thanks again to the use of pink cantera stone.
Inside, the church contains richly decorated altarpieces covered in gold leaf, along with artwork created by local craftsmen. The church is dedicated to the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception, reflecting strong Spanish colonial influence in both its architecture and devotional focus.

Each year, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception is celebrated here, drawing a primarily local congregation and reinforcing the church’s role as a living part of San Miguel’s religious life.

Templo de San Francisco
(Corner of San Francisco and Juárez)

The Templo de San Francisco is among the oldest churches in the city. Construction began in 1683 under the direction of Franciscan friars, who played a central role in spreading Christianity throughout the region.

The exterior reflects restrained Baroque design, combining pink stone with white stucco for a striking but understated contrast. Inside, however, the church is far more ornate, featuring a beautifully crafted altar, decorative ceilings, and religious artwork.

While the church itself sits within the bustle of Centro, nearby courtyards and surrounding streets offer quieter moments for reflection. Each year, the Feast of Saint Francis is celebrated in early October, marking one of the church’s most important annual events.

Templo del Oratorio de San Felipe Neri
(Insurgentes 12)

The Oratorio de San Felipe Neri is an excellent example of 18th-century Baroque architecture paired with deep civic and religious significance.

Founded by the Oratorians—a religious order devoted to preaching, education, and community service—construction began in 1748 and was completed in 1753. The church’s elegant façade, carved from local pink stone, features intricate detailing that highlights the craftsmanship of the period. Its bell tower makes it a prominent landmark along Calle Insurgentes.

Inside, visitors will find a finely detailed altar, religious icons, and murals depicting saints and biblical scenes. The Oratorians were instrumental in establishing educational institutions in San Miguel, and their influence extended well beyond the church walls.

The Feast of San Felipe Neri is celebrated each May, maintaining the Oratorio’s role as an active center of worship and community life.

A City of Churches

The churches scattered throughout San Miguel de Allende offer a window into Mexico’s layered history—colonial ambition, religious devotion, artistic expression, and everyday life unfolding over centuries. While it would take weeks to visit them all, these four provide a rich introduction, all within a short walk of Centro.

Enjoy your travels—and take your time.

Michael Solof leads SMA Adventure Hound, a group which takes locals and newcomers to brunches and dinners at different restaurants every week and he also offers classes in the art of smartphone photography. You can contact him at WhatsApp +1-443-310-9214 for more info and to reserve.

Zen and the Art of MotorMind Maintenance

By Kim Malcolm—

For some reason, I thought a weeklong silent Zen meditation retreat — called “sesshin” — would be an important life experience. And it was, although maybe not in the ways I expected. I certainly chose a good one. It took place at Mar de Jade, a gorgeous resort on a secluded beach north of Puerto Vallarta. The priest, Norman Fisher, was once the head of the San Francisco Zen Center, and understands the “western,” non-Zen mind. The description of the retreat welcomed “beginners.” I don’t have a Zen practice, but I’ve read books about Zen, so I was a beginner, right?

I arrived at Mar de Jade in the early evening of the first day, just in time for a brief orientation and our first “zazen”– seated meditation. There were about 60 of us in the meditation hall where I found a square mat on the floor with my name on it. Following the lead of those around me, I sat down on the mat and closed my eyes. I began breathing, believing the evening would bring internal quiet and the first in a series of small but significant revelations. This was a wrong belief. My mind was the opposite of peaceful and my only revelation was that the excruciating pain in my hips and back would not be tolerable for six more days. Never mind, I thought. I was there to learn, not to be comfortable.

Each day after that had an identical schedule. Routine sometimes causes me to break out in hives, but, strangely, I enjoyed the predictability. We were awakened at 5am to the sound of clacking wooden sticks. The day began with light exercise followed by eight 40-minute sessions of silent meditation, a 2-hour work assignment, dharma talks, prostrations, and three excellent vegetarian meals. Besides the wooden sticks, the sounds of each day were gongs, bells, crashing ocean waves, birds and the low rumble of a banda band playing at the other end of the beach. We chanted, but we were otherwise mostly silent.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that this retreat was not going to be warm and fuzzy. Perhaps, I thought, it is hard to make friendly connections when no one is talking and your homies are working to accept the fact of universal suffering. Still, the feeling of sobriety surprised me. I’d read Norman Fisher’s book about Zen practice, which described the objectives of bodhisattvas — our Zen muses — as generosity and joyful engagement. I didn’t see much of either from the other participants. For the sake of not complaining, I will spare you the details.

A little frustrated with the prospect of a week of somber, I was determined to continue so I could understand a little about Zen Buddhism and enjoy the beach. Also, there were no refunds LOL. Hoping to avoid feeling too somber myself, I began giving little notes to people. “Thank you for playing the gong for us this week.” “I love your blouse.” “I like sitting behind you because your posture is perfect.” During our free time in the afternoon, I went swimming in the warm ocean and looked for shells on the beach.

After three days of monkey mind during every one of our meditation sessions, I raised the issue of somber at my brief meeting with our priest. “Because of the Bodhisattva’s path,” I said, “I was expecting a feeling of warmth and caring.” He gently explained that Zen practice is one of austerity and many come to it who are trying to get through life’s challenges (I apologize if I am not precisely reporting the content or spirit of his words). He knew that I was the only participant who did not have a Zen practice and mentioned that even Zen practitioners don’t normally attend a weeklong sesshin who haven’t first attended several one or two day silent retreats. Um, apparently reading a few books didn’t even qualify me as a Zen beginner. “Are you ok?” he asked. I replied that yes I actually was, but I didn’t say I was ok partly because of Roman.

Roman is Mar de Jade’s pastry chef. He lives in the village near the resort and makes breads and desserts for 100 people every day. My work assignment each day was to help Roman, and I loved my job. Cutting strawberries and rolling out dough for two hours cleared my mind of the racket it produced during our meditation sessions. Roman got me through the week. Although we weren’t supposed to talk and I don’t speak much Spanish anyway, it was obvious that Roman is generous and joyfully engaged — just like a Bodhisattva.

“Before enlightenment, chop wood and haul water. After enlightenment, chop wood and haul water.” — Buddhist saying

Kim Malcolm is a retired U.S. citizen and author based in San Miguel de Allende. Having traveled to 73 countries, she brings a global perspective to her writing, which often explores culture, place, and personal experience, with many essays rooted in her life in Mexico.

Follow her blog Camino Milagro: http://www.kimmie53.com

Sanjuaneros: Up to a Month Away from Home, with a Promise to See the Virgin

By Estefanía Camacho—-

Cihualpilli, also known as the Virgin Mary in her invocation of the Immaculate Conception, whose image is housed in the Cathedral-Basilica of Our Lady of San Juan de los Lagos in Jalisco, receives up to seven million pilgrims each year. In this representation, the Virgin “condenses the meaning that precedes motherhood,” as Felipe Gaytán Alcalá explains in his book Las semánticas de lo sagrado (The Semantics of the Sacred).

To get there, the so-called sanjuaneros (believers who set out from the Bajío region toward San Juan de los Lagos) walk approximately 80 kilometers over a period of nine to twelve days. Some depart from the Parish of Saint Anthony of Padua in San Miguel de Allende, others from Querétaro or San Luis Potosí, and those coming from farther away leave from Aguascalientes, adding up to a total distance of 200 kilometers or more.

They set out in late January. In 2026, they departed on January 21 from the well-known “Y,” an intersection formed by a famous roundabout in León, through which other pilgrims from nearby cities also pass. “I’m leaving from the Y,” they notify one another in a Facebook group of nearly 84,000 members, where they share everything from announcements to form departure groups in their hometowns to photos from the journey, weather advice, and, above all, blessings for the road.

In 2026, the passage of approximately 350,000 travellers through the state of Guanajuato is expected, a place referred to as “pilgrim transit territory,” according to Luis Antonio Güereca Pérez, the state coordinator of Civil Protection for the Secretariat of Security and Peace of the State of Guanajuato. These figures have been repeated over the past two winters, although the number, he says, has been declining.

“I should tell you that before 2020, before the pandemic, the number of pilgrims was much higher: around 450,000 to nearly 500,000 people passing through the state. However, when the pandemic hit and all this type of activity was suspended, something happened: the rhythm or the motivation was lost. We don’t know exactly what occurred, but we haven’t been able to recover the large numbers we used to have,” he tells me in an interview.

Not everyone stopped during the pandemic. That is the case of Paty, a 44-year-old woman who lives in León. She has made this pilgrimage for 30 years. The first time she went, she was 14. She kept going and never interrupted her visits after one of her children fell ill frequently and she asked the Virgin for his health. “Since then, he hasn’t gotten sick,” she says. That was 17 years ago.

“I promised that if my son didn’t get sick again, I would never stop going.” So, during one of the pandemic years, when there were very few pilgrims, she went with her daughter, without many supplies, because there was no one selling food or lighting the way at night with flashlights. They got lost.

“My daughter’s feet started bleeding halfway along the route. We stopped, and we got lost. Then the coyotes showed up. One of them was about to attack us. My daughter lit the way with her cellphone so I could throw a stone, but there wasn’t just one. There were about ten.”

They had to jump into a ditch. “The little Virgin is very miraculous,” she recalls, describing how they were able to see a military barracks nearby. From there, some personnel fired at the coyotes to scare them off and helped Paty and her daughter out of the ditch.

“Sometimes people don’t even have money for bus fare,” the matriarch of the Quiroz Aguilar family tells me. She has been a devotee for approximately 50 years, but now she offers food to pilgrims passing through on the night of January 23. She recalls that when she first began making the pilgrimage, people endured many hardships — cold, hunger, sleep deprivation, and exhaustion, and it was difficult to find water or food. That is why she wanted to offer some relief.

She offers her home —“tu casa,” as Mexicans say when we speak of our own home and offer it to a stranger— as a place of rest for approximately 40 people.

“They bathe here, we make hot chocolate at night so they can fall asleep, and for food, well, we give them carnitas, salsa, beans, rice, noodles, potatoes. I mean, everything we can, whatever we’re able to help with.”

In addition to offering her home as a place to spend the night, they also go out onto the route in a pickup truck to transport food. So that pilgrims do not have to stop and lose time, they prepare bagged lunches and hand them out to those who pass by. “Sometimes more people come, sometimes fewer, but everything gets eaten,” she explains, referring to the roughly 50 kilograms of food she prepares, not counting the 40 liters of salsa she cooks with the help of her grown children and now her daughters-in-law.

Throughout the year, they save together to be able to give away this food, which amounts to an expense of approximately 15,000 pesos, she confides.

Her altruistic work has brought her public recognition, to the point that she has appeared in television interviews, although María Concepción Quiroz (her full name) does not like to boast about her efforts.

According to the state coordinator of Civil Protection for the Secretariat of Security, the issues they pay closest attention to include traffic accidents on the highway, food poisoning, people who become lost, occasional fights, and elderly pilgrims.

This time, Civil Protection officially launched the coordinated operation among authorities from Friday, January 9, through February 5, when travellers stop passing through Guanajuato. Personnel from the Guanajuato Ministry of Health, the Red Cross (through its local chapters), state firefighters, and the National Guard are also present.

On January 20, 2026, the eve of the departure of most believers, the forecast indicated that the lowest temperature would occur at seven in the morning on the 21st, dropping to 9 degrees Celsius.
This January, pilgrims walked illuminated by lamps that provided enough light along the path, they crossed train tracks, sometimes alongside a stationary train, detoured around fields of maguey that lengthened the route, and walked for long stretches next to high-speed roads, where freight trucks sped past, often in blind spots. Some travelers coming from the State of Mexico spent up to a month away from home, according to television reports.

Arrival in San Juan de los Lagos
Ideally, pilgrims arrive on February 2, which coincides with the celebration of Candlemas. The Candelaria is a popular religious celebration that commemorates the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple, the Virgin’s purification after childbirth, and the Virgin of Candelaria, another Marian devotion. Tradition in Mexico also dictates that whoever ate Rosca de Reyes on January 6 and found the small figurine (representing Baby Jesus) must offer tamales and atole to the rest. However, the Immaculate Conception is also venerated in May, on August 15, and on December 8, although the longest pilgrimage takes place in mid-January.

While San Juan de los Lagos awaits the arrival of tens of thousands, the Cathedral-Basilica (the country’s second-most visited Marian sanctuary, after the Basilica of Guadalupe in Mexico City) is already hosting processions and dances. All of this is done to honor a figure measuring just 33 centimeters and weighing over 300 grams, adorned with eighteenth-century Baroque-style ornamentation –which is why Paty calls her with love “little virgin”. The Virgin, made from corn-pith paste, was crafted in workshops in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

According to testimonial records from 1623, the Virgin performed her first miracle by restoring the life of a young trapeze artist who had reportedly died after falling from a swing.

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

On the Page: Books That Shape Our View of Mexico

By Carole Reedy—

Living in Mexico for 30 years hasn’t only settled my understanding of the country; rather, it has expanded it. New research and reading continually reshape my previous viewpoints. Novels and nonfiction narratives are my guide, although numerous personal encounters have enhanced my knowledge.

An education is never complete.

Here are some contemporary histories and classic texts to guide your understanding of this great land.

Mexico by Paul Gillingham
This new tome surprises with a topsy- turvy view of our nation. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that now, 500 years later, Mexico survived the literary earthquake we call our history.

Milenio, the popular and prestigious Mexican daily newspaper, calls Mexico “unique and, from now on, indispensable for anyone who wants to explore Mexican history with sincerity.”

It is so easy to get things wrong when writing or relating stories orally. Peter Frankopan from The Telegraph tells us that this “fine account does well to remind that the best history is about fact, not fiction.”

Gillingham begins with the misconceptions of the role of the Spaniards in the early 1500s: their original goals and intentions and their relationships with various communities across the country. Over the next 700 pages, Mexico recounts great human displacements and epic battles. Most important, Gillingham constantly stresses the global economic forces that shaped each period of the country’s history.

Álvaro Enrigue, respected author of the brilliant novel You Dreamed of Empires, in his New York Times review says: “Gillingham’s 700-page book is imposing, yet it is an absorbing read, from the amusing and skeptical cadence of the first line that describes the embellished estimates made by the Spanish of the indigenous armies they encountered.”

Buy a copy and slowly read the unimaginable 500-year history of Mexico. As has been suggested in my other book column recommendations, also pick up a copy of You Dreamed of Empires as an accompaniment.

The Lawless Roads and The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene
Few people are familiar with the Cristeros War (1926-1929). Mexican history often stresses the importance and dominance of the Catholic Church, brought to Mexico from Spain in the 1500s.

The Cristeros War was a reaction to the Calles laws, introduced by the then-president (from 1924 to 1928) Plutarco Elías Calles, which reduced the power of the church. The short rebellion in rural Mexico was eventually settled with the help of Dwight Morrow, ambassador to Mexico from the US.

You might recall that President Benito Juárez in the previous century severely limited the power and extreme wealth of the Catholic church.

British citizen Graham Greene thought of himself as a Catholic Agnostic. These two controversial novels describe different aspects of this short but significant time in the complicated history of Greene’s travels to Mexico to see what the effects of the conflict on Catholicism there had been.

The Lawless Roads is an account of Greene’s Mexican journey that takes him from the northern border towns to San Luis Potosí and Mexico City. From there he goes to the nearby rural state of Puebla and then to Chiapas. But his primary interest was in Tabasco, home of the atheist activist and cacique of the state, Tomás Garrido Canabal.

In 2005, The Power and the Glory was chosen by TIME magazine as one of the 100 best English-language novels since 1923. John Updike calls The Power and the Glory, “Graham Greene’s masterpiece…The energy and grandeur of his finest novel derive from the will toward compassion, an ideal communism even more Christian than Communist.”

For Graham Greene fans, this novel of southern Mexico it is often cited as their favorite by the author.

The Labyrinth of Solitude by Octavio Paz
Octavio Paz is virtually a household name in Mexico, admired and respected by people from all walks of life. Through his remarkable literary skill, Paz brings Mexico’s complex and fascinating history to life, offering richly crafted narratives that illuminate the essence of Mexican identity.

In 1998 he won the Nobel Prize for Literature for his “impassioned writing with wide horizons, characterized by sensuous intelligence and humanistic integrity.”

His most famous work, The Labyrinth of Solitude, is an indispensable and deeply illuminating read for anyone who lives in Mexico, visits, or seeks to truly understand the country. With a gentle yet compelling force, Paz draws readers into the deepest chord of the Mexican people, revealing the inner workings of their collective. Paz observes that solitude is responsible for the Mexican’s perspective on death, fiesta, and identity. Published first in 1950, the book explores difficulties of integration and cultural belonging.

Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor
Regular readers of The Eye may notice that this title pops up from time to time in my recommendations. The novel touches on many different aspects of Mexican life, especially the spiritual.

The appearance of a dead witch is the impetus for a story that is full of rumors, mythology, suspicions, and traditions of violence. It is Melchor’s style, however, that brings to life the mysterious workings of the people who live in the pueblo.

The Guardian review says it well. “A brutal portrait of small-town claustrophobia, in which machismo is a prison and corruption isn’t just institutional but domestic, with families broken by incest and violence. Melchor’s long, snaking sentences make the book almost literally unputdownable, shifting our grasp of key events by continually creeping up on them from new angles. A formidable debut.”

Mexico City Noir, edited by Paco Ignacio Taibo II
I recently ran across this anthology of short stories. These dark, acidic short stories reflect some unique-to-Mexico situations. Take note of the title of the book! This is a dark, somber series about police corruption, drug trafficking, the homeless, and the ultra-rich, to name just a few of the unforgettable characters.

All of the stories, told in different narrative styles, have one thing in common: they speak to, and about, a city the authors love.

The brilliant foreword by the much-loved editor of these stories, Paco Ignacio Taibo II, establishes the basis for these stories with a diverse cast of characters. Perhaps more important is the emphasis on the neighborhoods that drive the narrative.

Each chapter has a subtitle of a colonia (neighborhood): Roma, Condesa, Centro Histórico, Colonia de Valle, Doctores. Don’t look for a list of cafes or clubs or a discussion about gentrification in these stories; a more brutal agenda is at stake here.

Despite the barbarous themes, editor Taibo relates that while “Mexico City Noir may not be sponsored by the city’s department of tourism; but if anyone, from anywhere on earth, were to ask whether the writers recommend visiting Mexico City, the response would be both firm and passionate: ‘Yes, of course.’ Because this is the best city on the planet, in spite of itself.”

Taibo also observes that the writers “take refuge in humor, a very dark humor, acidic, which allows us enough distance to laugh at Lucifer.”

Poems and Sonnets of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
An article about Mexico, especially in an issue emphasizing the spiritual, cannot be written without a discussion about the monumental figure in our country, Sor Juana, philosopher, writer, and poet. We have written about her often over the past 15 years.

Considered the first feminist in the Americas as well as one of the most important writers in the Spanish language, in the 17th century she was defending the rights of women against the patriarchal norms of the time.

If you are a first-time reader of this significant figure in history, I would start with the poems and sonnets, especially the poem Hombres Necios that argues that men’s taste and censorship are inconsistent and that they accuse women of what they themselves cause. It exposes the inequality and injustice that women suffer through sexism and discrimination against women.

Then, continue on to the 975-line monumental poem Primero Sueño (First Dream), an extensive philosophical allegory about the search for knowledge.

Learn from Sor Juana’s most famous words: “I don’t study to know more, but to ignore less.”

Well said, sister!

The Convention Centre – Huatulco’s Unfinished Promise

By Randy Jackson—

In December 2025, formal notices of seizure were posted across the skeletal structure of the Huatulco Convention Center overlooking the Chahué Marina. Issued by the Specialized Anti-Corruption Prosecutor’s Office of Oaxaca, the notices designate the unfinished building as part of an ongoing criminal investigation, legally immobilizing the site. With that act, a project once promoted as a cornerstone of Huatulco’s future tourism economy entered a new phase, no longer merely incomplete, but formally frozen.

Projects like this are often referred to in Mexico as elefantes blancos: costly public works that never fully deliver on their promise. They are not unique to Oaxaca, nor to Mexico. What makes the Huatulco Convention Center distinctive is how its fate now sits at the intersection of ambitious planning, technical complexity, and a political transition that has left the structure and the community caught in prolonged limbo.

A PROMISE OF DEVELOPMENT

On October 5, 2019, the Oaxacan legislature authorized 3.5 billion pesos in financing for a broad portfolio of infrastructure projects across the state, intended to stimulate employment and reduce poverty. Among them was a proposed convention center for Huatulco. At the time, then-governor Alejandro Murat pledged that a special committee would closely monitor the use of public funds, and that all projects would be completed before the end of his term in 2022.

According to early project documentation, the Huatulco Convention Center was initially budgeted at 70 million pesos (US $3.7 million). Even in retrospect, that figure now appears unrealistically low, reflecting a preliminary concept rather than a fully defined architectural or engineering plan.

Shortly thereafter, the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted public works across Mexico. During that pause, however, the project was not merely postponed; it was substantially reimagined. State officials reframed it as a “strategic trigger” capable of elevating Huatulco into the international convention market alongside destinations such as Cancún or Los Cabos.

A VISION TAKES SHAPE

In December 2020, Governor Murat announced a dramatically upgraded project: an iconic waterfront convention center designed to attract international MICE (Meetings, Incentives, Conferences, and Exhibitions) tourism. To realize that vision, he appointed architect Enrique Norten, founder of TEN Arquitectos, a Mexican firm internationally recognized for contemporary civic and cultural projects characterized by glass, steel, and bold structural expression.

The proposed design called for an approximately 11,000-square-meter facility integrated into the Chahué Marina, including a 1,285-seat auditorium with advanced acoustics capable of hosting concerts, theatrical productions, and academic conferences. Public plazas and green spaces were incorporated to ensure the building functioned as a community asset rather than a sealed, single-purpose venue.

WHEN REALITY COLLIDES WITH VISION

As the project moved from concept to engineered design, costs escalated rapidly. Building a large-scale performance venue on reclaimed waterfront land introduced significant technical challenges. According to statements from state infrastructure officials at the time, the site required extensive geotechnical reinforcement, including deep foundation work and large-scale soil stabilization, to create a stable foundation before vertical construction could even begin.

As planning advanced and architectural designs were finalized, cost estimates were revised upward. By the time construction formally began in 2022, official figures placed the project at over 320 million pesos. While that amount represented a dramatic increase over early estimates, it more closely reflected the market realities of constructing a specialized, architecturally complex facility in a marine environment. What had begun as a modest line item had evolved into a technically sophisticated public landmark.

A PROJECT IN POLITICAL LIMBO

On November 29, 2022, just forty-eight hours before his term ended, Governor Murat formally inaugurated the Huatulco Convention Center in its unfinished state. Without lighting, equipment, or connection to the electrical grid, the structure nonetheless stood complete enough for a ceremonial ribbon cutting.

For the incoming state administration, the building quickly became a focal point, symbolizing unfinished business and, potentially, deeper irregularities. Rather than advancing construction, authorities shifted their attention to investigation.

Transitions between political administrations in Mexico often involve heightened scrutiny of major public works, particularly those left incomplete. Supporters see this as accountability; critics argue that prolonged investigations can indefinitely freeze projects, regardless of their potential public benefit. In Huatulco, the result has been paralysis: a completed shell, neither advanced nor dismantled, sitting idle on one of the town’s most prominent waterfront sites.

JUSTICE OR POLITICAL THEATER?

The seizure notices posted on the convention center walls are tied to a broader investigation into the 2019 infrastructure program. In late 2023, the Oaxacan Anti-Corruption Prosecutor’s Office arrested Javier Lazcano Vargas, charging him with illicit enrichment and misuse of public funds related to those projects.

Meanwhile, former governor Alejandro Murat has followed a surprisingly different political trajectory. After leaving office, he joined the ruling MORENA party and secured a seat in the Senate, thereby obtaining fuero, the constitutional immunity afforded to high-ranking legislators. The contrast has not gone unnoticed locally. For many in Huatulco, the stalled convention center has become less a symbol of justice pursued than of accountability deferred.

None of this is to suggest that investigations should be abandoned or that financial irregularities, if proven, should go unpunished. But when a criminal process indefinitely halts a project with clear public value, questions arise about balance: between enforcing accountability and fulfilling the state’s obligation to serve the community.

THE COST OF STANDSTILL

For local tourism operators, business owners, and residents, the convention center represents more than a political controversy. It was envisioned as an economic catalyst, one capable of extending the tourist season, supporting local employment, and anchoring complementary cultural and commercial activity around the marina. Its continued dormancy carries opportunity costs that compound with each passing year.

Justice and development need not be mutually exclusive. Yet as long as the Huatulco Convention Center remains sealed off as an immobilized site, it stands as a reminder that infrastructure can become collateral damage in political struggles. The unfinished structure on the Chahué waterfront is no longer just an unrealized building; it is a test of whether governance in Oaxaca can reconcile accountability with the practical needs of the communities it serves.

Randy Jackson blends local reporting from the perspective of a seasonal Huatulco resident with explorations of life and change in Huatulco, Oaxaca and Mexico. Email, box95jackson@gmail.com

Jewish Pilgrimage Festivals in Mexico

By Marcia Chaiken and Jan Chaiken—

Among the many pilgrimages that occur in Mexico, probably the ones with the oldest historical foundations are some Jewish observances. Known in Hebrew as the Shalosh Regalim, the “three pilgrimage festivals,” the observance of these ancient practices was carried here by Jews who accompanied the Spanish conquistadors. They were practiced in secret, since the Spanish Inquisition imposed the death penalty on those who carried out Jewish observances.

Historically, the three Jewish pilgrimages occurred in the land of Israel during times when Temples existed in Jerusalem: Solomon’s Temple, between the 10th and 6th centuries BCE, and the Second Temple, between 538 BCE and 70 CE.

Three times each year, marking the beginning of the spring barley harvest, the beginning of the summer wheat harvest, and the end of the annual fall harvests, Jewish law, as written in the Torah (Jewish scriptures), commanded that members of the twelve tribes of Israel travel from their home territories, largely by foot, up to the Temple in Jerusalem carrying specific offerings.

The three pilgrimages were known by names that are still used around the world, including in Mexico today. The spring harvest pilgrimage was also known as Passover (Pesaj); the beginning of the summer pilgrimage, Shavuot; and the fall pilgrimage, Sukkot, or the Feast of Booths (Cabañuelas).

In addition to offerings of the choicest of the harvest, each of the pilgrimages required sacrifices of animals brought by the pilgrims to the priests at the Temple. The Passover sacrifice was a one-year-old unblemished male lamb. The lamb was a reminder of the sacrifice of a lamb and shared meal that took place about 3,300 years ago on the night before the Israelite slaves were freed in Egypt and began their long journey toward the Promised Land.

Shavuot involved offerings of first fruits and loaves of bread baked from the choicest early wheat, along with a diverse selection of domesticated animals. Once again, the animals were chosen from the best of the herds and flocks and examined to ensure the absence of any blemish. These sacrifices reenacted the ceremonial offerings that, according to the Torah, took place at the foot of Mount Sinai, where the Ten Commandments were given to the Israelites.

The most noteworthy animal sacrifice for Sukkot entailed seventy bulls offered over the seven days of the pilgrimage festival. Temple rites for Sukkot also involved a far less bloody ceremony: the water ceremony. Pilgrims lined the path the priests followed from the Temple down to a pool of water at the bottom of the Temple Mount.

As the priests descended to fill their ceremonial bowls and climbed back up to the Temple, the pilgrims sang and danced in joy. They continued singing and dancing as the priests poured the water, together with wine, over the Temple altar, assuring all that there would be sufficient rain to produce abundant crops in the following year.

Pilgrimage to Jerusalem came to an end in 70 CE when the Roman army besieged the Temple Mount, almost completely destroyed the Temple, leaving only the Western Wall standing, killed a large portion of the Jewish population in the Holy Land, and sent thousands more into exile. With the destruction of the Temple and the end of priestly sacrifice, it fell to the rabbis to decide how Judaism could continue without pilgrimages to the Temple Mount or flesh-and-blood offerings. The discussions and debates that followed were recorded for posterity. Although physical pilgrimage ceased, the rabbis continued to refer to the festivals as the Shalosh Regalim, and each holiday remained a hag, the Hebrew word for pilgrimage, linguistically related to the Arabic hajj.

Since the end of the Inquisition in Mexico in 1820 and Mexico’s independence from Spain shortly thereafter, the Shalosh Regalim have been openly practiced by observant (and not so observant) Jews. Passover seders, often large family and community gatherings, retell the story of the Exodus from slavery in Egypt. On the seder table, along with other symbolic foods, is a shank bone, a reminder of the original sacrificial lamb. On Shavuot, meals traditionally include grains and fruits reminiscent of those once harvested and brought to the Temple. On Sukkot, ceremonies involve four species of ancient plants. A bundle of willow, palm, and myrtle, called the lulav, when shaken produces a sound likened to falling rain. Although the water ceremony exists only in memory, Jews still sing and dance as they shake the lulav and pray for a year of sufficient rain to foster the coming crops.

As the hag of Passover ends, those gathered for seders often call out in Spanish, “Este año estamos aquí; el próximo año, en Jerusalén.” (“This year we are here; next year, in Jerusalem.”)

2026 Festival Dates
Passover begins on the evening of Wednesday, April 1, 2026, and concludes Thursday, April 9, 2026

Shavuot begins on the evening of Thursday, May 21, 2026, and concludes Saturday, May 23, 2026

Sukkot begins on the evening of Friday, September 25, 2026, and concludes Friday, October 2, 2026.

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

A Pilgrimage Nobody Asked For

By Kary Vannice—

When people talk about pilgrimage in Mexico, they usually envision a basilica or a shrine of spiritual significance, someplace established, sanctified, religious. A place where the route is well known, the motivation clear, and the rules are understood. The local community, for better or worse, is built around the incoming seekers.

But Huautla de Jiménez in the state of Oaxaca never had that luxury. What occurred there in the 1950s and 60s didn’t align with the natural order of a pilgrimage destination. The people there didn’t want to be a destination, and yet, without their consent, the world arrived anyway.

At the center of it all was a curandera (a healer) named María Sabina, of the Mazatec tradition, a local woman who performed ceremonies using psilocybin mushrooms to heal illness, resolve inner conflict, and restore energetic balance. Her ceremonies were based in ancient knowledge and were performed for local people and “hometown” problems.

But in 1955, a United States banker turned amateur ethnomycologist, R. Gordon Wasson, visited Huautla and participated in one of María Sabina’s ceremonies. The experience affected him so deeply that he published an account of it in Life magazine.

And for Huautla, a town that had existed in near anonymity for centuries, this cast them directly into the limelight. Life was one of the most widely read magazines in the United States, and in a single article, Huautla was transformed from a place into an idea and, for many readers, into a destination.

Wasson’s story presented the town not as a community, but as a doorway, a spiritual gateway that anyone who wanted could walk through. So, people came by the thousands to the small, remote village that was not prepared for global “fame,” nor in any position to receive it.

Traditionally, pilgrimage sites develop over time. An infrastructure of support builds itself around the seekers who gravitate there. Communities have time to negotiate and navigate their relationship with the influx of outsiders. Huautla had no such opportunity. Visitors arrived faster than the town could accommodate them.

And unlike most pilgrims, they did not come at a specific time of year, or on a significant date that could be prepared for and, more importantly, recovered from. They came in a constant, unrelenting stream, consumers of an experience they knew little about. And many came without regard, reverence, or respect for the local people or their customs.

Sadly, their influence changed the local ceremonies forever, destroying the very thing they sought. The psilocybin mushrooms, once honored as “living wisdom,” became objects of curiosity and experimentation.

María Sabina herself once said, “From the moment the foreigners arrived, the mushrooms lost their purity. They lost their force. The strangers spoiled them.”

But the strangers didn’t just spoil the mushrooms. They spoiled the sense of place, the sacredness of ancient customs, and they fractured the bonds of the community. The small village acquired a global reputation it did not choose and, ultimately, could not control.

The history books remember María Sabina as someone who “opened the door.” A very convenient story for those who do not have to live with the consequences of its telling. Sabina was blamed by her community for the unexpected and unwelcome impact of the outsiders and lived much of her later years in isolation as an outcast, alone and disheartened.

This is the part of the story that rarely fits the pilgrims’ romanticized narrative. Something they forget is that those who come can go home again, but the place cannot. Huautla will never again return to the humble, unassuming mountain town of its ancestors. It is forever changed and has been forced to adapt to the year-round seekers who still come in search of the mystical.

The story of Huautla shines a light on an uncomfortable question: who gets to decide when something sacred becomes a destination?

The people who came believed they were on a spiritual journey. But pilgrimage, in its traditional sense, implies responsibility, relationship, and a shared understanding between those who arrive and those who receive. In a modern world that makes access easy and distance irrelevant, there will be more places like Huautla, and more communities asked to adapt to stories they did not write.
Seen this way, the story is not really about María Sabina, or even about mushrooms. It is about what happens when the outside world decides something is meaningful and forgets that the people who live there are the ones who must live with what that meaning becomes.

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

Editor’s Letter

By Jane Bauer—

“I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee
I’m going to Graceland
Poor boys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to Graceland
My traveling companion is nine years old
He is the child of my first marriage
But I’ve reason to believe we both will be received in Graceland”
Paul Simon, singer and songwriter

If you are reading this, you have probably already undertaken a lot of journeys to get here. A pilgrimage is often associated with religion, but there are many other roads than the one to God that lead to salvation. Maybe salvation is too powerful a word for some journeys- communion, perhaps.

It would make sense for this topic to tell of my own journey to my Mexican life almost 30 years ago, but when I think of pilgrimage, I think of a road trip I took with my daughter.

Even though I had already been living in Mexico for close to 15 years, I had several items in Canada that I didn’t want to part with: art my father left me when he died, a few pieces of furniture. We all have things we don’t want to part with just yet. I purchased an old Canada Post truck, filled it up, and my nine-year-old daughter and I took a road trip from Montreal to Huatulco.

It was hot, like driving in a sardine can. The radio didn’t work, but we had an iPod that played music through a speaker. In college, I was briefly obsessed with a book called Reflections on the Birth of the Elvis Faith, which likened the Elvis following to a religious phenomenon. So when my daughter and I found ourselves rumbling along the highway near Memphis, Tennessee, the words to Paul Simon’s Graceland came back to me: “My traveling companion is nine years old.” Without hesitation, we veered towards Graceland.

What back in the 1970s what was considered a mansion now just looked like a large suburban house. I asked people on the shuttle if it was their first time, and for most, it wasn’t. For many, it was an annual pilgrimage; for some, like us, a curiosity. Were we part of the pilgrimage or observers?

We toured the house, and when we reached the Jungle Room, my daughter said, “Like the song.” She meant Walking in Memphis – we had listened to it on some stretch of highway through Ohio.

Saw the ghost of Elvis
On Union Avenue
Followed him up to the gates of Graceland
Then I watched him walk right through
Now security they did not see him
They just hovered ’round his tomb
But there’s a pretty little thing
Waiting for the King
Down in the Jungle Room

As people, journeying, searching, and having faith in something other than our own immediate existence is perhaps the most unifying human experience. Does it really matter if we call this feeling and belief by different names?

See you next month,

Jane