The Turbulent History of Daufuskie Island

Once home to many Gullah families, this South Carolina Sea Island has a rich history, including the Yamasee War in Bloody Point and the once-thriving Daufuski Oysters business.

A wedding at the Union Baptist Church. Daufuskie Island was once home to hundreds of Gullah — but only 12 or so remain today.

Part of Daufuskie’s charm lies in its unspoiled landscape. Gnarled limbs of old growth live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Outlying marshes of Spartina grass rustling in the wind. Many of its roads are still unpaved, which is one of the reasons we were unable to visit last year due to heavy rainfall. 

The South Carolina Sea Island, situated between Hilton Head Island and Savannah, Georgia, has many dilapidated historic properties — but there are also a couple of newer gated communities, including the upscale Haig Point and Bloody Point, which are strictly off limits to non-residents. The island was once mostly populated by Gullah, African American descendants of slaves living in South Carolina (and called Geechee in Georgia). Nowadays, less than a third of the homes on Daufuskie are owned by the original Gullah families — and only 12 or so Gullah actually still live there. 

“The Yamasee War was a massacre, as native weaponry was no match for European firepower — which is how the neighborhood Bloody Point got its name. ”

Chief Tamochichi, with his nephew, of the Yamacraw, a native tribe composed of Creek and Yamasee. (Incidentally, when Pat Conroy wrote about Daufuskie in this memoir, The Water Is Wide, he changed the island’s name to Yamacraw (but he wasn’t fooling anybody.)

The First Inhabitants: A Deal With Spain

In the 1500s, the Muscogee (aka Creek) native tribe encountered the invading Spaniards, who claimed the Atlantic coast spanning from St. Augustine, Florida to Charleston, South Carolina. However, when they stopped on Daufuskie, they decided that this wasn’t an ideal place to start a new colony. They left a few Iberian horses known as the Carolina Marsh Tacky and made a deal with the Muscogees. If the natives were to fend off any other Europeans looking to colonize the area, the Spaniards would back them up with military support and pay them in gold. 

Despite the Spanish promising they’d help the Native Americans fend off other European invaders, they abandoned them to the British.

The Yamasee War: How Bloody Point Got Its Name

Time passed, and the next two centuries had little effect on the natives, until the English established a colony on Daufuskie. Suffice to say, the Spanish didn’t keep their word in offering support and were nowhere to be found. 

Inevitably, conflict arose, in part because the British settlers believed it was their sovereign right to claim the land. And while the indigenous Muscogee and Yemassee traded food, animal hides and local knowledge for knives, copper kettles and beads, the exchange rate wasn’t deemed fair. 

Tomahawks and bows were no match for the British army’s guns. The Yamasee War resulted in the slaughter of the indigenous people.

This prompted the Yamasee, who inhabited the nearby coastal region of Georgia, to join the Creek in attacking the British settlers. The raids turned into massacres, as native weaponry was no match for European firepower — which is how the neighborhood Bloody Point got its name. 

A small one-room wooden home known as a single pen house on Daufuskie

The Rise of Slave Labor 

After the war ended, English settlers cleared the island of vegetation to cultivate crops. They also divided the island into 11 plantations. According to our guide Ryland, with Tour Daufuskie, it was so thoroughly cleared, it was said that you could see from one end of Daufuskie to the other — a depressing fact given that the island is five miles long and two and a half miles wide. 

The British brought slaves from the Rice Coast of West Africa as well as Central Africa. European settlers relied on the skills of the enslaved to cultivate rice, cotton and indigo, resulting in some of the wealthiest antebellum plantations in the South. 

Over time, the enslaved Africans developed a dialect also called Gullah. The vocabulary and grammatical roots came from English and African languages. Isolated from the mainland, the Gullah maintained African traditions, culture and religion. Gullah is a living language that’s still spoken in the region. 

The Uncle Remus stories, including the tales of Brer Rabbit, were written in Gullah.

The British tried growing rice and sugarcane — crops that had flourished on nearby Hilton Head. But because Daufuskie is at a higher altitude, its ground-water levels were too low to sustain these lucrative crops for export. 

Indigo was the first profitable commercial crop and a significant part of the economy for about 50 years, followed by Sea Island cotton. The indigo plant was grown to produce a royal blue dye that was exported to England. “If it had ‘royal’ in the name, they were gonna buy it,” Ryland said.

The spongey palmetto logs used to build Fort Moultrie helped absorb cannon fire from the British armada.

Why South Carolina Is the Palmetto State

Throughout the Revolutionary War, South Carolina remained loyal to England. Part of this was an economic motivation: The colonists believed their defeat would end the demand for indigo. However, as the British fleet got closer, the settlers realized it didn’t matter whether or not they were loyalists; they would still be attacked. 

To defend Charleston harbor, the colonists built Fort Moultrie on Sullivan’s Island from the palmetto, or cabbage palm. The name cabbage palm comes from the fact that the heart of the palm can be eaten raw or can be cooked into what was known by early settlers as swamp cabbage. 

Palmetto isn’t a traditional type of wood. It’s soft, doesn’t splinter and is almost sponge-like due to its high water content. Fort Moultrie had two walls of palmetto logs and sand, a combination that worked well at absorbing cannonballs fired at it by British ships. This unique wood helped save South Carolina, which became the Palmetto State, and the tree now has a place of honor on the state flag. 

After the war ended, England did indeed stop importing indigo from South Carolina. They basically said, if you’re not part of our kingdom, we don’t want your indigo. The crown had a new colony in India, and to this day, India is the world’s top producer of indigo. 

However, England did continue to purchase Sea Island cotton because it was just rare enough that they couldn’t be very picky about where they got it from. Freed slaves who lived on the island grew cotton through the Civil War, until fields were ruined by the boll weevil. 

Out Back Daufuskie Way by Alexandra Sharma

From Reparations to Sharecropping

Union forces captured Daufuskie in 1861. Their main job was to keep track of the ships going in and out of the Savannah River and ensure that no weapons, food or ammunition reached the Southern states. Plantation owners fled, leaving behind their property as well as their elderly slaves, who weren’t deemed worth the expense to relocate.

After the Emancipation Proclamation, Daufuskie was home to a large population of freed slaves who had worked on the island’s plantations. As a form of reparation, slaves received 40 acres and a mule, land abandoned by White colonists throughout the South. 

However, President Andrew Johnson intervened, ordering most of the land to be returned to its former owners. Despite having settled the land, the Gullah on Daufuskie had to switch to sharecropping, a system where the landowner allowed use of the land in exchange for crops. The situation wasn’t unlike serfdom, tying the Gullah to the land and trapping them into high debts.  

The oyster industry employed Daufuskie residents in its heyday. When the oyster beds were polluted from a nearby paper mill, most islanders left — never to return.

Aw Shucks: When the World Was Their Oyster

Indigo and cotton weren’t the only lucrative industries on the island. L.P. Maggioni & Company established an oyster cannery on Daufuskie in 1894 and employed many Gullah men, women and even children. Containers with the distinctive profile of an Indian chief on its label can be seen in the Daufuskie Island History Museum.  

Gullah men went out on the water in bateaux, flat-bottomed wooden boats, during low tide to pluck up all the oysters they could haul back. It was the women who shucked the oysters, though — up to 7 to 9 gallons a day. 

While the men went out in the boats to gather oysters, it was women (and children) who had to shuck them all.

Even though the local cannery closed in the 1950s, you can still get Daufuski Brand Oysters — they just come from Korea now.

There was a cannery on the island from 1898 to 1956. Around that time, wood pulp waste from a paper mill on the Savannah River polluted the water and contaminated the oyster beds. With the closing of the factory, most families left for better opportunities in nearby Savannah. 

Daufuski Oysters are still available — they’re just harvested in Korea.

Some of the Gullah homes on Daufuskie are available as vacation rentals as part of a program to preserve them.

Heirs’ Properties on Daufuskie 

As we drove around the island in a golf cart, we noticed wood-framed homes sitting among the vegetation in varying states of disrepair. We asked Ryland about them, and he informed us that they’re historic Gullah homes known as oyster cottages. Referred to as “heirs’ properties,” these homes are passed down from generation to generation without legal documentation. Most Gullah never returned to Daufuskie, but all heirs have the same claim to the property, whether or not they live on it, pay taxes on it or have ever set foot on it. Because so many people can be involved, it’s tough to sell or restore one of the homes since everyone must agree on the course of action. As a result, many of the oyster cottages have become dilapidated. 

Enter the nonprofit Palmetto Trust for Historic Preservation (now Preservation South Carolina), which developed the Daufuskie Endangered Places Program in 2011. The initiative was funded in part through a grant provided by the 1772 Foundation, an organization whose mission is to preserve historic properties. The trust’s first project was to restore the Frances Jones House. 

It’s a cool program: Descendants retain ownership under a long-term lease with the preservation group. Restored cottages are available as vacation rentals. Once the lease is paid off, the homes revert back to the heirs. By staying on Daufuskie Island, you’re helping preserve its history. 

The haunted-looking Melrose Resort on Daufuskie, long abandoned after its owners swindled investors out of millions and declared bankruptcy.

Financial Fraud at Melrose Landing 

In the modern era, Daufuskie has developed some high-end gated communities. But even the best-laid plans can go awry. Case in point: Melrose Landing. The namesake resort was developed in the 1980s and included an inn, beach cottages, a Jack Nicklaus-designed golf course and a ferry landing.

The resort was purchased in 2011 by Utah-based developer Pelorus Group, which, over eight years, proceeded to defraud its investors. The real estate firm ran a dubious Ponzi-like scheme, including wire and tax fraud, using $1.8 million of investor money for personal use without disclosing any of it to the IRS. The vacation property first filed for bankruptcy in 2009 and again in 2017, when the firm’s managing partner, James Thomas Bramlette, was indicted. In the end, the Pelorus Group owed creditors about $35 million. The derelict resort is currently seeking an investor willing to put up $19 million in cash. Any takers?

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The following photos were taken by Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe from 1977 to 1982. At the time, less than 85 permanent residents lived in the 50-some homes on Daufuskie. The island’s amenities consisted of a co-op store, a two-room school, a nursery, a church and two active cemeteries.

An Old Woman Sitting at a Table in Her Home by Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe

Susie Sanding Next to a Holy Picture in Her Living Room by Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe

A Shrimper and His Son by Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe

Boiling Crab by Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe

Daufuskie’s Rich but Tragic History: Hope for the Future

Daufuskie has a turbulent history: bloody battles, mistreatment of slaves, the lost oyster industry. It once bustled with activity and commerce, but now few Gullah people remain. In fact, much of the island is home to wealthy White residents living in private gated communities such as Haig Point and Bloody Point. 

But by learning about and visiting the island, we can help preserve a vibrant heritage. And thanks to Preservation South Carolina and others like them, future generations of Gullah families might someday be able to return to the island. –Duke

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Check out those sideburns on Conroy!

READ ON: Daufuskie Island Tour: Learn about bestselling author Pat Conroy’s connection to the island, see the historic sites and meet some local artisans.

Daufuskie Island History and Artisan Tour

Hop in a golf cart and see the real-life Yamacraw Island, South Carolina, including the school where author Pat Conroy taught and the history museum, with stops at Daufuskie Soap Company and the Iron Fish. And stop by the Old Daufuskie Crab Company before catching the Daufuskie Island Ferry back to the mainland.

Daufuskie doesn’t have a bridge to the mainland, so your only option to visit is by boat.

For years, Wally and I have wanted to visit Daufuskie. The remote southernmost Sea Island is tucked away between Hilton Head, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia. 

What was the appeal? The small island retains the rich history of the Gullah-Geechee people, descendants of West and Central African slaves brought to the region and forced to work on Lowcountry plantations. It also boasts a small but thriving makers community — but I’ll get to that later.  

There’s no bridge connecting Daufuskie to the mainland, and the only way to reach it is by ferry or water taxi. Last year, rain prevented us from going, and before that it was closed to tourism due to the coronavirus pandemic. 

A day trip to Daufuskie is a good excuse to get out on the water. The Daufuskie Island Ferry leaves from this dock by a distinctive failed restaurant just over the bridge from Hilton Head.

This December we booked a guided History and Artisans Tour with local operator Tour Daufuskie and took the 45-minute ferry ride from Buckingham Landing just off of Hilton Head. Roundtrip rides cost $50 per person. 

Gullahs, descendants of slaves, once made up most of the population of Daufuskie. Now few remain. Their cemeteries were by the water so their spirits could travel back to Africa.

What Daufuskie?! 

According to local lore, Daufuskie got its name from the Gullah “Da Fus Cay,” meaning “the first key (or island).” However, we were disappointed to learn that the name actually comes from the island’s first inhabitants, the Muscogee, or Creek, Indians. In their language, daufa means “feather” and fuskie “pointed.” Combine the two, and you have something that translates to “Pointed Feather,” a reference to the island’s distinctive shape. 

Once Wally and I disembarked at Freeport Marina, we met our guide Ryland, who was waiting for us at the end of the boardwalk. We were provided with golf carts and given a quick tutorial on how to use them. There are very few cars on the island. Golf carts and bikes are the preferred modes of transportation.

At the first stop, Ryland told us a bit about the island’s history. Ancient piles of oyster shells, and artifacts such as pottery fragments and arrowheads left by the indigenous Muscogee and Yemasse tribes were discovered by archaeologists on Daufuskie — with some dating as far back as 7000 BCE. 

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RELATED: The Sea Pines Shell Ring Mystery

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This old schoolhouse now serves as the first stop on a tour of the history of Daufuskie — and acts as the community’s library.

An Education at the Jane Hamilton School

Our tour began at the Jane Hamilton School, part of the Billie Burn Museum complex. The one-room schoolhouse was built in the late 1930s using blueprints provided by Julius Rosenwald, head of the Sears, Roebuck and Company mail order empire. Rosenwald was a philanthropist who met renowned educator and prominent African American thought leader Booker T. Washington and recognized the need for educational facilities for disadvantaged Southern Black children. This sparked a transformative collaboration between the pair, and a program emerged to construct modest educational buildings, which later became known as Rosenwald Schools.

Kids used to go to school here until 5th grade, when they’d have to work their family’s farm full time.

The Jane Hamilton School provided education from kindergarten to 5th grade. As this was built at the tail end of the Great Depression, Rosenwald was unable to provide the raw materials required to build the facility. It was financed using money raised by the island community and erected by local craftsmen and workers employed by the government-funded Works Progress Administration (WPA) — with some help from the children themselves. 

The school year started in September and ended in March, Ryland informed us. Most Gullah families could not afford to send their children to the mainland to continue their education. Once they completed 5th grade, they were expected to work on the family farm full time. (This prompted some kids to purposely fail to prolong their education, according to our guide.) Today the former school is home to the Gullah Learning Center and the community library. 

The Daufuskie Island History Museum was once a Baptist church.

An Alligator and Gullah Bible at the Daufuskie Island History Museum

The next stop was Mount Carmel Baptist Church Number 2, so named because the first was destroyed by a hurricane in 1940. It’s now home to the Daufuskie Island History Museum. Among the artifacts on display are a taxidermied 11.5-foot alligator, a 19th century Gullah Bible, Indian arrowheads and a restored 1890s pump organ. The museum also has a nook that sells books about the island’s history. 

Wally poses by Al, the taxidermied alligator on display.

The history museum has a jumble of artifacts, including a charming pump organ and a Bible written in Gullah. Here’s John 3:16: “Cause God lob all de people een de wol sommuch dat e gii we e onliest Son.”

Sarah Hudson Grant’s Buggy: A Labor of Love

Our final stop in the museum complex was a small structure sheltering the one-horse buggy of Sarah Hudson Grant. When women went into labor on Daufuskie, they would ask for Mrs. Grant aka Granny to come. She became a midwife in 1932 and was married to the island’s undertaker. When he died in 1962, she stepped in and took his place. Grant charged $5 to deliver a baby or $10 to deliver a baby and do a week’s worth of laundry after. 

The horse-drawn carriage used by legendary midwife Sarah Hudson Grant was restored by Amish craftsmen (who painted it black, which they felt was much more proper than red).

Over a 37-year period, Grant “grannied” 130 babies on Daufuskie without losing one — and as the undertaker, she was the last to bid farewell to many. The Gullah said, “Granny bring ’em ’n she tek ’em away.”

With no medical instruments or doctors on the island, locals would holler from one property to another to alert her as to who was going into labor and where — at which point, she would hook her horse Tillman up to the carriage and hurry off to deliver the baby.

Ryland told us that electricity didn’t reach the island until the 1950s, with the first telephone following two decades later, in 1973.

Grant retired in 1969. 

Billie Burn Museum Complex
44 Old Haig Point Road 

The local Baptist Church is the oldest original building on Daufuskie and has been restored twice.

You Gotta Have Faith: The First Union African Baptist Church

The First Union African Baptist Church was built in 1884 and is the oldest original building on the island. It has served as a place of worship and faith for over a century and was built on the grounds of the former Mary Fields cotton plantation.

The structure has had two major facelifts. The first was in 1952, when the island received electricity. Fixtures were converted from gas to electric, and the second was in 1982, when the foundation was reinforced, as over time the structure had begun to slowly sink into the ground. Even today you can still notice a tilt to the walls and doors.

To become a member of the parish, you had to go on a spirit quest into the woods to commune with God.

When the parish was first established, it wasn’t a traditional church, where you could simply show up and attend. You would have to go to the church leaders and tell them you were interested in joining the congregation. They would instruct you to find a quiet place in the woods to pray, and while there, you would hopefully receive a message from God. You’d report back, and a spirit guide would be summoned to interpret your vision. If they weren’t convinced, you’d have to try again, because God (and the church) wasn’t quite ready for you. 

Members of the congregation had assigned seating. Men sat on one side and women on the other. The church was the head of the community, in charge of law enforcement, finances and school openings. If you did something that made the community angry, you would be seated in the back, so that everybody knew you were being scorned.

The Praise House on the grounds of the church was a gathering place for slaves, where religious services were held.

Praise You at the Praise House

Tucked to the side of the First Union African Baptist Church stands a simple, weathered wood structure. It’s a reproduction of the original “praise house” that stood there for more than a century. These structures were intentionally built small to prevent large gatherings of slaves, as plantation owners feared that they could easily be overthrown or killed. 

When the house was open, the deacon or worship leader would stand on the top step or in the doorway, and most slaves would gather to sit outside on the grass. Those members of the congregation inside the praise house would rhythmically stomp upon the wooden floors, creating a communal drum of sorts. 

Singing was an important element of the services and hymns were often sung in round, a short musical piece in which multiple voices sing the same melody but start the song at different times. Services also included songs known as call and response, where the leader would sing out a phrase that was answered by the congregation. These buildings might have been called praise houses, but because of the cacaphony heard during services, plantation owners referred to them as shout houses.

First Union African Baptist Church
School Road 

Daufuskie Soap Company started out on a porch like other artisan workshops on the island.

Peachy Clean at Daufuskie Soap Company

Part of the tour was to visit local artisans (those makers I mentioned earlier). One of them is Jan Crosby, who makes soap, lotions and other body care products inspired by the scents of the island. Before we entered the shop, Ryland told us it was originally named Daufuskie Peach — a nod to Crosby’s native roots in Georgia. Like most artisans on the island, she started out by creating a workshop on her porch. Tired of people expecting a fruit stand, Crosby has since changed the name. We purchased a bar of sandalwood soap. 

Daufuskie Soap Company
228 School Road

Stop by Daufuskie Blues to see some amazing patterns — and ask for a demonstration.

Indigo Immersion at the Mary Fields School 

A short golf cart ride from the church is the Mary Fields School, where local celebrity Pat Conroy taught schoolchildren in 1969. The historic schoolhouse was built in 1933 and now contains Daufuskie Blues, a shop selling indigo-dyed clothing. 

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RELATED: How Indigo Is Made

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For 20 years, the school had no cafeteria or lunchroom. Eventually one was built in the back, and it’s now School Grounds Coffee. We greatly appreciated the chance to get a caffeine fix on an island that doesn’t offer much in terms of places to eat.

The two-room schoolhouse where Pat Conroy once taught is now an indigo shop, art studio and coffeeshop.

Kindergarten through 3rd grade were taught by Mrs. Brown in one room, and 4th through 8th grade by Frances Jones in the other. When Jones retired in 1969, she was replaced for one year by the late novelist Conroy. Fresh out of grad school, he wanted to come to Daufuskie to teach, inspire and motivate students. But his methods were unconventional — and controversial. He would regularly take students over to the mainland to places like Bluffton, Savannah and even Washington, D.C. At the end of his first year teaching, Conroy was fired. He went on to write an autobiographical book about his time at the Mary Fields School called The Water Is Wide, adapted into a movie starring Jon Voight named Conrack, which is how the Gullah children pronounced Conroy’s name. 

Conroy never returned to teaching, but he did keep in contact with his students and continued to write. Ryland added that even though Conroy was forced out of the school, he made out all right, going on to have a successful literary career, penning bestselling books like The Great Santini and The Prince of Tides.

Daufuskie Indigo
School Grounds Coffee
203 School Road

Chase Allen’s artwork has gotten quite popular and won an American Made award from Martha Stewart Living.

Reeling in Art at the Iron Fish

Our final stop was the Iron Fish, where a whimsical menagerie of fish, mermaids, stingrays and other coastal creatures fashioned from distressed sheet metal are displayed in the open-air gallery owned by artist Chase Allen. 

Allen has an outdoor workshop on the island.

Payment is on the honor system.

Allen asks patrons to pay by the “honor system”: Leave a check in the box on his front porch or make a mobile payment through Zelle. 

The Iron Fish 
168 Benjies Point Road 

The Old Daufuskie Crab Company has a great outdoor space — but it was too cold to enjoy when we visited in December. It’s one of only a couple of restaurants that stay open all year.

Lunch Stop at Old Daufuskie Crab Company

Our two-hour tour wrapped at 1 p.m., so Wally and I wanted to grab some lunch before catching the 2:30 ferry back to the mainland. We decided it’d be best to get back by the harbor, so we stopped into the Old Daufuskie Crab Company. We ordered beers and a basket of spicy shrimp — but passed on the “scrap iron,” an Arnold Palmer-esque cocktail made with moonshine. 

Old Daufuskie Crab Company
256 Cooper River Landing Road

Ryland, with Tour Daufuskie, was a storehouse of interesting local knowledge. The poor guy is only one of a few people his age on the island.

A visit to Daufuskie is a great day trip if you’re in the Hilton Head or Bluffton area. You get to be on the water, tool around in golf carts and learn some fascinating Gullah history. And you couldn’t hope for a better guide than Ryland. We enjoyed spending time with him and were impressed with his knowledge of the island. While the weather was a bit cold on our visit in December, we were happy to finally have made it to Daufuskie. We’ll be back. –Duke

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RELATED: Gullah History of Hilton Head

The Art-Filled Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez El Nigromante

Like many of the most beautiful buildings in Mexico, the Ignacio Ramirez the Necromancer Cultural Center was once a convent. Now this San Miguel de Allende landmark is filled with dramatic murals by David Alfaro Siqueiros, Pedro Martínez and Eleanor Cohen.

The centerpiece of the gorgeous courtyard at the cultural center is a fountain topped with the Christian Lamb of God. Keep in mind that this was once the cloisters of a convent.

Days before her death, Sister María Josefa began to cough up larvae. “The pain was so acute that she fainted,” wrote Miguel J. Malo and F. León de Vivero in the now-out-of-print guidebook San Miguel Allende. Despite her discomfort, she’s said to have kept the larvae — which later transformed into butterflies. 

The nearby Iglesia de la Concepción was once connected to a convent, which gave the church its nickname, Las Monjas (the Nuns).

The beguiling former 18th century Convento de la Concepción was founded in 1736 by María Josefa Lina de la Canal y Hervás, the daughter of the influential de la Canal family. At the age of 15, María Josefa’s parents died, and she inherited a large sum of money, which she used to construct la Iglesia de la Concepción, known locally as Las Monjas (the Nuns), and the adjoining convent. 

A bust of Ramírez sits atop a pedestal in the courtyard. 

“El Nigromante (The Necromancer) was the pseudonym used by Ramírez, a lifelong champion of atheism and freethinking, to conceal his identity in the radical articles he wrote.”

An iron sculpture of a bull by David Kestenbaum stands sentinel in front of the bright yellow façade of the former Convento de la Concepción.

From Convent to Cultural Center 

In 1938, after a series of other uses, the complex was converted into the secular Escuela Universitaria de Bellas Artes by Peruvian painter and political-activist-in-exile Felipe Cossío del Pomar. It is now known as the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez “El Nigromante,” in honor of the progressive thinker by that name. El Nigromante (the Necromancer) was the pseudonym Ramírez used to conceal his identity in the radical articles he wrote, which would have surely upset the conservative governing authority of the time. A lifelong champion of atheism and freethinking, Ramírez caused a scandal, for instance, when, in a speech to the literary Academy of San Juan de Letrán, he declared that God didn’t exist. 

A quilt artwork was hanging in the courtyard, with Las Monjas church in the background.

Enjoy the tranquil atmosphere of the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez.

Various artworks fill the grassy courtyard of the cultural center.

Las Lavanderas (The Washerwomen) by Eleanor Cohen

The Washerwomen Mural

The inner courtyard of the former cloister is surrounded by a succession of contiguous arches. As Wally and I walked beneath them, we discovered a fresco by the American artist and printmaker Eleanor Cohen. The piece is known as Las Lavanderas, (The Washerwomen) and was influenced by the figural style of the famous muralist José Clemente Orozco.  

Cohen and her husband, Max Kahn, were both Works Progress Administration artists paid by the federal government to promote pride and patriotism through public art during the late 1930s. She was the first female recipient of the James Nelson Raymond Traveling Fellowship from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and she used it to study at the Escuela Universitaria de Bellas Artes in San Miguel de Allende. Kahn taught printmaking there, and Cohen began working on the mural in 1941. Her painting depicts indigenous peasant women washing clothing at a river with a group of children bathing in the foreground. I love that a mural that has a similarly emotive power as the works of Diego Rivera and Orozco was painted by a non-native woman — quite unusual for the time. 

As we entered the room housing Siqueiros’ unfinished work, Wally was startled by the guard sitting against the wall. In his defense, the room is dimly lit. 

Siguiero’s Unfinished Work 

Stirling Dickinson, an American credited with helping establish San Miguel de Allende as an arts center, became the director of the school shortly after his arrival. During his tenure, he invited the celebrated Mexican muralist David Alfaro Siqueiros, an outspoken Mexican Communist Party member, to teach at Bellas Artes in 1948.

His students, who were predominantly U.S. and Canadian war veterans, were enthusiastic about painting a mural under Siquiero’s direction. However, he quickly exceeded his modest art class budget, and abruptly departed after a quarrel with the school’s administrative director, Alfredo Campanella, over funding. 

Duke in the nuns’ former dining hall, now home to an unfinished work by the legendary muralist Siquieros

The impressive unfinished work, Vida y Obra de General Ignacio Allende (Life and Work of General Ignacio Allende), can be found in a room along the north wing, fittingly called the Sala Siquieros. The cavernous space once served as the convent’s dining hall. The intent of the mural was to depict the life of Allende, a leader of Mexico’s War of Independence so well respected that the town, once called San Miguel el Grande became San Miguel de Allende after his death.

A cartoonish detail from Vida y Obra de General Ignacio Allende reveals Siqueiros’ process.

Entering the room and looking up, I noticed a playful almost cartoonish face with elaborate curlicue scrollwork around it. Elsewhere, lines, colors and geometric shapes crisscrossed the walls and vaulted ceiling where painted flames shoot across the ceiling and explode above what looks like an aerial view of farmland. In my opinion the unfinished state of the mural makes it more interesting, as it provides the viewer with a glimpse into the creative process of Siquieros.

Not surprisingly, El Fanatismo del Pueblo by Pedro Martínez, with its giant vampire bat attack, was Duke and Wally’s favorite mural at the cultural center.

Superstition and Drinking Culture in Martínez’s Paintings

Elsewhere within the complex are four works by Pedro Martínez. In 1941 Martínez was invited by Cossío del Pomar to teach the fresco technique to students at Bellas Artes.

His mural El Fanatismo del Pueblo (The Fanaticism of the People) vividly depicts a winged creature attacking a group of women who cower in fear as two caballeros attempt to lasso the flying beast. The fresco is referred to as La Caza del Vampiro (The Vampire Hunt) by locals and is perhaps a criticism of those who naively believe in superstitions. 

Head into the bookstore to see another Martínez mural, La Cantina.

Another of Martínez’s murals can be found in the bookstore. Simply titled La Cantina, the vignette shows a group of men gathered in a tavern drinking pulque. A man in a sombrero leans against the bar, a bemused expression on his face. To his right, a man looks over his shoulder in annoyance. The four men seated in the foreground lean in to listen to a man wearing a pink shirt tied with a bow, who, judging by his body language and snarling mouth, appears to be angry. 

Explore the galleries at the Centro Cultural Ramírez to see the current exhibitions.

The Clamor Progresista Exhibit

When Wally and I visited, there was an exhibit titled Clamor Progresista (Progressive Cry), inspired by the ideas of “the Necromancer,” such as creative freedom and how these ideas are open to interpretation. The project is led by Mexico City-based conceptual artist Abraham Cruzvillegas, who invited more than 60 artists from the state of Guanajuato to create works using multiple formats, from sculpture to paper. 

Part of the Clamor Progresista exhibit

A cool mobile-like sculpture on display when we visited

Today the cultural center belongs to the Mexican National Art Institute (INBA) and offers classes in drawing, painting, sculpture, dance and music. It’s worth stopping by just to admire the beautiful courtyard. And be sure to check out the charming shops across the street, including Origenes Antigüedades Populares. –Duke 

While you’re in the hood, stop into Origenes Antigüedades Populares.

The shop is filled with antiques, many of which are of a religious nature.

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See more amazing murals and read about the Instituto Allende, another art school in San Miguel de Allende.

CLICK HERE

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When you see the bull, you know you’ve come to the right place.

Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez “El Nigromante”

Calle del Dr Hernandez Macías 75
Zona Centro
37700 San Miguel de Allende
Guanajuato 
México

Instituto Allende: The Influential Art School That Shaped San Miguel de Allende

This art school and event space holds a special place in the charming town’s transformation. Stop by to see the cool murals and refuel at Murmullo café.

Duke and Wally fell in love with the interior courtyard at the Instituto Allende.

The hulking adobe and fieldstone Instituto Allende is a bit outside of the historic city center of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Located on the southwest edge of the Centro, this art school was originally built in 1736 as the summer manor for the influential de la Canal family. 

The Instituto Allende teaches a variety of fine arts, including sculpture.

San Miguel de Allende Goes Artsy 

After Mexico’s War of Independence in 1910, and the decline of silver mining, which had brought San Miguel de Allende its fortune, the colonial town faced an uncertain future. Credit for undertaking its transformation into an artists colony has largely been given to U.S. expat Stirling Dickinson, who became director of the Instituto Allende in the ’50s. 

Yet this is only part of the story. Native son and former Guanajuato governor Enriquez Fernández Martínez and his American wife, Nell Harris, were the instrumental force behind the art school’s founding. Their enduring legacy was carried on by their son Rodolfo, and his daughter Zara is the current director.  

However, it was not the first academic art school in SMA. Peruvian artist and diplomat-in-exile Felipe Cossío del Pomar, received support from President Lázaro Cárdenas to transform the 19th century convent of the Order of the Immaculate Conception, known locally as Las Monjas (The Nuns), into la Escuela Universitaria de Bellas Artes, the University School of Fine Arts. (The building is now occupied by the government-run cultural center known as the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez “El Nigromante.”) 

Sterling Dickinson helped open up San Miguel de Allende as a center for the arts.

Class Act: Dickinson Comes oN the Scene 

Dickinson’s arrival in 1937, at the invitation of Chicago Lyric Opera tenor and Hollywood actor José Mojica, helped shape the future of San Miguel de Allende. He was transported from the train station to the Jardín, the town’s main square, outside of La Parroquia church, in the wee hours of the morning by a mule-drawn cart. When he saw the cathedral’s spires rising out of the mist, he uttered, “My God, what a place!” We couldn’t agree more.

Days later, Dickinson decided to stay and purchased the ruins of a former tannery on a hill overlooking the town, which he converted into his home. The property and land cost a mere $90. Mojica was leading a coalition to promote San Miguel as a magnet for cultured tourists. Film stars, composers, singers, intellectuals, local politicians and artists showed up regularly at his soirées.

The Expressionist works of David Leonardo Chávez cover much of the Instituto.

After its founding, the Instituto Allende became part of the University of Guanajuato, offering master’s degrees in fine arts, and began to gain international recognition. By 1960 it had grown both in size and scope and also offered a bachelor’s program in fine arts. Enrollment at the school continued to rise, and the town’s cultural reputation attracted tourists and expats.

Wally couldn’t get enough of Chávez’s fantastical paintings.

Dickinson came from an affluent Chicago family and had a knack for public relations. His passion for the arts and the culture of San Miguel itself laid the groundwork for promoting the burgeoning school. A 1948 Life magazine article described San Miguel as a “G.I. Paradise,” and given the relatively affordable rents — $10 per month — it’s no surprise that veterans queued up for an opportunity to attend college here. 

As a teacher at the Instituto, Dickinson became known for his Aspects of Mexico course, which combined lectures and experiential field trips. He attempted to foster a relationship built on mutual respect for indigenous Mexican culture and history among his students (to various levels of success).

Out back, you can wander around the beautiful campus and see the various classrooms.

Uncommon Grounds: A Walk Around Campus

Wally and I stopped by the main entrance of the Instituto on a Friday afternoon and found its massive wooden doors locked tight. Wally knocked on the door, and a janitor instantly opened it — only to inform us that it was closed to the public for a couple of days.

The institute is now split into two buildings: one for classes and a café, and another for weddings and other events. Unfortunately, we were unable to see the murals created in the 1950s by John DeMelim and James Pinto. 

We were able to enter the school building, though, through the administrative offices, which had an exuberant mural by contemporary Mexican Expressionist David Leonardo Chávez that crowns the ceiling and part of the walls. The artwork is rich with jewel tones and patterns depicting stylized swimmers. 

This mural of swimmers is one of the first you’ll see when you enter through reception.

Not a bad place to get a degree in art, eh?

While wandering into the adjoining space, we paused to admire more of the painterly works of Chávez, which covers the walls. Beyond, a few students were scattered throughout the leafy park-like courtyard, sitting in the grass and enjoying the dappled afternoon sunlight. Stone paths bisect the grounds leading to pennant-shaped signs pointing students to the various workshops and studios, including ceramics, drawing, jewelry, painting, printmaking, sculpture and weaving. The school also offers a range of Spanish language immersion classes. 

A colorful mural by the bathrooms out back

The Instituto was originally the summer residence of a wealthy family.

After taking a few photos, Wally and I exited on the far side of the campus, where a small group was setting up for an event in the enclosed egress. A young woman told us that this was for Rodarte, a bazaar for artists, makers and local designers from around Mexico to sell their works. The Instituto has always had a philanthropic component since its inception in 1950. Revenue from the event gives back to the community by providing art supplies for low-income students and teachers in the surrounding area.

The main section of Murmullo is chic and minimalist — but we chose to eat in the colorful mural-covered courtyard.

Murmurs and Musings at Murmullo Café

We left the grounds and had a snack at the charming Murmullo café, which is carved out from the Institute property. Our lively server recommended we split the falafel, which Wally and I ordered and agreed was quite possibly the best we’ve ever had. 

Quite possibly the best falafel pita we’ve ever had

Duke and Wally had a delightful lunch at Murmullo — great food, drinks, setting and service.

You couldn’t ask for a cooler setting to enjoy a coffee, beer or bite to eat.

They also serve coffee, which was the perfect excuse for us to caffeinate with iced skim lattes, as well as beer and kombucha. The café has three different seating areas, two indoors and one outdoors. We chose the open-air courtyard, surrounded by Chávez’s fantastical work. The fare and the setting make it worth a visit. Try a coffee, a local microbrew and the falafel. You won’t regret it. –Duke

Instituto Allende

Ancha de San Antonio 22
Zona Centro
San Miguel de Allende
México

Casa Hoyos Boutique Hotel in the Heart of San Miguel de Allende

With so many places to stay in San Miguel de Allende, you could make your base the cinematic Casa Hoyos, which pays a stylish homage to its storied past, hosts the trendy rooftop bar Bekeb and is within walking distance of the major sites of this charming Colonial city. 

Bright colors and a Deco-meets-Modern design make Casa Hoyos feel like something out of an Almodóvar film. Those eclectic throne-like armchairs come from the Mexico City design studio Comité de Proyectos. 

The building that stands at Mesones 14 in San Miguel de Allende has a colorful past dating back to the 17th century. It’s now Casa Hoyos (the last part is pronounced “Oy-ohz”), a boutique hotel that pays homage to its origins. The property was acquired by Julián Hoyos in 1938 to house both his family and his business. It was here that he established a grain and seed bank. In 1947 he added the city’s first cambio de moneda, or currency exchange, to serve the arriving expats. It operated until the mid-60s. Locals affectionately gave the property the nickname “Banco del Frijol” or “the Bean Bank.”

The home has belonged to the same family for four generations, and under the supervision of Julián’s great-granddaughter and hotel founder, Vianney Torres, reemerged in 2020 as Casa Hoyos. 

Wally hangs out in the swinging chair in the hotel’s front courtyard.

Staying Power

In November 2018 Wally and I stayed at the Ignacia Guest House in the pedestrian-friendly Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico City. The accommodations were a collaboration between architecture firm Factor Eficiencia and Andrés Guitiérrez’s interior design firm A-G Studio. I loved the mix of traditional and contemporary style, not to mention the curation of handmade artisan pieces found throughout the former manor, a love letter to its beloved housekeeper Ignacia, who lived and worked at the house for more than 70 years. 

I’ll admit it, I’m a fan of Guitiérrez’s. When the time came for us to find the perfect place to stay in San Miguel de Allende, and I saw that Casa Hoyos was another one of his projects, the decision for me was easy.

If you visit in the warm season, you can cool off in the rooftop pool.

Because the original home is a historic property, every detail of its restoration was regulated and submitted for approval to the National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH). UNESCO also oversaw aspects of the renovation, as the town center was designated a World Heritage Site in 2008. 

When it came to selecting color for the façade, INAH requires that all buildings in San Miguel de Allende abide by specific standards–in this case, a particular palette of burnt red, orange and yellow. The hotel’s exterior is covered in a rich red ochre called vasija. 

Circular porthole-like interior windows create fun viewing (and photo) frames.

Rebuilt to Last 

One afternoon we met up with Enrique Garcia, the hotel’s director of operations and marketing, outside the hotel office, which was the original location of the kitchen. I was admiring the well-worn pink stone of the courtyard beneath our feet. Enrique told us that each of these stones was quarried in the hills outside of San Miguel de Allende and, because of UNESCO oversight, required precise documentation and numbering before they could be removed and put back exactly into place. 

Standing outside the office is a beautiful Moorish-looking structure with niches that now hold candles. When I asked Enrique about it, he smiled and told us that it was known as an aguamanil and was used for placing hot clay pots to cool after they were removed from the stove. 

This piece, called an aguamanil, stood right outside the family’s kitchen and was a place to put hot pots for serving.

The courtyard also contains the hotel’s kitchen and breakfast area, which is currently run by As de Guia, as well as a couple of other businesses: Tropa Gallery and Neithan Herbert, a women’s clothing boutique. 

Breakfast from As de Guia consists of fruit, yogurt, granola, toast and coffee.

The light complimentary breakfast consisted of fresh fruit, including cantaloupe, apples and papaya, served with a dollop of yogurt and granola, along with coffee, toast and freshly squeezed orange. if you’d like something heartier, you have to  order from their à la carte menu. 

Looking down at the back lobby with its bright red couches

Like Being on the Set of an Almodóvar Film 

The boutique hotel was built in the second courtyard, where grain warehouses once stood. But the real visual wonder comes when you walk through the passageway leading from the courtyard to the reception counter. The remains of an original brick wall give way to lofted wooden beams and a modern aesthetic — a striking contrast to the Colonial-style buildings just outside its wooden doors. Rooms range from singles, doubles, junior suite and master suite. 

I looked around and remarked to Wally that I felt like I was in an Almodóvar film. The objects and colors of his sets evoke an exuberant mood, much in the same way that Guitiérrez uses color. 

See you around, Wally!

Circling back with you Duke.

Informed by an exchange of ideas with Torres about the home’s history, Guitiérrez and his creative director, Mayela Ruiz, designed a pared-back atrium that forms the center of the space. A hybrid of ’50s Mexican Modernist and ’20s Art Deco, its walls are enveloped in raw concrete — a stark contrast to the graphic pop of glazed yellow ochre tiles and black grout revealed through the curved openings of the surrounding arcade. Andalusian-style balconies typical of a Spanish home complete the design, a reference to patriarch Julián, who moved to San Miguel de Allende from Spain during the Mexican Revolution. 

The tilework Virgin of Loreto looks down (and keeps an eye on?) the honesty bar on the first floor.

During the day, sunlight fills the lobby with a warm glow and features a trio of ’50s-inspired salmon pink Felix sofas with red cushions, a collaboration between industrial designer Christian Vivanco and Monterrey, Mexico-based manufacturer Los Patrones. The unattended honesty bar is stocked with a selection of artisanal mezcals, tequilas and whiskey.

Observing the scene from her second-story perch is the Virgin of Loreto, the patron saint of the Hoyos family and nearby Templo del Oratorio de San Felipe Neri. The hand-painted tile mural was sourced from the town of Dolores Hidalgo, which like Puebla, specializes in tin-enameled Talavera pottery. I didn’t manage to get a good photo of it, but the piece below the Virgin was repurposed and originally served as the exchange house counter. The understated encaustic black cement floors anchor the space and draw the eye up to the tiled walls, the color of maize, a wink to its former life as a grain and seed warehouse. 

Welcome to Casa Hoyos! Concierge extraordinaire Christopher can help you organize outings.

Additional references to the Hoyos family can be found in the hotel’s logo, a pair of serpents from the heraldic family coat of arms, echoed in the details of the arcades’ pale pink and black tile-edged arches and its rounded Deco elements, such as interior windows and lobby portholes.  

The bed in the master suite

Home, Suite Home

Alex, a porter at the hotel, met us upon our arrival and whisked our luggage up to our room. 

We stayed in room 12, the master suite, which was outfitted with a king-size four-poster bed and black and natural woven rattan pieces designed by A-G Studio. The walls and ceiling are covered in a soothing shade of pastel pink. 

Adding to the vibe was a squat gunmetal table lamp by Editora Nacional sitting atop a console with spiral turned legs, one of the aforementioned pieces designed by A-G Studio. On the wall above this hangs a wool tapestry designed by Mexican artist Meli Ávila. 

The LED light rings in the bathroom help put you in your best light.

The bathroom has burnt orange walls, recessed ceiling lighting, a jacuzzi tub big enough for four people and a rain shower. On our first evening there, Wally indulged in a luxurious bath and emerged entirely relaxed. As a bonus, there are two sinks, a pair of circular mirrors with LED lighting rings and botanical body care products by Loredana. 

A fun neon sign on the rooftop terrace

Raising the Bar

On the rooftop terrace of Casa Hoyos is Bekeb, led by master mixologist and owner Fabiola Padilla, who previously honed her skills at Cosme and Diego in New York City. Its name is a palindrome and refers to the Tzontil word bek, which means “seed.” 

Bekeb cocktail bar becomes quite the hotspot on weekend nights.

The thread connecting each cocktail is that they’re all based on roots, plants and flowers. Padilla pairs endemic herbs such as hoja santa and cedrón to infuse traditional Mexican spirits such as mezcal, sotol and racilla. 

The gorgeous view from the rooftop at Casa Hoyos. Here you can see nearby Plaza de la Soledad — along with three of the many churches in town.

Two of Bekeb’s signature cocktails: the Carijillo Allende and the Guava Tiki

Fresh herbs used in cocktails are kept in skull containers at Bekeb.

On our first visit, I tried the signature Bekeb cocktail, which was served in a cool handmade earthenware tumbler, and Wally tried the Milk Punch Vol. 2. I also tried the Carijillo Allende, and Wally the Guava Tiki on the evening before we left. The Carijillo consisted of espresso, cacao liqueur and banana liqueur, garnished with star anise. It was the perfect drink to imbibe as we watched the sun set behind the tiled domes of the Iglesia de San Francisco. 

If you’re looking for something to eat before dinner there’s a tapas menu, and a DJ spins on the weekends, when the bar becomes a trendy hangout. 

Wally and Duke relaxed on the rooftop terrace after a long day exploring the quaint town of San Miguel de Allende.

Home Base

We loved calling Casa Hoyos home. We’ll not soon forget the kindness of the hotel’s chief concierge, Christopher Granados, who took the stress out of coordinating our visit to the Chapel of Jimmy Ray in Cieneguita and a day trip to Guanajuato. 

Its prime location in the heart of the city made it easy for us to set out for the day to explore its sights. It’s a short walk along the cobblestone streets to the lively Jardín de Allende and the spectacular Neo-Gothic Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel, the city’s main parish church. –Duke

Casa Hoyos

Mesones 14
Zona Centro
37700 San Miguel de Allende
Guanajuato
Mexico

Agave Mythology and Pulque Folk Tales

Mesomaerican legends, including Mayahuel and Ehécatl’s doomed love, drunk Tlacuache the possum and 400 rabbits suckled on pulque.

Mesoamerican myths are pretty crazy. Take the fertility goddess Mayahuel, who lactated pulque, which intoxicated the 400 rabbits she gave birth to.

Aside from being a source of sustenance, the agave, or maguey as it’s referred to in Mexico, was revered and respected as a sacred plant by the ancient peoples of Mesoamerica. 

The desert succulent is distinguished by a rosette of strong fleshy leaves that radiate from the center of the plant. Fibers from its tough spiny leaves were used to make rope or fabric for clothing, and the barbed tips made excellent sewing needles. Devotees and priests would pierce their earlobes, tongues or genitals with the thorns and collect the blood as an offering to the gods. An antiseptic poultice of maguey sap and salt was used in traditional medicine and applied to wounds. The plant is also the source of pulque, a beverage made from its fermented sap, and many years later, distilled as mezcal and tequila. 

Agave being used to treat a head wound

As a final act, the maguey poetically blooms in the final throes of its life cycle. A mutant asparagus-like stalk emerges from the center of the plant, reaching 25 to 40 feet high before it flowers and dies. 

Drink of the Gods

In Aztec times, the milky and sour mildly alcoholic beverage was highly prized and strictly limited to consumption by a select few, including priests, pregnant women, the elderly and tributes offered up for ritual sacrifice. The priests believed that the resulting intoxication put them in an altered state and allowed them to communicate directly with the gods. The consequences of illegally imbibing outside of this group were so serious that the convicted faced death by strangulation. 

So what are the myths and folklore stories about agave and pulque? As with myths around the world, there are multiple variations, and while researching stories about agave I found myself falling down a rabbit hole. I couldn’t quite decide what the definitive versions were, so here are my interpretations.

The gorgeous (personally we don’t see it) Mayahuel was rescued from her evil grandmother, then torn apart and fed to demons, before eventually becoming the first agave.

The Legend of Mayahuel, Whose Lovely Bones Became the First Agave

When the universe as we know it was formed, so too was a ferocious and bloodthirsty race of light-devouring demons known as tzitzimime. It was said that life ebbed from their fleshless female forms. They were easily recognizable by their shiny black hair, skeletal limbs ending in clawed hands, and blood red tongues resembling a sacrificial knife wagging from their gaping maws. Their wide-open starry eyes allowed them to see through the darkness. 

The tzitzimime were ferocious demons who sucked light and life from this world.

These monstrous beings ruled over the night sky and wore gruesome necklaces loaded with severed human hands and hearts — trophies from the steady diet of human sacrifices required to appease them. 

The tzitzimime cloaked the earth in darkness, and in return for ritual bloodshed, permitted the sun to rise and move across the sky. It’s a fair guess to say that a large number of lives were lost, as the Aztecs believed that if darkness won, the sun would be lost forever, the world would end, and the tzitzimime would descend from the skies and gobble up humankind. 

The tzitzimime demons were insatiable for sacrifices of human blood.

Hidden in the sky among the tzitzimime was a beautiful young maiden by the name of Mayahuel. Mayahuel was imprisoned by her grandmother, Tzitzímitl, the oldest and most malevolent demoness of the brood.

Tzitzímitl’s insatiable desire for human sacrifice angered Ehécatl, the god of wind and rain. 

One evening he rose up into the night sky to confront her, but instead discovered Mayahuel. Struck by her beauty, he immediately fell in love and convinced her to descend from the heavens to become his paramour. 

Ehécatl, god of wind and rain, tried his best to save poor Mayahuel from Tzitzimitl.

When Tzitzímitl discovered that Mayahuel was missing, she exploded into a violent rage and commanded her demon servants to find her granddaughter. The pair assumed the form of trees and stood side by side so that their leaves would caress one another whenever the wind blew.

Time passed, but their disguise was no match for the furious Tzitzímitl. The sky turned gray with clouds that heralded a major storm, followed by lightning and thunder. When the evil spirit finally found Mayahuel, she tore her from the ground and fed her to her legions of tzitzimime. 

The skeletal demoness Tzitzímitl with her necklace of severed human hearts and hands

Ehécatl was unharmed. He avenged Mayahuel’s death by killing Tzitzímitl and returned light to the world. Still overcome with grief, he gathered the bones of his beloved and buried them in a field. As his tears saturated the arid soil, Mayahuel’s remains transformed and emerged from the earth as the first agave. After getting a taste of the elixir that came from the plant, Ehécatl decided to share his creation with humankind. 

For some reason, the possum god Tlacuache was responsible for creating the course of rivers. They’re curvy because he got drunk on pulque.

The Tale of Tlacuache: Why a River Runs Its Course

Another Mesoamerican tale connects pulque with the creation of rivers. According to the story, Tlacuache, a possum god, was responsible for assigning the course of rivers. While going about his day foraging for food, he happened upon an agave. Using his human-like hands, he dug into one of its leathery leaves. A sweet honeyed sap oozed from the cuts, and Tlacuache stuck his snout into the maguey and lapped up the liquid with glee. 

After having his fill, he returned to his den and dreamt of returning to the plant the next day. Tlacuache had a remarkable talent for finding food and remembering exactly where it was found. What he didn’t know, though, is that the nectar had fermented overnight and now contained alcohol. The marsupial accidentally overindulged and became intoxicated. Finding himself disoriented, he stumbled and wandered this way and that, until he eventually found his way home. 

Over time, Tlacuache’s circuitous meandering was reflected in his work. Any river in Mexico that bends or doesn’t follow a straight line was due to Tlacuache drinking pulque and plotting the river’s course while he was tipsy. In fact, some say he was the very first drunk.

Suck on this: The fertility goddess Mayahuel didn’t have milk in her breasts — she had pulque.

Pulque Breast Milk and being drunk as 400 Rabbits

Last but not least is the fantastical story of the mythical 400 drunken rabbits whose behavior even Beatrix Potter would have found excessive. 

In Aztec mythology, Patecatl was the Lord of 13 Days and the credited discoverer of the squat psychedelic peyote cactus. One evening, he and Mayahuel, who in this story is a fertility goddess, had a no-strings-attached tryst, resulting in an unusual pregnancy. Months later, the proud mother bore a litter of 400 fluffy little bunnies. 

Naturally, being the goddess of the agave, Mayahuel’s multiple breasts lactated pulque, which she used to nourish her children. It’s safe to say that her divine offspring didn’t understand the concept of moderation and were frequently found in various states of inebriation. 

Mayahuel had a one-night stand with the Lord of 13 Days — and ended up having a litter of 400 rabbits!

The 400 rabbits each depict a different stage of inebriation.

The siblings were known as the Centzon Totochtin and represented the varying degrees of intoxication one can attain while under the influence of alcohol. One of the children, Ometochtli (Two Rabbit), a god who represented duality, was associated with that initial burst of courage that comes after a couple of drinks. Conversations feel more important, and everyone around you becomes more attractive. His brother Macuiltochtli (Five Rabbit) was one of the gods of excess — the equivalent of having too much of a good thing, and waking up the next day with a pounding headache. 

Ometochtli, or Two Rabbit, was the god of the courage you get after a couple of drinks — and the start of beer-goggling.

This fellow is going to regret being like Macuiltochtli, or Five Rabbit, and drinking to excess. He’s gonna be hungover tomorrow.

If you’re drunk as 400 rabbits, you’re beyond wasted.

For the Aztecs, the concept of infinity started at 400. A couple of drinks is OK; consuming your body weight in booze not so much. Moral of the story: If you drink more than you can handle, whether you’re a small animal or otherwise, you’ll be carried away by a colony of 400 rabbits. –Duke

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Learn How Mezcal Gets Made

Another drink made from the agave, mezcal is much more artisanal than tequila, with numerous factors influencing the taste of each batch — and that’s what makes it so interesting.

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How Is Mezcal Made?

What is mezcal? Here’s the process to create this artisanal alcohol that’s gaining in popularity — and giving tequila a run for its dinero.

A horse, agave and giant barrels are all used to make the popular beverage mezcal.

I can’t quite remember the first time I tried mezcal. It was most likely mixed into a cocktail at a restaurant somewhere in Chicago. I vividly recall it being intense. In fact, when I recounted this memory to Alvin Starkman of Mezcal Educational Tours, I believe my exact words were, “It was like sitting in front of a campfire blowing smoke in my face.” 

It wasn’t until our first trip to Mexico City in 2018 at Los Danzantes, a restaurant in Coyoacán, that I drank a joven espadín, an unaged mezcal, from a veladora, a clear fluted glass with a cross engraved on its bottom, that it all changed for me.

“As strange as it may seem, mold is a part of the process — and a factor in mezcal’s taste. ”

Wally had learned about Alvin in the useful travel guide Viva Oaxaca by Robert Adler and Jo Ann Wexler. He reached out to Alvin to arrange a day trip for us.

When Alvin picked us up at our hotel, he started our education by sharing his backstory. Oaxaca, which began as a favorite destination in 1991, drew him and his wife back, until they bought a parcel of land in the Sierra Madre mountains, built a house and relocated permanently from Canada in 2004. Like my father, Alvin enjoys scotch and found a similar appreciation in mezcal. 

Authenticity is of utmost importance for Alvin when he gives his tours. “The day is not pre-planned for the tourist trade, meaning I never know who will be at what stage of production where and when — the objective being to illustrate as much as possible as it is happening,” he says. 

Palenqueros (mezcal artisans) often grow their own agave, though many supplement it from other farms.

The word “mezcal” is the generic term for spirits made from the roasted heart of the agave (referred to locally as maguey) — the same plant used to make Mexico’s biggest export, tequila. It derives from the indiginous Náhuatl words metl (agave) and ixcalli (baked). However, unlike tequila, the agave must be roasted to be made into mezcal. It can be produced from a dozen different varieties of agave, each with its own character and subspecies, including but not limited to espadín, arroqueño, madrecuixe, tepeztate, tobasiche and tobala. 

A tour with Alvin Starkman of Mezcal Educational Tours will show you the various steps of the mezcal-making process in action at a variety of family-run palenques, or distilleries.

Harvesting Piñas: The Heart of the Matter

Oaxaca’s Central Valleys currently have the highest concentration of traditional producers, known as palenqueros, who distill the spirit in palenques alongside their other crops and farm animals. 

After eight to 30 years — the period of time it takes for an agave to reach maturity, farmers known as jimadors use machetes to cut away the sword-like pencas (leaves) and use a coa, a specialized tool to extract the piña, or heart of the maguey. The leafless piña looks like an overgrown pineapple. 

The heart of the agave plant, the piña, is a key ingredient in making mezcal and often looks like a giant pineapple or pinecone.

Baking the Piñas: Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire

Once the piñas have been harvested and taken to the palenque, a deep earthen pit is filled with firewood and lit. A layer of rocks is placed on top of the burning wood, and after about five or six hours, are as hot as they’re going to get. 

The piñas are piled into the pit oven by size, the largest at the bottom and the smallest on top. A layer of bagasse, the damp fibrous byproduct that remains after the piñas have been crushed and had their liquid extracted (but more on that later), gets added to insulate the piñas from the hot rocks.

Mezcal’s smoky flavor should come from slow-roasting piñas in a pit like this.

According to our guide, Alvin, “If you’re a good Catholic, you’re going to stick a cross on top of the mound to ensure your piñas produce a good yield and good flavor.”

The hearts are covered with agave leaves, straw mats, grain sacks and dirt piled high to form a kind of volcano. Water is then poured into the opening at the top of the mound to release the smoke trapped inside the oven, and the piñas are left to slowly roast underground for several days. This allows the heat to convert the carbohydrates into sugars.

A roasted piña, before it’s chopped up and mashed

Mashing the Piñas: Beaten to a Pulp

After they’re caramelized, the pit-roasted piñas are removed and left to cool.

As strange as it may seem, mold is a part of the process — and a factor in mezcal’s taste. “The longer it stays out, the moldier it’s going to get,” Alvin tells us. “Sometimes the mold is green, sometimes it’s yellow, sometimes it’s orange. So the mold is also going to impact the flavor.” They are left to rest between eight days to a month. 

A man chops up roasted piñas to get crushed. Alvin says farmers from Oaxaca practically grow up with a machete in their hands.

Roasted piñas sit around for up to a month to get a nice flavorful mold on them.

The palenquero hacks the roasted piñas into smaller pieces, which are transferred to a stone pit, where they are laboriously crushed by hand using a cartoonishly large wooden mallet, or by a tahona, a large stone wheel pulled around a circular pit by a donkey or horse. 

Alvin holds a large wooden tool used to crush roasted piñas.

Another option to crush piñas is to lead a horse attached to a massive stone tahona around and around a setup like this.

Palenques are family-run affairs — and they start the kids young. This adorable fella helped encourage the horse to walk the giant tahona around.

Once the piñas are sufficiently pulverized to a mash, the roasted pulp and nectar are transferred into a wood vat. The dry, fibrous leftovers (the bagasse previously mentioned) can be used to make adobe, fuel or mulch — or to insulate roasting piñas for another batch of mezcal.

Large wooden vats hold the mashed piñas and the extracted juices as they ferment.

Fermentation: Yeasty Beasties 

The sweet mash and its juices are shoveled into large open-air wooden tubs or vats. Water is slowly added, and as the mixture interacts with naturally occurring airborne wild yeasts and bacteria, fermentation starts. 

“Traditional mezcal makers use river water, mountain spring water or well water,” Alvin explains. “A well is fed by underground streams that come from different directions at different times of the year. So the water quality with traditionally made mezcal is always different and is integral to the final product’s quality.”

The vats are topped with bagasse, fibrous straw-like leftovers from agave cultivation, and left to ferment naturally over the course of three days to two weeks.

As the sugars break down the mash, the brew begins to bubble. The palenquero stirs it, and eventually the bubbling subsides, leaving a brown crust that looks like maple sugar candy on the surface of the vat. Depending on the season, the altitude and the temperature, this can take anywhere from three days to two weeks fully ferment. Once it has 3% to 5% alcohol content and looks, smells and tastes like apple cider vinegar, it’s ready to be distilled. 

Water pours into a pot sealed atop a larger container to distill the alcohol that will become mezcal.

Distillation: Good to the Last Drop 

Distillation is the process in which alcohol is concentrated via evaporation under heat and pressure. The goal of distillation is to separate the desirable elements (alcohol) from water as they recondense into liquid. 

Mexico’s pre-Hispanic society was already familiar with a variety of fermented beverages, including the maguey-based pulque. The arrival of Filipino sailors in the 16th century introduced the indigenous peoples to the clay still, while the Spanish colonizers brought with them the knowledge of copper alembic stills in the 17th century. 

Maestro Felix Ángeles Arellanes’ palenque in action

The first stop on our tour with Alvin was Santa Catarina Minas, south of Oaxaca de Juárez, at the palenque of Maestro Felix Ángeles Arellanes. It was a great glimpse into the process. There the fermented liquid and mash is added to a barro de olla, a cauldron-like clay pot that has been fitted into a masonry oven. A second pot, which is open at the top and bottom, is placed over the mash-filled olla and sealed with the maple candy-like goo and bagasse to prevent any steam from escaping. Above and behind all this is a pipe with a spigot. 

Embers glowed in the stone masonry ovens beneath, as tendrils of smoke plumed above the tops of the clay pot stills. This step needs to be closely monitored, as the temperature the spirit is distilled at directly impacts the quality and flavor of the mezcal.

A fire is lit below, the spigot is turned on, and a running stream of cold water fills a metal cooling pan fitted into the mouth of the top pot. In the bottom pot, the fermented mash slowly boils. The alcohol vapors rise, and when they come into contact with the cool bottom of the pan, they condense and form droplets. These fall into a carrizo cane, a hollow reed tube, and are collected in a container. This is the first distillation, often referred to as shishe or común. 

Wally and I sampled the distillate directly from the still in a jicara, a hollowed-out gourd bowl traditionally used to serve mezcal. Alvin explained that this was the punta, or the head. Suffice to say, it was potent, at 70% alcohol by volume. 

Another technique to distill mezcal is to use copper instead of olla pots.

Traditionally made mezcal is distilled twice, and occasionally three times, until the ABV is reduced to 40% to 50%. 

When they’re not in use, Maestro Felix Ángeles Arellanes typically tops the ollas with old metal discs from retired plows. He doesn’t want his chickens laying eggs inside. 

We would go on to sample 18 unique variations at Arellanes’ palenque. The spirits were stored in a variety of large plastic containers, garafones, with their names handwritten on masking tape. 

Be warned! You could be sampling over 12 types of mezcal at each stop!

Experiencing this process in person was an eye-opening experience and gave me incredible appreciation for the amount of work involved in producing mezcal. It’s made by hardworking human hands, and the maker wants every batch to be as good as he can make it. He might not understand all the reasons, but he understands that inevitably no two are the same. Sure, there are some smoky types, but there are also ones with herbaceous, savory or woody notes. 

For that, you see, is one of the beauties of mezcal — and why Alvin says it’s akin to scotch — there’s always a variability from batch to batch. –Duke

Sampling the 7 Moles of Oaxaca

Holy mole! The restaurant Hierba Dulce focuses on plant-based fare and takes traditional Oaxacan cuisine to the next level. 

Most Americans are only familiar with mole negro and don’t even realize there are many varieties of the Mexican sauce.

Mole (pronounced moh-lay) is one of Mexico’s most complex and versatile sauces. And nowhere is that more in evidence than in the southcentral state of Oaxaca, famous for seven distinct types of moles. 

If you’ve ever tried mole in the U.S., chances are it’s mole negro (black mole). This velvety, umber-colored sauce is a savory-sweet combination of dark chocolate, spicy chiles, nuts and spices usually served over enchiladas. Don’t get me wrong — I love me some chocolate, but mole can be so much more than that. There are numerous variations containing dozens of different ingredients, including chiles, garlic, spices, nuts and pepitas (pumpkin seeds), pulverized to a paste in a molcajete (a volcanic stone mortar and pestle). Tomatoes, tomatillos and water or broth are sometimes added, and many are slow-cooked to allow flavors to meld.

“ Don’t get me wrong — I love me some chocolate, but mole can be so much more than that. ”

The lightwood tables and modern chairs (not to mention that wall of cacti) take the Oaxacan restaurant Hierba Dulce up a notch.

Hierba Dulce’s Local, Organic Ingredients 

On our trip to Oaxaca, we knew we wanted to try the seven different types of mole, and we had heard that there was no better place to do so than at Hierba Dulce. The women-run establishment opened in 2017 and was the first in Oaxaca de Juárez to feature an entirely plant-based menu. Using traditional cooking and fermentation methods as a foundation, the restaurant began as a conversation among the founders of its sister project, Pochote Press. Their goal was to create a welcoming, inclusive culinary concept where they could offer accessible, nutritious, unprocessed fare to the local community. 

As Hierba Dulce began to flourish, Pochote Press moved out of the space. The restaurant uses organic ingredients, working strictly with small local farmers, and its dishes are made without processed oils, refined sugars or animal byproducts like asiento (lard). This setup helps provide a lifeline for these producers, who value genetic diversity over mass production. 

The restaurant is run by chef Mayora Georgina Cruz, and is tucked away in the open-air walled courtyard of a colonial-era house not far from the city center of Oaxaca de Juárez. Its name is the Spanish version of tzopelic xihuitl in Náhuatl, an indigenous language of the region, translating to  “sweet herb.”

This was the first place we dined at during our stay in Oaxaca. We arrived around 6 and were seated shortly after. The centerpiece of the courtyard was a tiled fountain with an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. This was adorned with strands of brightly colored woven palm leaf garland anchored by a straw flower arrangement that put me in a festive mood. 

The gorgeous fountain at Hierba Dulce, with the Virgin of Guadalupe, colorful garlands and bright straw flowers

Hierba Dulce is women-run and focuses on unprocessed, local ingredients. The dinnerware, with its distinctive blackened spots, are from the nearby village of Santa María Atzompa and were handmade by Maestra Josefina Zárate.

To start, we each ordered Oaxaqueños, a cocktail made with the restaurant’s tepache and cachaça, a distilled spirit made from fermented sugarcane juice. At first, neither one of us thought it was that strong — until we finished it. They packed a surprisingly strong punch, and neither of us needed to order a second. 

The Oaxaqueño, a cocktail made with tepache and cachaça, packed a surprising punch.

Wally and I opted for the mole tasting for two, which featured the seven most famous types of Oaxacan moles. 

Dinner kicked off with a salsa verde and a roja.

As an appetizer, we were served a complimentary pair of salsas: a green one made with miltomate (tomatillo), serranos, avocado and cilantro, and a red one with smoked pasilla, morita and chile de árbol with miltomate. These were accompanied by housemade tostadas, crisp corn tortillas made with heirloom maíz, on a comal (a round, flat griddle). 

Try a sampler of the seven moles of Oaxaca and rate them as you go. Our fave was rojo, while verde came in last.

The 7 Moles of Oaxaca

Mole comes from the Nahuatl word molli, or “sauce.” This traditional, multilayered sauce typically begins with a base of dried or fresh chiles, seasoned with wild endemic herbs, vegetables and other ingredients. Cooking times vary by type; some come together quickly and can take as little as a few hours, while others take days to prepare. 

No two moles are alike. Recipes vary from region to region, from village to village, from family to family. All are slightly different, depending on who’s making it. The ones served at Hierba Dulce are Cruz’s recipes, adapted and tweaked into versions made without oil or refined sugar. 

We found that tortillas weren’t the best vehicle to serve with these moles — the sauce oozed out and made for a messy meal.

1. Amarillo / Yellow

Yellow chilhuacle, costeño and smoky-sweet guajillo chiles, spices, hoja santa (literally “sacred leaf” — a heart-shaped leaf with a slight peppery taste) combine with white beans to make an ochre-colored, mildly spicy mole. 

2. Verde / Green

This was the only mole of the seven that didn’t contain dried chilis (perhaps that’s why it was our least favorite). Its bright green color comes from miltomates, serranos, cilantro and epazote (a pungent herb with a flavor between tarragon and anise). 

3. Almendrado / Almond

This mole is made with guajillo and ancho chiles, heirloom tomatoes, almonds, oregano and cinnamon. 

4. Chichilo 

Intense and smoky, with pasila, mulato, guajillo and black chilhuacle chiles, garlic and onion, the addition of dry-roasted avocado leaves lend a subtle licorice flavor. 

5. Estufado

Olives, almonds, miltomates, tomatoes, onion, capers, perejil (parsley) and cinnamon combine in this version.  

6. Rojo / Red

This thick, brick-red sauce was the spiciest of the seven moles and used ancho chiles, pasilla chiles, garlic, onion, tomatoes, peanuts and dark chocolate. It was our fave. 

7. Negro / Black

The most labor-intensive of the moles, this one contains chilhuacle negro, mulato, pasilla, ancho, guajillo and chipotle chiles, plantains, and dark, bitter chocolate. The charred seeds of the chilhuacle negro give this mole its signature depth of color and flavor. Wally thought it was so sweet compared to the others, it practically worked as a dessert course. 

Most moles are made with chiles, herbs, tomatoes — and some even have chocolate.

Getting Sauced 

Moles are often served over rice, chicken or pork. Ours came with corn tortillas that were made moments before on a nearby comal in the corner of the courtyard. Most of the sauces were soupy, resulting in a messy dining experience. Perhaps we should have tried the mole sampling that comes with mushrooms. And after trying a few different varieties, it was difficult to really appreciate the subtle differences between the seven — though maybe that was because of the buzz we felt from the Oaxaqueños. 

Either way, we admired how Cruz has reinterpreted traditional ingredients in a sophisticated way. –Duke

Wally and Duke pose by the back wall of the Hierbe Dulce courtyard, which is lined with cacti known as Mexican fence posts.

Hierba Dulce

Calle Porfirio Díaz 311
Ruta Independencia
Centro
68000 Oaxaca de Juárez
Oxaca
Mexico

Continue Your Culinary Tour of Mexico

Woodcarvers of Oaxaca Carve Out Their Niche

Manuel Jiménez is credited with starting the alebrije tradition in Oaxaca, but we’re smitten with the playful creations of Martín Melchor Ángeles.

Don Manuel Jiménez is credited with bringing the alebrije tradition to Oaxaca, and shifting the medium from papier-mâché to wood.

On our fifth day in Oaxaca, Wally and I were picked up outside Casa Antonieta, the hotel we were staying at, by folk art expert extraordinaire Linda Hanna. Having done our research, we knew that Oaxaca was famous for its brightly painted collectible wooden figures and that Linda was the perfect guide to explore the region. We were on the road by 9:30 a.m. and en route to San Antonio Arrazola, a small pueblo where the tradition began. 

These wood carvings are the newest of the local crafts yet draw on generations of skill. Even the capital’s fútbol (soccer) team, Los Alebrijes, is named after the locally produced wood carvings, which are an important source of income for their indigenous makers. According to Linda, prior to the 1940s, the region produced utilitarian items such as wooden spoons and molinillos, a utensil used to froth drinking chocolate. 

Alebrijes are believed to have been modern offshoots of nahuals, human-headed animal amulets worn by the Zapotec.

The origin story that Linda has heard often and which she believes to be the most credible involves a Zapotec tradition: Every baby was given a small nahual or nagual (pronounced “na-wal”) amulet to wear around their neck from the day they were born. These tokens took the form of animals from the 20-month Mesoamerican zodiac and were protective talismans symbolic of an individual’s alter ego that accompanied them throughout life.  

Don Manuel is no longer living, but his family carries on the woodcarving legacy.

Don Manuel Jiménez: The Alebrije Story Begins

“Manuel Jiménez was a peasant farmer who would be out there in the fields,” Linda told us. “And I think these people are, you know, born with a machete nearby. So carving is almost inherent in their DNA, and he was probably out there whittling away. He didn’t want to be limited by the size of the creatures, so he started making them bigger. At some point he had a bunch of them and would come into town, sit on some street corner, trying to sell them, probably not too effectively — until an American saw his work and was very impressed.”

Alebrijes take many forms but are mostly animals nowadays. Jiménez liked to do human faces, inspired by an ancient Zapotec tradition.

If you’re into alebrijes even half as much as Wally and Duke, consider having Linda Hanna take you on a tour of woodcarving artisan workshop homes.

We call Jiménez and his cohorts woodcarvers — but a lot of their craft involves painting. Alebrijes are known for their surprising mix of colors and patterns.

Jiménez, with the assistance of the foreigner, took these objects and presented them to the offices of the Tourist Council in Mexico City. The closest thing they could compare them to were the fantastical creatures Pedro Linares had been making out of papier-mâché, so they decided to also call these surreal, vibrantly colored wooden adaptations “alebrijes,” too. 

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What’s an Alebrije? Learn more about our favorite Mexican artisan tradition.

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About 45 minutes later, we were welcomed to Arrazola by a giant acid green praying mantis sculpture and a sign commemorating the town as la Cuña de los Alebrijes, the Cradle of Alebrijes. A short time after, we arrived at our destination, the museum workshop of the Jiménez family. Known locally as Don Manuel, the patriarch died in 2005 and is often credited as the father of Oaxacan alebrijes.

A fun sculpture of a giant praying mantis in Arrazola, the Cuña, or Cradle, of Alebrijes

As we parked and got out of Linda’s car, we noticed a man outside the studio enclosure with a converted bicycle grinding a metallic object against a spinning rust-colored disc. When we asked Linda what he was doing, she replied that he was a knife sharpener and it looked like he was working on a pair of scissors.

The charming courtyard at the Jiménez home, workshop and store

In the courtyard, a group of small, weathered and anatomically correct diablitos (little devils) playing guitars hung along a roughly textured stucco wall. 

Inside the workshop are framed photographs, newspaper articles and nahuales. One with a man’s face and mustache was sitting upright like a dog, another, ears back, crouched, appearing ready to pounce. A brightly colored figurine of Dante, the dog from the Pixar movie Coco stood atop a well-worn table.

The taller (pronounced “tie-yair”), or workshop, is operated by Don Manuel’s sons, Angélico and Isaías, and contains a small museum with glass display cases of their father’s work. They still sign Manuel’s name to their work — supposedly to honor his legacy. 

The patriarch specialized in nativity scenes, animals and nahuales. There’s even a children’s book, Dream Carver, that tells the story of a young woodcarver who breaks with a generations-old artistic tradition, inspired by the life of Don Manuel. 

A display case of some of Don Manuel’s works and the children’s book based on his life

There’s a shop/museum connected to the workshop.

“When these started selling, Jiménez tried to keep it a secret — which is impossible in a little village,” Linda said. “They know everything about you, good and bad.”

It wasn’t long before campesinos (farmers) in the nearby pueblos of San Martín Tilcajete and La Unión Tejalapan caught on and decided to carve and sell their products to tourists and collectors from North America and beyond. A new artisan tradition was born. 

When you see this mural, you’ll know you’re about to enter Don Manuel’s complex.

El Tallador de Sueños Museo-Taller
Álvaro Obregón #1
San Antonio Arrazola
Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, 71233
Oaxaca
México

While we were in Arrazola, we stopped into Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos, a massive store filled with colorful carvings.

Shopping Break 

In addition to Don Manuel’s workshop and museum, Arrazola has a concentration of shops on Calle Emiliano Zapata. Wally and I stopped by Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos, a massive establishment with a vast selection of alebrijes. Linda had mentioned that a few artists use syringes to apply dots of acrylic paint to the surface of their creations. Sure enough, I noticed a woman working on a piece who was using a syringe to embellish a small wood carving.

Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos
Emiliano Zapata #2-B
San Antonio Arrazola
Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, 71233
Oaxaca
México

Martín Melchor Ángeles, our favorite alebrije artisan

The Story Continues: Martín Melchor’s Magical Menagerie 

The moment I first saw the work of Martín Melchor Ángeles on the Instagram feed of Mexico City-based freelance journalist Michael Snyder, I knew I’d found someone special. 

Our next stop was the taller of Martín Melchor Ángeles. A dusty, rose-colored wall sported a hand-painted sign with one of Martín’s signature dalmatians wearing a red shirt and blue pants riding a bicycle. 

Martín’s distinct whimsical handcarved animals include a menagerie of creatures: giraffes operating mototaxis, dogs on bikes, alligators in libraries, cows on stilts and more. His wife, Hermelinda, makes handsewn costumes for the figures on stilts. 

These are the alebrijes on stilts that Duke and Wally bought at Melchor’s workshop.

The stilt walkers were included as part of a collaborative exhibit, Transcommuniality, by multidisciplinary artist Laura Anderson Barbata, which made an appearance at the Museo Textil de Oaxaca in 2018. The traveling exhibit includes interpretations of stilt walkers’ costumes found around the globe, from the moko jumbies of Trinidad and Tobago to the Zancudos de Zaachila in Oaxaca.

In fact, while walking through Oaxaca Centro a couple days earlier, Wally and I happened upon a parade with these performers. We marveled at how they danced around, tied onto wooden stilts. They’re known as Zancudos, which comes from zanco, meaning “stilt” but also evokes “mosquito” — a reference to the insects’ long legs. The male performers, some dressed in masculine garb, some wearing dresses, are impressive to watch.

Part of the fun of a folk art tour is seeing the handicrafts at various stages of production.

At Martín’s shop, it was difficult to decide between the pieces. But ultimately, we decided upon a bull dressed as a tiliche in colorful scraps of cloth. This character makes an annual appearance at Guelaguetza, a celebration of indigenous culture held in Oaxaca de Juárez, along with an alligator in fanciful Tehuana dress wearing a lemon yellow huipil tunic paired with a long bougainvillea pink skirt.

If for some reason you don’t want to make a trip to Martín’s studio (and want to pay a lot more for his work), we found a couple of his pieces in town along Avenida de la Independencia at Andares. But not only is it cool to meet these artisans and see their workshops, you’ll find the prices much cheaper than those at the stores.

The sign at Martín’s home and workshop shows his playful style, often with animals on bikes or in mototaxis.

Martín Melchor Ángeles
Andrés Portillo #2
San Martín Tilcajete
Oaxaca
México

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Wally and I wished that we had allotted extra time in Oaxaca to coordinate a second day trip with Linda. Her involvement with and passion for the region’s indigenous artisans deepened our understanding and appreciation of the process. Having her as both driver and guide took the stress of transportation out of the equation. Plus, her familiarity with and ability to contact the creators prior to us visiting their workshops ensured that they had pieces for us to see and purchase.

If you’re interested in Mexican folk art, Linda can introduce you to local artesanos and take you to see their workshops. Send her an email at folkartfantasy@gmail.com. —Duke

What Are Alebrijes?

From the fever dream of Pedro Linares to the ultra-popular Oaxacan woodcarvings started by Manuel Jiménez, these fantastical folk art animals are sure to delight.

A winged dog alebrije on the workbench at the family home of Manuel Jiménez, who popularized the small, brightly painted, whimsical woodcarvings known as alebrijes.

I can clearly remember the first time I was introduced to Oaxacan woodcarving. It was the early ’90s and I was working for the Nature Company. We received a shipment of whimsical wooden frogs. I purchased a brightly painted one with an upturned head, saucer-like eyes, a cartoonish grin and exaggerated outstretched limbs more like a cat’s than an amphibians. Little did I know I was on my way to becoming a collector of this art form. 

“Pedro Linares fell ill and had a fever dream where strange zoomorphic creatures materialized in a dark forest chanting the word, “Alebrije… alebrije… alebrije.” ”

When Wally and I decided to venture beyond CDMX and visit Oaxaca, Mexico, I knew it’d be a dream come true for us. We are drawn to cultural destinations with vibrant histories — and this one included colorful carvings of arte popular: animals, devils, mythical beasts and skeletons.

Pro tip: I always pack bubble wrap and tape in our suitcase in anticipation of what we will inevitably buy. 

Three alebrijes from Duke and Wally’s collection

Object Lesson: Woodcarving’s Origins in Mexico 

To get a sense of history, like many things having to do with Mexico, we must look to the Spanish conquistadors who conquered the Aztec Empire. Indigenous craftspeople shifted, in large part, to creating Catholic objects of saints, angels, crosses and ornate altarpieces for colonial churches. Native Mexicans still made masks for ritual dances and festivals, and Dominican friars used them as visual aids to theatrically act out parables from the Bible as a means to sway the natives to convert to Christianity.

A lion mask from a Mexican woodcarver

Fast-forward to the construction of the Pan-American Highway in the 1940s, which enabled tourists to travel to rural pueblos and led to the increased production of art objects as souvenirs. Although Oaxacan woodcarvings, known as alebrijes (pronounced ah-lay-bree-hays), in their current form have been around for less than 50 years, they have become one of the most popular. 

Not all alebrijes are of fantastical beasts — but they do have unexpected colors and patterns.

This art form can be traced back to a single man, Manuel Jiménez, a native of the small village of San Antonio Arrazola. Today the legendary late artist’s compound contains a museum and workshop. His alebrijes are incredible objects that are a cultural jumble of real and imaginary indigenous folklore. It was a natural evolution that other families from Arrazola, as well as those from San Martín Tilcajete and La Unión Tejalapam in particular, applied their ingenuity to create and sell pieces as a source of income.

The first step in creating an alebrije involves a machete like this in the Jiménez family workshop outside of Oaxaca.

Bough Down: How Alebrijes Are Made

These folk art sculptures are considered a young tradition when compared to pre-Hispanic handicrafts such as weaving and pottery. The most popular choice for carving is copal, a softwood that’s easy to work with. Woodcarving involves using non-mechanical tools like machetes, chisels and knives. The exact positioning of the figure is determined by the shape of the piece of wood. Initial cuts are often made with a machete to form a rough idea of what the artist has imagined, while smaller knives and chisels are used to define the final form. 

After the object is carved, it’s sanded smooth and left to dry. Those that are carved from a large solid piece of wood can take months to dry. Details like wings, tails and ears are crafted in separate pieces from the main figure, which make them easier to travel with. 

Most alebrijes are carved of copal wood. These are drying on a roof at the home and studio of our favorite artisan, Martín Melchor.

The process is a family affair. Generally, it is the men who carve and women who paint. Some are embellished with bold, contrasting acrylic paints and ixtle fiber from the leaves of the maguey plant. They are a source of family pride, and most homes have a small area where finished works are displayed. 

It’s believed that alebrijes trace their roots back to the Zapotec tradition of tonas or nahuals, animal spirit guides, which often had human faces, complete with mustaches.

Motifs change, driven by the market’s appetite for novelty and the creativity and imagination of the individual who makes them. Most Oaxacan artisans simply call them figuras, wooden figures. It’s thought that they originally derived from tonas or nahuals, which refer to animal spirit guides from the Zapotec zodiac. But nowadays, these fantastic figures are more often than not referred to as alebrijes. 

A cute (?) devilesque papier-mâché alebrije Duke and Wally bought at a store in Chicago

Alebrijes: What’s in a Name?

The first alebrijes as well as the name itself are attributed to Mexico City-born artist Pedro Linares. In 1936 Linares fell ill and had a fever dream where strange zoomorphic creatures materialized in a dark forest chanting the word, “Alebrije… alebrije… alebrije.” 

Using his skills as a papier-mâché artist, Linares rendered the creatures from memory, mixing multiple animal body parts, such as the body of a snake, a rooster’s beak, bat wings, lizard legs and a fish’s tail. 

Alebrijes began as larger papier-mâché crazy creatures like this one at a mercado in Mexico City.

Jiménez, in turn, was influenced by the highly stylized treatment and colors he saw in the works of Linares — shifting the medium to wood and putting his own mark on the creatures. 

The economic growth created by the popularity of these colorful creatures has given many families the opportunity to have a better life in the poorest state in Mexico. Woodcarving has improved the lives of these villagers as evidenced by paved roads, better schools, streetlights and cell phones — none of which existed 20 years ago. 

Quality and prices vary widely. Choosing an alebrije is truly a matter of personal taste. It can be overwhelming, so go with your gut. And decide between a colorful chucherría, a small, simple folk object, or a larger labor-intensive fine art gallery-worthy piece. 

Many alebrijes now sport multiple intricate patterns.

When you’re in the Oaxaca area and want to visit artisans at their studios, book a tour with the delightful Linda Hanna. And when you see something you like, buy it — because you’ll probably never see anything like it again. Added bonus: The prices at a studio will be much better than at a store or even market. –Duke