{"id":115,"date":"2024-09-11T12:36:27","date_gmt":"2024-09-11T12:36:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.michelatoschi.it\/?p=115"},"modified":"2025-09-01T09:21:48","modified_gmt":"2025-09-01T09:21:48","slug":"dia-de-los-muertos-un-viaggio-in-messico","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/michelatoschi.it\/en\/impressioni-di-viaggio\/dia-de-los-muertos-un-viaggio-in-messico\/","title":{"rendered":"Dia de los Muertos: A Journey to Mexico Between Misunderstandings and Wonders"},"content":{"rendered":"

The missed party<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The heart of the celebrations had already passed by October 27th. An Italian-born guide told us this at 2:10 PM, in a restaurant in R\u00edo Lagartos, during a lunch of bold flavors and a conversation brimming with curiosities about Mexico. Then, almost by chance, the revelation. Discreet, almost thrown in by chance, but capable of shifting the entire journey's direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We looked at each other in silence. No one said anything, but we all understood: we had missed the fulcrum, the initial pulse from which everything had taken shape. It wasn't our mistake, but that of those who had organized the trip, a naivety so great that it ruined an enthusiastically constructed plan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And yet, it was precisely there, between the cracks of the ruined plan, that wonder dawned. It wasn't the place that was wrong, nor the desire to be there. It was the timing. But when traveling, time is often more relative than we think.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Between the cracks in the program<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

We had imagined the Day of the Dead as a great collective celebration, on November 2nd. We expected altars, the iconic decorated skulls, calaveras<\/em>, and parades in honor of souls. We had built everything around the Festival de las \u00c1nimas in M\u00e9rida, Yucat\u00e1n. We wanted to be there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were eleven of us: ten women and a chaperone. Among us was Federica, a film makeup student, ready, with her tools, to transform us into creatures suspended between two worlds. We had crowns of fake flowers, a few dresses designed for the occasion, and dreams tucked away in our suitcases among the folds of our clothes. For some, that trip was a hard-won luxury. For others, a desire held back for years. For all, a moment longed for, thought about, dreamed of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The revelation of the failed event split the trip in two, before and after lunch in R\u00edo Lagartos. The post-lunch disappointment became a companion, discreet but present. The group's energy waned, as if the sun had stopped warming. With this state of mind, in the afternoon we went to visit an alligator rehabilitation center. Later, when the organizer suggested a detour to San Felipe, no one was expecting anything. The day's program was over, and this was just a last-minute addition. But as we reached the town square, something began to warm us. Simple altars, children and adults with their faces painted by skull<\/em>, a dog made up like his playmate. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We didn't know it yet, but we were entering a real celebration. A grassroots celebration, made up of simple gestures. That evening, San Felipe would host its Parade of the Souls for the first time, followed by the election of the most beautiful Catrinas. An unexpected gift, arriving just when we were already resigned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wonder of an imperfect journey<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The Paseo de las \u00c1nimas, they told us, wouldn't cross the streets. It would cross the water. A procession of illuminated boats, souls floating on a calm, dark sea. They invited us to board decorated fishing boats, among children and Catrinas in their finery. The parade came to life in a trail of colored lights, reflected in the water, distorted by the waves. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the end of the procession, an improvised set took shape. Uninvited, the costumed villagers lined up to be photographed, as if offering themselves to our cameras were, ultimately, a mutual recognition. It was there, in that suspended moment, that everything fell into place: the mistake, the mix-up, the missed appointment with M\u00e9rida. We were exactly where we were supposed to be, in the right place, at the right time. And we all felt it.
San Felipe had no stage lights or bombastic music. It had its people. It had life. And that life opened up to us. We recognized each other, we and they, in a simple and authentic exchange. We with our cameras, they with the timid desire to be seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking back at the images, I don't just see costumes or colors, nor the stereotypical celebration we expected to find. I see the encounter. The truth that emerges when you leave room for the unexpected. In our imagination, we often think of these places in a somewhat predictable way, filtered by exotic clich\u00e9s. That evening in San Felipe, however, gave us something real. The trip we had in mind vanished. What we experienced became unforgettable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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