Celebrate Christmas Among the Dead in Mexico City
Celebrate Christmas Among the Dead in Mexico City
At a glance: This trip to Mexico City will see you lodging in the haunted Edificio Rio de Janeiro, or “the Witches House”; attending a traditional midnight mass on Christmas Eve at one of two creepy Cathedrals; visiting the spooky Island of the Dolls; and reading Monstrilio by Gerardo Samano Cordova while eating worm salt gelato.
Mexico City’s colonial history and neo-colonial present ensures that more than a few spirits still roam the capital’s streets and take residence in her buildings. The land now known as Mexico was invaded by Spain in 1519, in a mission led by Hernan Cortes. The ensuing battles among Spanish troops and Indigenous tribes ended two years later, with Cortes declaring victory over the land. The Spanish men proceeded to impose their seed on the indigenous women and girls, leading to the eventual widespread miscegenation of the two peoples, creating the Mexican “race”. The Spanish imposed their religion too. Catholicism continues to guide the political, social, and private lives of all Mexicans, whether they practice Catholicism or not (though the majority of them do). Such conditions, unfortunately, often guarantee the presence of spirits, and the rise of coping rituals. No matter your stance on organized religion or the existence of almighty deities, when visiting Mexico City be prepared to embrace and heavily respect the religious cultural practices and the resulting (haunting) wonders that the residents’ belief systems have inspired over the centuries.
December 23rd: Prep yourself for landing by beginning Monstrilio by Mexico City author Gerardo Samano Cordova, about a mother grieving the death of her 11-year-old son. With the assistance of a local bruja (healer/witch), the mother cuts out a piece of her deceased son’s lung in order to grow a new one (a new son, that is). All is well for a short while, until the community begins to realize that he is no longer the same. Monstrilio will ease you into a trip full of encounters with the dead, many of whom happen to also be children.
Start your journey by checking into Edificiao Rio de Janeiro, or Casa de la Brujas (Witches House, or Bruja House), in the trendy Roma district. Casa de la Brujas was once a grand, opulent hotel but is now a residential building that has some flats posted on Airbnb. The Roma district is a vibrant, artsy area that attracts many expats and tourists, including U.S. Beat era writer William S. Burroughs back in the 1950s. If you get tired of being spooked, places like the Frida Kahlo museum and the Museum of Archaeology are right around the corner from your Airbnb. The Bruja House is a gothic style structure that gets its name, in part, from the street-facing turret that dons a pointy roof and the two decorative awnings underneath that happen to look like eyes. However, this isn’t the only reason for its nickname.
Rumors of the Bruja House being haunted stem from Barbara (Pachita) Guerrero’s time living in the building in the 1950s – 1970s. Pachita was a curandera (healing woman) with high profile clients – politicians, movie stars, and rich, desperate Americans. She performed the usual herbal remedies and hopeful chants at first; but Pachita eventually began trying her hand at surgeries, right in her own apartment. Legend has it that Pachita had a specially endowed knife that allowed her to execute surgeries without causing the recipient any pain. Sometimes her body was even taken over by Cuahuatemoc, the last ruler of the Aztec empire, whom she referred to affectionately as “Hermanito” (Little Brother). Pachita often claimed that her Hermanito was the one performing the surgeries – he had all the ancient, technical knowledge needed and was enacting it through her to save his descendants’ lives. Pachita came under investigation many times over the years, for Mexican authorities could not determine where it was that she got the replacement organs for some of her surgeries. Now, people say they can feel a charge in the building that matches Pachita’s famed energy, and passers-by claim to see her silhouette in the windows.
December 24th, Christmas Eve: It is customary in Mexico (and among Mexican communities elsewhere) to attend midnight mass on Christmas Eve. There are several haunted and spooky-adjacent chapels across Mexico, but I am suggesting my two favorites: one is not for the faint of heart, but the other is a more approachable option.
First is the Guadalajara Cathedral. To be honest, this one is quite a trek from Mexico City (a seven hour drive out to Guadalajara, Mexico, in fact); however, I would be remiss not to mention it. Inside the Cathedral, encased in glass and on full display in a long white, lacy gown, with eyes wide open, is the 300-year-old corpse of Santa Inocencia, one of Mexican Catholicism’s most infamous child “martyrs” (or sacrifices, depending on how you interpret the story). Inocencia, an Indigenous girl living in colonial Mexico, became curious about the teachings of the Catholic Church after hearing the Spanish kids speaking of them. She asked her father if she could attend a Catholic mass one day and he forbade it. Nevertheless, Inocencia supposedly followed the children to Catechism (Bible class) over the next several months, listening from underneath an open window until a nun spotted her and asked her inside. Impressed that Inocencia already knew so many of the prayers, the nun invited her to participate in their upcoming Holy Communion.
Despite her father’s earlier opposition, Inocencia ran home and told him the good news. He was not pleased. In fact, he killed her over it. For this, Inocencia is considered a martyr among Catholics, and an enduring (literally) symbol of what it is to love Jesus Christ and put him above oneself. She was designated a saint by the Vatican in the 1930s. Legend has it that Divine Intervention, or special protection from God, prevents Inocencia’s corpse from ever rotting. Inocencia has been blessed in this way due to her alleged love for the teachings of the Catechism. Devout followers trek to Guadalajara Cathedral when in need of a miracle, as it is believed St. Inocencia can perform them. Indeed, a miraculous video from 2016 purports to show St. Inocencia’s corpse blinking at a visitor. No word on whether or not the visitor she blinked at experienced a miracle shortly after.
If, perhaps, you cannot emotionally, physically, or spiritually stomach a visit to St. Inocencia, then the Metropolitan Cathedral might be a more fitting option. Otherwise known as the Catacombs of Mexico City, this Gothic cathedral is the largest and oldest in Latin America and is yet another place of worship indelibly influenced by colonial forces. After marveling at the interior during midnight mass, join a tour that takes you 23 feet underground, where the Aztec’s sacred Templo Mayor once stood, along with several smaller places of worship. Templo Mayor was built around 1325 in recognition of Huitzilopochtli, the God of War, and Tlaloc, the God of Agriculture. The Spanish invaders destroyed the temples and began building the Cathedral over the ruins in 1573 as a testament to Hernan Cortes’ victory. Before descending into the remains of Templo Mayor, you will be guided through a series of rooms containing the mummy-like tombs of the Archbishops who have presided over the Cathedral throughout the centuries. However, the main draw of the museum’s catacombs is the tzompantli, a massive cylindrical wall constructed of nearly 600 skulls arranged in ritualistic rows. Mexican anthropologists believe the Aztecs acquired these skulls through human sacrifices and offerings, and through victories over their enemies during sporting events – their variation of handball was sometimes played to the death if there was a score to settle. Tours of the tzompantli are sporadic, so plan your visit well enough in advance.
Photo: mexicocity.cdmx.mx
December 25th, Christmas Day. Hopefully, while you enjoy your morning coffee, you will catch an airing of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on the Airbnb’s television. It may help prepare you for this Christmas Day excursion. Within the UNESCO-recognized canals of Xochimilco in southern Mexico City is Isla de la Munecas, or Island of the Dolls, an islet once inhabited by a man named Don Julian Santana Barrera who abandoned his wife and kids and sought to make a new life for himself within these brushy, ancient waterways. Supposedly, Barrera was witness to strange goings-on immediately upon inhabiting the islet. Worst of all was the discovery of a drowned little girl and her doll. Rumor has it that Barrera buried the girl’s corpse somewhere on the islet and strung up her doll above the gravesite to mark it. Realizing that the doll seemed to appease the source of the whispers and whistles Barrera had been hearing, the stowaway began bartering for more dolls with nearby residents and others who passed through. Barrera hung the dolls near sites where he believed paranormal or supernatural activities were occurring. Eventually, Barrera’s hanging doll collection drew the attention of tourist boats passing through the canals, sparking intrigue and fear. No note on how or when Barrera died, but people and tourists have been adding their own old dolls to the islet ever since. Over the decades, natural elements have warped the dolls’ appearances, making the place look even creepier. The only way to reach Isla de la Munecas is by one of many colorful ferries. If you’re lucky, a live mariachi band will accompany you on your journey to the macabre islet.
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December 26th, Departure Day: Check out of the Bruja House and await your Uber to the airport down the block at Joe’s Gelato. Joe’s serves such kitschy flavors as beer, oregano, Mexican black tea, and the innocuously named “salted caramel” – but be warned: the salt in this particular gelato comes from toasting the hypota agavis worm in the sun and grinding it up with spices. Pick up where you left off in Monstrilio, and notice how the premise of the book no longer seems so extraordinary or far-fetched after visiting so many varied tributes to the dead in Mexico City.
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Yve Chairez is a Mexican-American writer of mainly feminist speculative fiction and experimental nonfiction. She was born in a haunted house and has been writing ghost stories since she was a child; now all her travel plans include detours through ghostly settings. Her work has recently been featured in JAKE, Roi Faineant, and VoidSpace, and her nonfiction micro-chapbook In the Name of the __ is forthcoming from Rinky Dink Press. Chairez lives in the Texas hill country with her family and their Sphynx.
