Peninsula Part 3
We had to cross dense clouds of copal and piñón before we could access the main entrance of the cathedral. These amorphous masses of smoke unfolded like characters of a Hayao Miyazaki movie. These are limpias, spiritual cleanses with varying degrees of wholesome faith, social forbearance and sappy entertainment. Men and women with pasted motifs of Aztec esoterica, hurried to gather fascinated tourists and disinterested locals on their way to pay an electric bill or go through a painful bureaucratic process: limpias para todo, con lo que usted guste comperar (cleanses for everything, pay as you wish). The archetypal signaling between these contemporary ancient priests and lucha libre wrestlers are not too dissimilar. Terrifying jaguar roars are ripped out of clay flutes, between cars honking and the voices of vendors selling knock off basketball shoes, fried snacks and single use Chinese electronics. Mysticism and haggling are refined pastimes in the Mexican zeitgeist. After a brief visit to the interior of the cathedral, my companions and I found a shaded corner in the vastness of the Zócalo plaza to eat our fruit cups with lime juice and tajín. I continued with my tale of Yucatan.
Before our second cooking day at Ya’ache, we visited Don Hector’s milpa to harvest jícama. The farm is visually contradicting, mystifying and complex. Upon first inspection, the soil looks like barren clay with eroded patches of deep crimson. But after digging our fingers in the soil, it felt like rain had just passed, soft and cool. The aroma was quick to follow, embracing and fertile, with notes of iron, tree bark, leather and dried gourds. The distribution of crops looked chaotic, but following Hector’s hand signals and measured advice, we found more jícamas and squashes that we could hold. These jícamas are polar opposite to supermarket offerings, their skin soft and easy to peel. The flesh is tender yet structured, firm yet creamy. Their flavor, like a long wine, is luscious, compounded, evocative. Every jícama’s personality manifested in eccentric shapes sprouted from their cores—think of the unexpected shapes that form while kneading dough.
In between rows of harvest, Don Hector told us stories. “My stick has four purposes: snake guard, protection from thorns, a cane and a shield from wild machete swings. Not many people realize that you have to ask permission from the land to work in it, you can’t just step into it like a lost dog”. We harvested squash, beans, a few ears of corn left from the previous harvest and jícama. “At the end of a work day, I ring a rusted bell with the machete to invite deer to eat with me. In the summer, I leave containers with water for the birds, they don’t land until I invite them”. Two hours in and all of us remembered the importance of wearing a hat. At our own pace, we sheltered under the tree where Wilson had been preparing lunch. A floating silence descended like a bedsheet settling on a mattress. We ate slowly, our attention piercing the belly of sacks filled with our harvest.
Hector broke the spell with a story of Aluxes (mischievous creatures of folklore that can provide protection or wreck havoc). “Years ago I spent a few sleepless nights with fever, bitten by fleas and haunted by sounds I didn’t recognize. The rain season was delayed and I had lost two dogs. My son reminded me that I hadn’t left offerings for the Aluxes the entire season. I started leaving gourds with coffee, sugar, tobacco and mezcal. Every weekend I replenished the food offerings. Now, I will never forget”. We gave Don Hector a basket of fruit as a thank you and whistled our way back to the car. We saw a snake hanging from a tree, swaying in the wind next to the rusted bell.
Back in Mexico City, my companions and I realized that the cathedral had a sudden long line of people waiting to go inside, two busloads of faithful Germans fascinated by stories of saints and the sinking structure of the building. My friends asked me to elaborate on the concept of the milpa. I decided to take them to the Juarez Market so I can adorn my explanations with fruits and vegetables. We ordered a taxi and crossed a thick curtain of incense for the second time. A kid roared with his jaguar whistle and stared at us fiercely. At the market we taste zapote, zapotillo, mamey, pitaya, guayaba, guanábana, mango ataulfo, charales, chapulines, chayote, chicharrón and freshly toasted peanuts. It wasn’t necessary to elaborate on the milpa’s relevance, the three sisters’ farming philosophy, circular harvests and soil health. The market had illustrated those points for me. Leaving the market we saw a man carrying a cane with a serpent carved in the handle, he was making his way through a crowd of office workers anxious to catch the subway. I thought of Don Hector standing at the edge of his milpa waving at us with his worn out hat and three machetes hanging from his belt.
