Mariarchi bands, guitarists, and occasional lone singers, float joyful and doleful tunes across the field of high stacked graves, trays of steaming tamales and variously clad celebrants. A line of observers wends silently through, over a rough boardwalk recently erected, some dropping a tear or a flower, greeting an old friend, stopping the procession to linger at the final resting spot of their abuela or tia. Bordering the ancient burial grounds a festival has grown up, mushroom like, over the previous few days. Gifts, crafts, food and pulque, and even entertainment for children. This is a fiesta, a feast day, or days, it is Dia de los Muertes [Day of the Dead], in Tepoztlan, the 3500 year old birthplace of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent god, and home of a grand cathedral and many churches.
Here is a place to witness the thousands of years of cultural collision that epitomizes the Americas.