Human Sacrifice, Cannibalism & Cosmic Calendars: 20 Shocking Facts About Ancient Mesoamerica

From floating gardens to skull racks and chocolate money, Mesoamerican civilizations like the Aztec, Maya and Olmec were rewriting the rules of society — often with obsidian blades.

Imagine a world where chocolate is money, cities align perfectly with the stars, and rituals involve hearts ripped from chests to keep the sun from falling out of the sky. 

Welcome to Mesoamerica, where civilizations like the Maya and Aztecs shaped the Americas while rewriting the rules of what it means to build and believe — with a whole lot of human sacrifice thrown in.

“With a swift motion, the heart is ripped from the chest, still beating, and offered to the heavens.”

While Europe was still playing with iron and forgetting how to write, Mesoamerican civilizations were busy creating some of the most awe-inspiring — and downright shocking — traditions and innovations the world has ever seen. 

What Was Mesoamerica?

Mesoamerica is actually more of a concept than anything. It refers to the region and cultures that flourished in what is now Mexico and parts of Central America before the Spanish arrived. This includes legendary civilizations like the Olmec (the OGs), Maya (astronomers extraordinaire), and Aztec (master builders and blood-offerers).

Think of Mesoamerica as a sort of Silicon Valley of the ancient world — where everyone was innovating, connecting and competing to outdo each other in art, agriculture and, sometimes, human sacrifice.

With that in mind, let’s dive into the 20 most shocking facts about early Mexican cultures.

1. Human Sacrifice: The Price of the Sunrise

Worshippers would stand at the base of the towering Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan, the heart of the Aztec empire. The air is thick with incense, the chants of priests echo across the plaza, and thousands of onlookers gather, awaiting the most sacred act of devotion. At the apex of the temple, a victim lies on a stone altar, surrounded by priests in jaguar and eagle costumes. The sun climbs higher in the sky as the priest raises an obsidian blade. With a swift motion, the heart is ripped from the chest, still beating, and offered to the heavens.

To the Aztecs, human sacrifice was a brutal necessity. They believed the gods had sacrificed themselves to create the world, and in return, humanity owed a debt of blood. One of the major Aztec gods, Huitzilopochtli, the sun deity and patron of warriors, required nourishment to continue his battle against darkness. Without regular sacrifices, the sun would stop rising, plunging the world into chaos. In one particularly shocking event, at the consecration of the Templo Mayor in 1487, it’s said that 20,000 people were sacrificed over four days.

This practice wasn’t isolated to the Aztecs, though. Other Mesoamerican cultures, like the Maya, also performed human sacrifice, albeit on a smaller scale. While horrifying by modern standards, this ritual was deeply spiritual and tied to the very fabric of their worldview: a cosmos fueled by cycles of life, death and renewal. For the Aztecs, each drop of blood spilled was a gift to keep the universe alive.

2. Cannibalism: A Taste of Divinity

At a royal feast in the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan, among the tamales, chili-spiced sauces and cups of frothy chocolate, there might also have been something far more unsettling: human flesh. Reserved for priests, rulers and warriors, the consumption of sacrificial victims wasn’t a matter of hunger but of holiness. The Aztecs believed that by eating the flesh of those offered to the gods, they could absorb divine energy, making themselves closer to the deities they worshipped.

Cannibalism in Mesoamerican cultures is one of the most debated and misunderstood aspects of their society. Archaeological evidence and Spanish accounts suggest that the practice, while rare, was tied to specific rituals. For example, in ceremonies honoring the god Xipe Totec, victims were flayed, and their flesh was symbolically eaten to embody regeneration and agricultural fertility. While early Spanish chroniclers exaggerated the extent of cannibalism to demonize indigenous cultures, the underlying spiritual rationale was entirely alien to European sensibilities.

3. Tzompantli Skull Racks: Death on Display

In the bustling city of Tenochtitlan, visitors couldn’t miss the tzompantli. These towering racks, studded with human skulls, lined temple courtyards like grim trophies. For the Aztecs, the tzompantli was both an offering to the gods and a message to outsiders: This was a society willing to go to unimaginable lengths for their beliefs. Spaniards who arrived in the 16th century were shocked by the sight, their writings painting vivid pictures of thousands of skulls, bleached white by the sun, staring back at them.

But the tzompantli wasn’t just about intimidation. The Aztecs saw the skull as a sacred vessel of life’s essence, a way to honor the sacrifice made by those who gave their lives for the gods. Recent archaeological excavations in modern-day Mexico City uncovered one such skull rack, confirming its immense size and intricate construction. Researchers found skulls arranged with holes drilled through them, strung together like beads on a macabre necklace.

4. Bloodletting: Cutting Close to the Cosmos

The sharp sting of an obsidian blade, the drip of crimson onto sacred ground — this was devotion in Maya and Aztec culture.

While human sacrifice grabbed the headlines (and the hearts), bloodletting was far more common and deeply personal. Priests, rulers and even commoners pierced tongues, earlobes or limbs — sometimes with stingray spines — to feed the gods their own life force. During festivals, entire communities might bleed in unison, hoping to secure a good harvest or protection from catastrophe.

Why would anyone willingly endure such pain? For Mesoamericans, blood was the most sacred substance, a direct connection to the gods. By offering their own blood, they reaffirmed their role as intermediaries between the divine and the mortal. 

5. Ritual Dismemberment: Offering to Many Gods

The calm after a sacrifice was often short-lived. In certain ceremonies, the Aztecs didn’t stop at removing the heart; they dismembered the victim’s body. Priests would scatter the parts across different temples and altars, each piece an offering to a specific god. A hand might be given to Xochipilli, the god of art and pleasure, while a head would go to Huitzilopochtli, the sun god.

To the Aztecs, this was cosmic bookkeeping. Each god had unique responsibilities, from rain to war, and each needed their share of devotion to keep the world functioning. Archaeological digs have uncovered evidence of these practices, with bones showing deliberate markings consistent with ritual dismemberment. Some temples even had distinct areas for specific body parts, suggesting an organized system for distributing offerings.

To the Aztec, these offerings were acts of love, ensuring the gods’ goodwill and the world’s continued existence.

6. Ollamaliztli: The Ballgame With Fatal Stakes

The ball bounces against a stone hoop, echoing across the court. Two teams of players, drenched in sweat, leap and twist, desperate to keep the rubber ball in play. The stakes couldn’t be higher: Losing could mean death.

The Mesoamerican ballgame, ollamaliztli, played by cultures like the Maya and Aztecs, was more than a game; it was a ritual symbolizing the eternal battle between life and death. Ollamaliztli was often played to honor gods or mark significant events, such as a military victory. While not all games ended in sacrifice, some did — especially during rituals. Archaeologists have found ball courts with murals depicting bound captives, suggesting that losing teams or their captains were sometimes offered as sacrifices.

The game itself was no small feat. The ball, made of solid rubber, could weigh up to 10 pounds, and players couldn’t use their hands or feet to touch it — only their hips, shoulders or thighs. Injuries were common, and the pressure of knowing your life might be on the line made the stakes even higher. 

Today, remnants of ball courts dot Mesoamerica, standing as haunting reminders of a sport where victory and survival were often intertwined.

7. Chocolate as Currency: Divine and Delicious

You walk into a bustling marketplace in Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, and instead of coins jingling in pockets, traders pass around cacao beans. Need a turkey? That’ll cost 100 beans. A tamale? Just three. In Mesoamerica, chocolate wasn’t just a treat — it was wealth.

The Maya were among the first to cultivate cacao, considering it a gift from the gods. The Aztecs took it a step further, turning the beans into a form of currency. But cacao also held immense religious significance. Priests drank chocolate in sacred rituals, often mixing it with chili, maize or honey. This wasn’t your typical hot chocolate, though; it was a frothy, bitter elixir meant to connect mortals with the divine.

For the Aztecs, chocolate represented luxury, spirituality and power. Its association with the gods elevated it beyond mere sustenance, making it a cornerstone of their economy and culture. 

8. Chinampa Floating Gardens: Ancient Environmentalism

Faced with limited farmland, the Aztecs invented chinampas — ingenious floating gardens — to feed their massive population. You can still glide through some of the original canals at Xochimilco, where this ancient innovation lives on.

Chinampas were artificial islands made of woven reeds and mud, anchored in the shallow lakes around the city. These gardens were incredibly fertile, producing crops like maize, beans, squash and flowers. A single chinampa could yield up to seven harvests per year, an efficiency unmatched even by today’s standards.

The Aztecs created a self-sustaining ecosystem, where canals provided irrigation and fish fertilized the soil. Modern scientists marvel at the environmental brilliance of chinampas, which could inspire solutions to today’s agricultural challenges. 

9. Astronomy: The Stars Were Their Guide

It’s midnight in a Maya city, and the stars shine brightly. A priest, adorned in jaguar pelts and jade, carefully watches the movements of the planet Venus. For the Maya, astronomy was a divine map, guiding everything from farming to warfare.

Maya astronomers meticulously tracked celestial bodies, creating some of the most accurate calendars in human history. Their Long Count calendar, famously misinterpreted as predicting the world’s end in 2012, was a tool for tracking vast stretches of time. They predicted eclipses with stunning precision and understood the 584-day cycle of Venus, which they associated with war and sacrifice.

Cities like Chichen Itza in modern-day Mexico were aligned with celestial events, such as the equinox. On these days, the shadow of the sun forms a serpent slithering down the temple of Kukulkan. For the Maya, this was a powerful reminder that the gods were always watching — and that humanity’s actions were written in the stars.

10. Advanced Mathematics: Zeroing In on Genius

While medieval Europe was fumbling with clunky Roman numerals, the Maya were crafting a sophisticated base-20 numerical system centuries ahead of their time. Even more groundbreaking, they independently invented zero, a concept that revolutionized mathematics across the world.

The Maya used their numerical system for everything from complex architecture to astronomical calculations. Their hieroglyphs represented numbers with dots and bars, and a shell symbol for zero — a groundbreaking idea that enabled them to calculate vast stretches of time. This mathematical prowess was essential for creating their famous calendars, which tracked both earthly and cosmic cycles.

11. Burial of Kings in Pyramids: A Royal Afterlife

Deep inside a pyramid in Palenque in Chiapas, Mexico, archaeologists uncovered the tomb of K’inich Janaab’ Pakal, one of the greatest Maya rulers. His jade death mask gleamed in the flickering torchlight, surrounded by treasures meant to guide him into the afterlife. For the Maya, burial honored the dead in their journey to the underworld, a sacred act steeped in ritual and grandeur.

Unlike the Egyptians, who mummified their rulers, the Maya focused on elaborate tombs. These often included jade ornaments, intricate carvings, and offerings of food, pottery and incense. Pakal’s sarcophagus lid, for example, depicts him descending into the underworld, surrounded by mythological imagery that tells the story of his divine lineage.

These tombs weren’t just graves; they were political statements. By aligning their burials with religious symbolism, rulers reinforced their connection to the gods, ensuring their legacy endured both on Earth and in the spiritual realm. Each pyramid was a monument that acted as a doorway between worlds.

12. Codices: Books of the Gods

Imagine holding a book that contains the secrets of the universe, the history of kings and the rituals to summon rain. That’s what Mesoamerican codices represented: sacred texts painted on bark paper or deerskin, filled with colorful glyphs and stunning illustrations.

The Aztecs, Maya and Mixtec used codices to record everything from genealogy to religious ceremonies. These books were read by priests and rulers, who used them to guide decisions and communicate with the divine. Sadly, the Spanish destroyed the vast majority of these texts during the conquest, believing them to be works of the devil. Of the thousands of codices once created, only a handful survive today, including the Dresden Codex and the Codex Borgia.

Each surviving codex offers a glimpse into a lost world, revealing the complexity of Mesoamerican thought and artistry. These were living documents, bridging the human and the divine. The destruction of these texts remains one of the greatest tragedies of the conquest, a loss of knowledge we can only begin to fathom.

13. Hallucinogens in Rituals: Unlocking the Divine

The fire crackled in the dim light of the temple, smoke swirling around a priest seated cross-legged, a small cup of pulque — a fermented agave drink — in one hand and a bundle of morning glory seeds in the other. As he consumed the seeds, his breathing slowed, his vision blurred, and he began to see the gods. For the Maya, Aztecs and other Mesoamerican cultures, hallucinogens weren’t recreational; they were sacred tools, gateways to the divine.

Psychoactive plants like peyote, psilocybin mushrooms and the seeds of morning glory vines (tlitliltzin) played a central role in ceremonies. Priests and shamans believed these substances opened pathways to cosmic truths, allowing them to communicate with deities, interpret omens and guide their communities. The experience was deeply spiritual, often accompanied by chants, prayers and rhythmic drumming, reinforcing the connection between the mortal and divine.

Modern scientists have confirmed the psychoactive properties of these plants and their ability to alter consciousness. Even today, the Mazatec, descendants of the ancient Mixtec, continue rituals involving hallucinogens, preserving their connection to the sacred. 

14. Women as Leaders: Power in Unexpected Places

The Mesoamerican world is often painted as a patriarchal society, dominated by kings and warriors. But dig a little deeper, and you’ll find powerful women shaping history from the shadows — and sometimes, from the throne.

In Maya society, women could rule in their own right. Lady Six Sky of Naranjo, for example, was a queen who led military campaigns and revitalized her city’s influence. And in Mixtec culture, women were often depicted as priestesses, warriors and even co-rulers, standing alongside men in both politics and religion.

These women were integral to the fabric of their societies. While their stories are often overshadowed by their male counterparts, their legacies endure in ancient texts, carvings and oral traditions.

15. Trade Networks: A Marketplace Across the Americas

Picture a bustling marketplace where merchants trade obsidian from central Mexico, turquoise from the American Southwest, and feathers from tropical jungles. This was the Mesoamerican trade network — an intricate web of commerce that connected cultures across thousands of miles.

The Aztecs had professional traders called pochteca, who ventured into distant lands to bring back luxury goods as well as information. These merchants doubled as spies, gathering intelligence for the empire. Goods exchanged included cacao, salt, jade, textiles and live animals like macaws. 

The Maya, meanwhile, traded along rivers and coastlines, using massive dugout canoes to transport goods.

These trade networks reveal a highly interconnected world, centuries before European contact. They weren’t just exchanging items but also ideas, technologies and cultural practices. Innovation wasn’t confined to one city or empire, but was shared across Mesoamerica, creating a vibrant, collaborative civilization.

16. Flower Wars: Fighting for Sacrifice Victims

In the Aztec world, war wasn’t always about conquest — it was about feeding the gods. Known as flower wars, these prearranged battles were fought not to expand territory but to capture prisoners for sacrifice. Think of it as a grim, divine version of capture the flag.

The idea behind a flower war was simple: The gods required blood to sustain the universe (see above), and the noblest offering was a captured warrior. These battles were fought with precision and ritual, often involving ornate costumes and weapons designed to wound rather than kill. The goal wasn’t to destroy the enemy but to bring back their strongest fighters as living sacrifices.

This practice highlights the unique relationship between war and religion in Aztec society. For them, the battlefield was sacred ground, where the fate of the cosmos was decided. The concept of flower wars reveals the Aztecs’ belief in sacrifice as an honorable exchange between mortals and gods, where even the defeated played a crucial role in cosmic harmony.

17. Urban Centers of Stone: Predating European Cities

Before London had cobblestone streets or Paris had a skyline, cities like Teotihuacan in central Mexico were thriving metropolises. With a population that likely reached over 200,000 at its peak, Teotihuacan was one of the largest cities in the ancient world, rivaling the size of Rome.

Teotihuacan, whose name means “The Place Where Gods Were Created,” was meticulously planned. It boasted wide avenues, towering pyramids, multi-story apartment complexes and a sophisticated drainage system. The Pyramid of the Sun and Pyramid of the Moon dominated the skyline, their purpose tied to celestial events and rituals. Meanwhile, smaller neighborhoods housed artisans, merchants and farmers, creating a cosmopolitan hub of culture and commerce.

What’s even more impressive? Teotihuacan’s influence spread far beyond its borders, shaping the cultures of the Maya, Zapotec and others. Archaeological evidence suggests its trade routes extended thousands of miles, making it not just a city but a cultural and economic powerhouse. Its sophistication proves that long before European colonization, Mesoamerica had already mastered the art of urban living.

18. Advanced Water Management: Engineering Marvels

In Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, advanced water management turned a swampy island into a thriving metropolis.

The Aztecs built aqueducts to bring fresh water into the city from nearby springs, ensuring a reliable supply for drinking, bathing and irrigating crops. They also constructed dikes and canals to control flooding during the rainy season. One of the most remarkable projects was the dike built by the engineer Nezahualcoyotl, a massive barrier that separated fresh and brackish water in Lake Texcoco.

These innovations allowed Tenochtitlan to support a population of over 200,000 people — comparable at the time to Paris, Constantinople and Beijing. The city’s water management was practical as well as beautiful, with canals crisscrossing neighborhoods and floating gardens providing food and greenery. 

19. The Aztec Love for Pets: Companions of Life and Death

While many associate the Aztecs with grand temples, fierce warriors and intricate rituals, they also had a tender side: their deep connection to animals. Domesticated dogs, particularly the Xoloitzcuintli (Xolo), held a special place in Aztec society. These hairless dogs were believed to guide their owners’ souls through the underworld to Mictlan, the final resting place for most Aztecs. Often, these loyal companions were buried alongside their owners to fulfill this sacred role. (Xolos were also a favorite food at special feasts like weddings.)

But dogs weren’t the only animals cherished by the Aztecs. Turkeys (huehxolotl), macaws and parakeets were kept as pets, not solely for their feathers or meat, but also for companionship. Macaws, with their bright plumage, were often seen as symbols of beauty and vibrancy, while turkeys held religious significance. These animals frequently appeared in Aztec art, codices and ceremonies, bridging the connection between the natural and spiritual worlds.

20. Resistance to Colonization: A Legacy of Defiance

When Hernán Cortés marched into Mexico in 1519, he may have toppled the Aztec Empire, but indigenous resistance didn’t end there. The Maya, for example, fought Spanish domination for centuries, with conflicts like the Caste War of Yucatán lasting well into the 19th century.

One of the most remarkable stories of defiance comes from the Maya city of Tayasal, which remained independent until 1697 — nearly two centuries after the fall of Tenochtitlan. Using guerrilla tactics and their knowledge of the jungle, the Maya outlasted wave after wave of Spanish expeditions. Even after their cities were conquered, they preserved their culture through language, art and traditions, subtly resisting assimilation.

Despite centuries of conquest and colonization, their legacy lives on — not just in history books but in the vibrant traditions and identities of modern Mexico and Central America.

Like Blood for Chocolate: What Mesoamerica Left Behind

The civilizations of Mesoamerica built stunning pyramids and created impressive calendars. They were innovators, dreamers and survivors. Their world was one of astonishing ingenuity, spiritual devotion and cosmic balance. While some aspects of their culture may seem shocking to us today, they remind us that history isn’t always comfortable — but it’s always worth exploring. –Wally

---

READ MORE: 13 Ways Genghis Khan and the Mongols Were Surprisingly Innovative

The Aztec Gods: A Who’s Who of the Mexica Cosmos

From Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent to the bloodthirsty Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec pantheon was vast, violent and surprisingly flexible. Plus, learn how the Flower Wars provided (semi) willing fodder for human sacrifices. 

The Mexica treated war as an opportunity for cultural accumulation, much like the Mongols did a few centuries earlier. Every conquest came with new foods, new customs, new technology and, often, new deities. If another city had a rain god who seemed to get better results, the Mesoamerican people didn’t see worshipping him as blasphemy — they saw it as smart.

“In many defeated nations we discovered new gods or novel manifestations of our known gods, and, if they appealed to us, our armies brought home copies of their statues for us to set in our own temples,” Gary Jennings writes in his 1980 novel Aztec. 

“Every ritual — whether it involved flowers, animals or human hearts — was a way to keep the cosmic machinery running.

Blood was the power source of the sun. To let that flow stop would be like unplugging the universe.”

It’s a tradition that goes back to at least Ancient Rome. Why destroy another civilization’s gods when you can just add them to your own pantheon? 

The Spanish, of course, were appalled (never mind how many Catholic beliefs originated in so-called pagan celebrations like Yule). They arrived preaching one true God — and promptly rolled out the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary, angels, apostles and a saint for every stubbed toe and lost key. 

“I have heard you Christians complain of our ‘multitudes’ of gods and goddesses,” Jennings writes later, before his narrator adds, “I have counted and compared. I do not believe that we relied on so many major and minor deities as you do — the Lord God, the Son Jesus, the Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary — plus all those other Higher Beings you call Angels and Apostles and Saints, each of them the governing patron of some single facet of your world, your lives, your tónaltin [fate], even every single day in the calendar. In truth, I believe we recognized fewer deities, but we charged each of ours with more diverse functions.”

What a dig! While Europeans obsessed over keeping heaven in order, the Mexica embraced divine chaos — a spiritual ecosystem where gods could merge, borrow faces and change form as easily as the world itself.

The Aztec Gods, A to Z 

(Well, Actually C to X)

Aztec mythology wasn’t built on tidy hierarchies. It instead embraced glorious contradiction — gods who could be both creators and destroyers, lovers and warriors, rainmakers and flood-bringers. To keep things simple (or at least alphabetized), here’s a guide to the divine cast that kept the sun burning, the corn growing, and the sacrifices right on schedule.

Centeotl

“God of Maize”

Pronunciation: Sen-teh-o-tull

Domain: Corn, sustenance, harvest

Vibe: The dependable one — always shows up for dinner

Story: Centeotl was the golden core of Aztec life, the maize god whose body quite literally fed the people. According to the Florentine Codex, Quetzalcoatl tore open the earth to bring corn to humankind, and from that soil Centeotl sprouted — divine, delicious and essential.

Chalchiuhtlicue

“She of the Jade Skirt”

Pronunciation: Chal-chee-oot-lee-kweh

Domain: Rivers, lakes, seas, childbirth

Vibe: The goddess of good water and bad  wmoods

Story: Chalchiuhtlicue ruled over every flowing thing — from gentle rivers to catastrophic floods. One myth says she once loved humanity so much she wept for them, and her tears flooded the world. The survivors, naturally, turned into fish. 

Coatlicue

“She of the Serpent Skirt”

Pronunciation: Ko-aht-lee-kweh

Domain: Earth, life and death, motherhood

Vibe: The cosmic mom you do not want to disappoint

Story: Coatlicue was the ultimate Earth mother — nurturing yet terrifying. She wore a skirt of snakes and a necklace of severed hands and hearts (sharing a fashion sense with the Hindu goddess Kali). When her daughter Coyolxauhqui and 400 sons plotted to kill her, they struck off her head — but from the gushing wound sprang two serpents whose fanged mouths met to form her new face. And Coatlicue’s unborn child Huitzilopochtli burst forth from her womb, fully armed, and ended that rebellion fast. 

Coyolxauhqui

“Bells on Her Cheeks”

Pronunciation: Koy-ol-shau-kee

Domain: The moon

Vibe: The rebel who lost, but still owns the night 

Story: Coyolxauhqui led her siblings in a failed coup against their mother, Coatlicue, only to be dismembered by her newborn brother, Huitzilopochtli — a mythic explanation for the moon’s fragmented phases.

Ehécatl

“He Who Is the Wind”

Pronunciation: Eh-heh-katull 

Domain: Wind, breath, motion, life

Vibe: The chill cousin who shows up, stirs things up and vanishes again

Story: Ehécatl is the wind god — a breezy form of Quetzalcoatl himself. When the newly created sun refused to move, Ehécatl blew across the heavens to push it into motion. His temples were round so the wind could pass through, a clever architectural touch in a city built on geometry. The man was literally the breath of life — and sometimes, the breath of fresh air everyone needed.

Huitzilopochtli

“Left-Handed Hummingbird” or “Hummingbird of the South”

Pronunciation: Weets-ee-loh-pohch-tuhlee

Domain: War, the sun, the destiny of the Mexica

Vibe: The overachiever with a bloody habit

Story: Huitzilopochtli was the Mexica’s personal war god and the reason they believed themselves unstoppable. Born in a blaze of feathers and fury, he beheaded his sister Coyolxauhqui moments after his birth and tossed her body down the mountainside — symbolizing the sun’s daily triumph over the moon. He needed blood to keep shining, and the Aztecs were more than happy to supply it.

Ilamatecuhtli

“The Old Lady”

Pronunciation: Ee-lah-mah-teh-koo-tlee

Domain: Age, endings, childbirth, dry corn, the turning of the year

Vibe: The venerable (and sometimes scary) grandmother

Story: Ilamatecuhtli was the Earth Mother in her oldest form — not nurturing like Teteoinnan, not frantic like Coatlicue, but ancient, heavy and utterly unavoidable. She ruled the cold, solemn month of Tititl, when people fasted, moved quietly, and lived in fear, as though Death herself was walking past their doors.

Women who died in childbirth were honored as fierce, restless spirits called the cihuateteo during this season, their cries believed to haunt crossroads at night. They belonged to Ilamatecuhtli, who understood both the agony of labor and the final stillness of death. She was the end of the cycle, the crack in the seed before it sprouts again, the winter before the earth remembers how to bloom. 

Itztlacoliuhqui

“Curved Obsidian Blade”

Pronunciation: Eets-koh-lee-oo-kee

Domain: Cold, punishment, winter, misfortune

Vibe: The burnt-out star who pissed off the wrong person 

Story: Itztlacoliuhqui is literally the embodiment of bad vibes. But he wasn’t always this way. He used to be a radiant god of light, the Lord of the Dawn, Venus as Morning Star, until he either insulted the sun, Tonatiuh, or accidentally loosed an arrow at him. The sun’s response was instant: a burst of searing fire. The blow broke his nose, warped his face into a permanent curve, and transformed him into the frigid, shadowy deity of winter. He’s often shown blindfolded or bent, carrying a staff like a frozen wanderer. He represents the moment when light collapses into darkness — and the consequences of making mortal enemies.

Mayahuel

“Goddess of the Agave”

Pronunciation: My-yah-well

Domain: Agave, pulque, nourishment, fertility

Vibe: The star-crossed lover

Story: Mayahuel is the spirit of the agave plant — the source of food, fiber, healing sap and the sacred drink pulque. Her family practices an extreme form of helicopter parenting: They’re star demons who’ve forbidden Mayahuel to leave the heavens. But Quetzalcoatl falls for her and the two hide by merging into a forked tree. When the goddess’ family finds them, they tear Mayahuel apart, scattering her pieces across the soil. Where they land, the maguey grows — resilient, sharp-edged and impossible to uproot.

Because the plant came from her body, every harvest was an act of reverence. The sap that fermented into pulque belonged to her. Agave and pulque folklore shows how deeply the plant shaped everything from spirituality to social rituals in Mesoamerica.

Mictecacihuatl

“Lady of the Dead”

Pronunciation: Meek-teh-kah-see-wah-tull

Domain: Death, the underworld, ancestors, bones

Vibe: The goth aunt who keeps every receipt — and by receipts, we mean bones

Story: She rules the underworld with quiet authority — no drama, no shouting, just a stare that sees straight through flesh to your skeleton. She and her husband, Mictlantecuhtli, oversee Mictlan, the final destination for most souls. Festivals in her honor later blended with Catholic All Souls’ celebrations and evolved into Día de los Muertos — meaning she’s the spiritual grandmother of the holiday that remembers the dead with candles, food and marigolds.

Mictlantecuhtli

“Lord of the Underworld”

Pronunciation: Meek-tuhlahn-teh-koot-lee

Domain: Death, the afterlife

Vibe: Surprisingly chill about mortality

Story: Mictlantecuhtli ruled Mictlan, the nine-layered underworld where most souls went after death — more for bureaucracy vs. punishment. The journey took four years, with challenges like mountains that crashed together and rivers of blood. When Quetzalcoatl came to borrow bones to make humanity, Mictlantecuhtli agreed — and then tried to trip him on the way out. 

Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl

“Our Lord and Lady of Duality”

Pronunciation: Oh-meh-teh-koot-lee / Oh-meh-see-wah-tuhl

Domain: Creation, balance, masculine and feminine forces 

Vibe: The original power couple. Divine yin and yang — a sort of Adam and Eve for the Mexica.

Story: Before there was sun, moon or time itself, there was Ometecuhtli and Omecihuatl. Living in the highest heaven, they embodied the balance of existence. Together, they created the four great gods (Quetzalcoatl, Tezcatlipoca, Tlaloc and Xipe Totec), setting the cosmic wheels in motion. Creation wasn’t a solo act; it was a duet.

Quetzalcoatl

“Feathered Serpent”

Pronunciation: Ket-sahl-koh-ah-tuhl

Domain: Wind, knowledge, art, life, creation

Vibe: The philosopher who tried to make everyone chill

Story: Quetzalcoatl was the thoughtful one — a feathered serpent who preferred wisdom to warfare. He gave humans knowledge, maize and calendars, which is more than most gods manage before breakfast. Trickster rival Tezcatlipoca once got him drunk and shamed him into exile; some legends say he sailed east, promising to return. When the Spanish landed, later chroniclers swore the Mexica mistook Cortés for him. 

Teteoinnan

“Mother of the Gods”

Pronunciation: Teh-teh-oh-ee-nahn

Domain: Fertility, death, renewal

Vibe: Brutal, maternal, unstoppable

Story: Teteoinnan was the primordial Earth Mother — the one who birthed the gods and demanded blood to keep creation fertile. During the festival of Ochpaniztli, “the Sweeping,” a woman chosen to represent her was pampered for days, then shot to death by arrows. Her skin was flayed and worn by a priest, symbolizing the earth shedding its old season so a new one could grow. Teteoinnan was life itself: the womb and the tomb, the soil that feeds and devours.

Tezcatlipoca

“Smoking Mirror”

Pronunciation: Tes-kaht-lee-poh-kah

Domain: Night, chaos, destiny, trickery

Vibe: The original frenemy — chaos with cheekbones

Story: Tezcatlipoca was Quetzalcoatl’s equal and opposite — the shadow to his light. With his obsidian mirror, he could see into hearts and futures, which made him the ultimate gossip. One myth has him turning into a jaguar to destroy the world, just to prove a point. The Aztecs loved him for it; he reminded them that fate has teeth.

Tlaloc

“He Who Makes Things Sprout” (possibly)

Pronunciation: Tuhlah-lok

Domain: Rain, storms, fertility

Vibe: The moody meteorologist

Story: Tlaloc could bless or drown with equal enthusiasm. Farmers adored him; everyone else kept a respectful distance. Children were sometimes sacrificed in his honor, their tears believed to bring rain. Archaeologists have found offerings of tiny skeletons near his temple, a haunting reminder that the weather is often a matter of life and death.

Tlazolteotl

“Goddess of Filth”

Pronunciation: Tuhlah-zohl-teh-o-tuhl

Domain: Sin, purification, lust, confession

Vibe: The confessor — sharp-tongued, forgiving and uncomfortably honest

Story: Tlazolteotl was the goddess of both sin and cleansing. People confessed their moral missteps to her once in their lifetime, and she “ate” their spiritual filth, leaving them pure again. Basically the Aztec equivalent of Jesus Christ taking away the sins of the world — only with black face paint, dirty rags and rotten food.

Tonatiuh

“The Radiant One”

Pronunciation: Toh-nah-tee-uh

Domain: The sun (the current one — there were four before him)

Vibe: The jock who knows the world literally revolves around him

Story: Tonatiuh is the fifth sun — the version we live under now. The Aztecs believed the universe had been destroyed and reborn four times already, and keeping Tonatiuh burning required constant human sacrifice. If the flow of hearts stopped, so would the sun. No pressure, humanity.

Xipe Totec

“Our Lord, the Flayed One”

Pronunciation: Shee-peh Toh-tek

Domain: Renewal, spring, agriculture, goldsmiths

Vibe: Horrifying but optimistic

Story: Xipe Totec wore human skin to symbolize the shedding of the old and the rebirth of the new. Each spring, priests honored him by donning the flayed skin of sacrificial victims until it decayed — a vivid, if disturbing, metaphor for renewal. He was terrifying, but also proof that life always grows back.

Xiuhtecuhtli

“Turquoise Lord”

Pronunciation: Shee-ooh-teh-koot-lee

Domain: Fire, time, renewal

Vibe: The spark that keeps the universe’s pilot light on

Story: Xiuhtecuhtli rules over fire and time — the heart of every hearth and the flame that ties life together. Every 52 years, the Aztecs extinguished all the blazes in the empire for the New Fire Ceremony, then rekindled it atop a sacrificial victim’s chest to reboot the cosmic clock. A bit extreme, but supposedly effective.

Xochipilli

“Flower Prince”

Pronunciation: Soh-chee-pee-lee

Domain: Pleasure, art, dance, song and sacred intoxication

Vibe: The good time guy — who’s always got the good stuff

Story: Xochipilli ruled over music, poetry and hallucinogenic ecstasy. His statues show him in blissful trance, covered in carvings of psychoactive plants like morning glory and mushrooms. Scholars debate whether he’s communing with fellow gods or just having an incredible trip. Either way, he’s the patron of joy.

Xochiquetzal

“Precious Flower”

Pronunciation: Soh-chee-ket-sahl

Domain: Love, beauty, fertility, female sexuality, arts

Vibe: The divine muse with petals and power

Story: Xochiquetzal ruled over everything pleasurable: love, sex, beauty, art and weaving (opinions differ on how fun that last one is). She was beauty incarnate, the kind people write terrible poetry about. Naturally, this led to drama: At one point Tezcatlipoca abducted her, proving that even gods make bad romantic decisions. Worshiped by artists and universally adored, she was the eternal muse — always in bloom.

Aztec Offerings: Blood and Blossoms

For the Mexica, the gods needed constant nourishment to keep creation from falling apart. In a universe born from divine sacrifice, the only fitting offering was more of the same.

The Florentine Codex, compiled by Franciscan friar Bernardino de Sahagún and his Nahua collaborators between 1540 and 1577, is a 12-book encyclopedic record of Aztec culture, language and religion created to document and ultimately aid in converting indigenous peoples after the Spanish conquest.

According to the codex, every ritual — whether it involved flowers, animals or human hearts — was a repayment, a way to keep the cosmic machinery running. Blood was the power source of the sun. The gods had given their own essence to ignite the world. To let that flow stop would be like unplugging the universe.

The Flower Wars (Xochiyaoyotl)

The Aztecs even had a word for the ultimate warrior’s death: xōchimiquiztli, the “flowery death.” Dying in battle or on the sacrificial stone wasn’t seen as tragedy but transcendence. To fall for Huitzilopochtli or Tonatiuh was to bloom forever in the sky, your soul reborn as a hummingbird or butterfly chasing the rising sun.

And the gods demanded a lot of blood. So the indigenous peoples of Mesoamerica came up with an interesting proposal: battles not for conquest but purely to feed the gods. These ritualized clashes between city-states — most famously Tenochtitlan and Tlaxcala — were called the Flower Wars. The goal wasn’t land or wealth; it was captives.

The Mexica believed these chosen warriors made the best offerings: brave, beautiful and unafraid. To die in one of these sacred battles was an honor. As The Florentine Codex notes, they were “debt payments” to the gods — each body a line item in the cosmic ledger.

It sounds kind of poetic — if you ignore the gruesome obsidian knives carving out all those still-beating hearts.

Yet within that brutality lived a strange kind of grace. The Aztecs saw the world as a vast cycle of giving and renewal. Flowers wilted, rain fell, the sun rose again — and so did life. In their eyes, blood was just another bloom, proof that everything beautiful demands something in return. 

Tonantzin: The Reverend Mother Who Became the Virgin Mary

If you climb Tepeyac Hill, on the north side of Mexico City, at sunrise, people say you can still feel her presence.

Before the Spanish ever arrived, the Mexica made pilgrimages up that hill to honor Tonantzin (Toh-nahn-tseen), “Our Revered Mother.” 

But the name wasn’t tied to one figure. It was a title, a crown shared by the great mother goddesses:

• Coatlicue when she was fierce

• Teteoinnan when she was the ultimate authority

• Chalchiuhtlicue when she flowed with kindness

Then the conquest happened. The Spanish tore down her temple and built a church on the exact same hill dedicated to the Virgin Mary. 

They expected the indigenous people to move on. They didn’t. The locals kept making pilgrimages, lighting candles and praying — but they kept calling the Virgin Mary Tonantzin.

Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, a Franciscan friar, lost his mind over it, writing “This appears to be a Satanic device to mask idolatry,” in his Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España. 

Tonantzin is the Aztec mother goddess who survived colonization by putting on a new outfit. –Wally

Chapultepec Castle’s Lavish Décor and Imperial Intrigue in CDMX

Take a room-by-room tour of Chapultepec Castle — North America’s only royal palace — and uncover the imperial lives of Maximilian, Carlota and Porfirio Díaz in the heart of Mexico City.

The deeper we wandered into Chapultepec Castle, the more it felt like we were stepping back in time. 

It’s the only royal palace in North America that actually housed monarchs: Emperor Maximilian and Empress Carlota, who brought European grandeur, idealism (and a fair share of drama) to Mexico City. Their brief, ill-fated reign left a lasting mark on the castle and the country — a poignant reminder of how imperial ambition once shaped the course of Mexican history.

This extravagant carriage belonged to Maximilian and Charlotte.

Sala de Carruajes (Carriage Room)

After making our way out of the west wing, which houses the Museo Nacional de Historia, Wally and I found ourselves in the Sala de Carruajes (Carriage Room). This covered space features historic carriages and serves as the main entrance to the Alcázar, or Royal Palace. 

At the center of the room is the royal coach that belonged to Maximilian and Charlotte. Designed for special occasions, the ornate Baroque-style carriage was meticulously fabricated in 1864 by the Cesare Scala workshop in Milan, Italy and later shipped to Mexico. 

Its gold detailing, sculpted cherubs, and doors bearing the coat of arms of the Mexican Empire, an eagle atop a nopal devouring a serpent, beneath an imperial crown — lend the carriage an air of majestic splendor.

According to records from the National Museum of History, the carriage was used only twice, contributing to its near perfect condition. You could almost imagine it rolling through the streets, drawing every eye in its path.

Additionally, a more modest four-wheeled carriage, designed in Paris, France by Henri Binder for everyday transport, is also on display. Originally built for Maximilian, it was adapted for President Benito Juárez. While its wheels kept turning, they no longer carried a king. Maximilian’s imperial crest was replaced with the emblem of the republic — minus the imperial crown.

“We spent hours exploring the castle’s magnificent halls, grand stairways and stunning rooms — not to mention the breathtaking views from the top of Chapultepec Hill.”

Just beyond the room’s entrance is the first of two large-scale works by Antonio González Orozco, one of the last great artists of the Mexican muralist movement: Entrada Triunfal de Benito Juárez al Palacio Nacional, Acompañando de Su Gabinete (The Triumphal Arrival of Benito Juárez at the National Palace, Accompanied by His Cabinet), painted in 1967.

Nearby is another painting by Orozco: Juárez, Símbolo de la República Frente a la Intervención Francesa (Juárez, Symbol of the Republic Against the French Intervention), which celebrates Juárez’s role in preserving Mexican sovereignty during the French Intervention. His resistance to foreign rule and efforts to restore the republic earned him the Colombian government’s honorific title Benemérito de las Américas (Worthy of the Americas).

Among the other artworks in the room are three equestrian portraits: one of Maximilian of Habsburg, painted in 1865 by French artist Jean Adolphe Beaucé; one of General Mariano Escobedo; and one of General Porfirio Díaz, painted by Spanish soldier and artist José Cusachs in 1901.

A detail of the intricate Baroque plasterwork inside the Sala Introductoria.

Sala Introductoria (Introductory Hall)

Behind the Carriage Room, Wally and I stepped into a long, narrow hallway with wooden floors and a gilt plasterwork ceiling. This elegant corridor is now known as the Sala Introductoria (Introductory Hall), and features placards that tell the stories of its most notable residents, including Maximilian and Charlotte, as well as Díaz. 

Querido Max (Dear Max) by Miguel Carillo Lara, 2003

During Maximilian’s reign, this space served a very different purpose. It was a skittles alley, a game similar to bowling, where players would roll a wooden ball or disc down the hall, aiming to knock over nine pins arranged in a diamond formation. 

Attack on the Castle Chapultepec, a print by Nathaniel Currier, 1848

History of Chapultepec Castle

Chapultepec Castle’s appearance was shaped largely by two men: Maximilian I of the Austrian House of Habsburg, who ruled Mexico from 1864 to 1867, and Porfirio Díaz, who took power in 1876 and held onto it for over 30 years. 

Maximilian transformed the castle into a lavish imperial residence, while Díaz, an avid Francophile, despite fighting against the French in the Second Franco-Mexican War, modernized and expanded the structure. The castle remained the official presidential residence until 1934, when President Lázaro Cárdenas relocated the residence to Los Pinos. 

Not long after, on February 3, 1939, Cárdenas declared that Chapultepec Castle would become the National Museum of History. It officially opened to the public on September 27, 1944, during the presidency of Manuel Ávila Camacho.

The Austrian Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph (future emperor of Mexico) and his wife Charlotte of Belgium

The French Intervention in Mexico 

So, how did Mexico come to have an Austrian emperor?

It all started in the 1830s, when France began eyeing Mexico as a place to extend its influence, most notably during the Pastry War (1838–1839), a brief conflict sparked by complaints over damages to French-owned businesses. Although France never established a formal colony, its cultural and economic presence grew, especially in cities like Veracruz and Mexico City.

After years of political turmoil, Mexico’s economy was in ruins. In 1861, President Juárez made a bold move — he suspended all foreign debt payments. European creditors were infuriated, prompting France, Spain and Britain to send troops, determined to collect what they were owed. 

But it soon became clear that France, under Napoleon III, had bigger ambitions than debt recovery. By April 1862, Britain and Spain, unwilling to be drawn into an imperial venture, withdrew, leaving France to pursue its grand designs alone.

Napoleon wanted to establish a French-backed monarchy in Mexico to boost French influence in the Americas and counterbalance the growing power of the United States. 

French troops marched inland, but on May 5, 1862, they ran into stiff resistance at the Battle of Puebla, where Mexican forces under General Ignacio Zaragoza pulled off a stunning victory — a moment still celebrated every Cinco de Mayo.

However, the French regrouped, and returned stronger. By June 1863, they captured Mexico City, and Juárez and his government were forced into exile in the north.

With Mexico under French control, Napoleon needed a suitable European noble to serve as emperor. He found his answer in Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph of Austria, the younger brother of Emperor Franz Joseph I. As the second son, Maximilian had lived in his brother’s shadow. He was idealistic, ambitious and increasingly disillusioned with his limited role in Europe. 

Departure for Mexico by Cesare dell'Acqua, 1865. The royal couple head out to rule Mexico — a reign that would be short-lived and would end with Maximilian’s execution in 1867.

Emperor Maximillian Goes to Mexico

At first Maximilian hesitated. But the promise of power and glory in Mexico eventually won him over. With the encouragement of his equally determined wife, Princess Charlotte of Belgium, he accepted Napoleon’s offer. On May 28, 1864, the couple arrived in Mexico to begin their reign as Emperorador Maximiliano I and Emperatriz Carlota of Mexico.

Settling into their new roles, Maximilian and Charlotte chose Castillo de Chapultepec as their imperial residence, overseeing renovations to transform it into a grand European-style palace. They saw themselves as enlightened rulers, destined to bring stability and prosperity to a nation fractured by years of war.

While conservative elites had initially welcomed the monarchy, many Mexicans remained unconvinced. Juárez’s supporters, known as Juaristas, refused to recognize Maximilian’s authority and launched a sustained resistance movement. In an effort to win public support, Maximilian introduced several liberal reforms. These included protections for workers, efforts to limit working hours, and the promotion of fair labor practices. He also issued decrees aimed at restoring land rights to indigenous communities, reversing some of the damage done by earlier liberal reforms that had led to the loss of communal lands.

L'Exécution de Maximilien (The Execution of Emperor Maximilian) by Édouard Manet, 1869

The End of the Second Mexican Empire

Ironically, Maximilian proved too liberal for the conservatives who had brought him to power. They hadn’t signed up for an emperor who challenged their privilege and wealth.

As tensions mounted, international pressure began to close in. After the American Civil War ended in 1865, the U.S. government officially recognized Juárez as Mexico’s legitimate leader and strongly urged France to withdraw support. By 1866, under increasing diplomatic pressure from the United States, Napoleon began withdrawing French troops from Mexico, effectively ending armed intervention and leaving Maximilian without critical support. 

Determined not to relinquish power, Charlotte sailed to Europe in July 1866, pleading with Napoleon III, Pope Pius IX and her royal relatives to continue supporting the empire. But her mission failed — and the emotional toll broke her. She suffered a mental breakdown  in Rome and never returned to Mexico.

Back home, Maximilian made his final stand in the city of Querétaro. On May 15, 1867, Republican forces broke through, after one of Maximilian’s own men, Colonel Miguel López, betrayed him. Captured along with his generals Miguel Miramón and Tomás Mejía, he was quickly sentenced to death.

Despite desperate pleas from European monarchs — including his own brother — President Juárez stood firm. Granting a pardon would have weakened his stance and undermined the republic. 

On June 19, 1867, Maximilian and his generals were executed by firing squad on Cerro de las Campanas, the Hill of the Bells, bringing the Second Mexican Empire to a dramatic and final end. (The First Mexican Empire, led by Agustín de Iturbide, had collapsed decades earlier in 1823, after barely two years of shaky rule following independence from Spain.)

A pair of alabaster vases, featuring the coat of arms of the Second Mexican Empire, sit atop pedestals flanking a grand bookcase, while the sideboard holds a bust of French poet and fabulist Jean de La Fontaine. 

Sala de Lectura (Reading Room)

Rooms on the ground floor are accessible from a gleaming black and white marble promenade and have been restored to reflect their appearance during the time of Emperor Maximilian and Empress Charlotte. 

After the skittles alley, the first room we saw was the Sala de Lectura (Reading Room), where Maximilian spent time reading, drafting decrees, and handling both official and personal correspondence. 

As we took it all in, something on the red damask-covered wall caught our eye: a dark, rectangular outline, like a shadow frozen in time. It was clear that a large painting had once hung there. Our curiosity got the best of us, so I did a little digging online later and found out it had been a full-length portrait of Maximilian.

To be honest, this is probably the least impressive of the palace rooms. It’s all uphill from here. Louis XV-style giltwood chairs and a settee, upholstered in Aubusson tapestries, depict scenes from Jean de La Fontaine’s fables. While the term “tapestry” is typically associated with wall hangings, Aubusson’s craftsmanship extends to rugs and furniture upholstery as well.

The set of tapestries depicting nobleman playing games, fittingly adorning the Game Room, were a gift from Napoleon III to Maximilian for his birthday.

Salón de Juego (Game Room)

The next room was the Salón de Juego (Game Room), which was about half the size of the Reading Room. Its walls were decorated with scenes of noblemen dressed in elaborate 16th century finery — frilly pleated collars, puffed-out pumpkin breeches and cloaks — engaged in games such as badminton, bilboquet (a cup and ball toy) and the aforementioned skittles.

The overmantle bears the eagle and snake coat of arms, while the sideboard features a pair of putti holding Díaz’s seal, ‘RM,’ which stands for República Mexicana.

Comedor (Dining Room)

Immediately following was the Comedor, or Dining Room. The fireplace mantelpiece and sideboards, masterfully handcarved from mahogany by Pedro Téllez Toledo and Epitacio Calvo, were commissioned during the 1880s during Díaz’s presidency. Above the topless caryatids, symbolizing Mexico’s agricultural abundance, hung another elegant Aubusson tapestry, this one depicting a fox and a duck.

The dining table was equally impressive. Tooled leather chairs with nailhead studs surrounded it, and the table itself was set with silver-plated serving pieces and candelabra from Maximilian’s own service — crafted by Christofle of Paris, no less, the same silversmith favored by Napoleon III. 

The Music Room includes chairs upholstered with tapestries depicting the fables of Jean de La Fontaine and two grand pianos.

Salón de Gobelinos (Hall of Gobelins)

Much to our disappointment, the Salón de Gobelinos (Hall of Gobelins) wasn’t named after mischievous little creatures from folklore, as we had hoped. Instead, it gets its name from the Gobelin family of clothmakers. Their Paris workshop became world-famous, and in this case, the name refers to the aforementioned Aubusson-woven textiles that cover the Louis XV furniture throughout the room.

Gazing back at us from the walls were full-length portraits of Maximiliano and Carlota by German painter Albert Gräfe, alongside those of Napoleon III and his wife, Eugénie de Montijo. In the center of the room stood two grand pianos — one French, the other English — which Maximilian and Charlotte once played.

The spiral staircase adjacent to the elevator was designed by architect Antonio Rivas Mercado. He contributed to the castle’s neoclassical design, transforming it into a grand structure suitable for use as a presidential residence and a venue for official events. Mercado’s influence extended beyond architecture, though; while serving as director of the Academy of San Carlos from 1903 to 1912, he was responsible for granting the scholarship that enabled Diego Rivera to study in Europe for several years. 

The brass bed in Carlota’s bedroom displays the coat of arms of Maximilian’s empire.

Recámara y Baño de Carlota (Charlotte’s Bedroom and Bathroom)

The Recámara de Carlota (Charlotte’s Bedroom) was the first in a suite of three rooms once used by the empress herself. Decorated in blue and gold, it features Boulle-style furniture, characterized by intricate inlays of tortoiseshell and brass. At the center stood a brass bed, its headboard topped by an oval medallion featuring the coat of arms of the Second Mexican Empire — an eagle and a snake, flanked by two griffins — while the footboard bears the imperial monogram “MIM” for Maximiliano I de Mexico. 

Next to the bedroom was the Baño de Carlota, or Charlotte’s Bathroom, where we saw the massive freestanding marble bathtub commissioned by Maximilian for Charlotte. Hewn from a single block of stone, it was produced by the Fratelli Tangassi workshop, an Italian family of alabaster artisans from Volterra, and exported to the castle at great expense. Standing before it, I could only imagine how much water it must have taken to fill.

Behind the tub, tiles imported from China were delicately painted with peonies and cherry blossoms. 

Charlotte’s sitting room reflected her devout faith, with a rare bust of the Virgin Mary under glass and one of the earliest known images of Our Lady of Guadalupe in the castle’s collection.

Sala de Estar Carlota (Charlotte’s Sitting Room)

Beyond the bathroom was the Sala de Estar Carlota (Charlotte’s Sitting Room). 

As a deeply devout Catholic, she saw her role in Mexico as part of a divine mission, her religious devotion merging with a growing sense of connection to her adopted country. The room reflected her spirituality, with a bust of the Virgin Mary under a glass cloche, a painting of St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City, and a small painting of the Virgin of Guadalupe, a powerful national and religious symbol in Mexico.

With a green velvet tabletop and portraits of past leaders, the Salón de Acuerdos served as a formal space for cabinet discussions after the castle became the president’s official residence.

Salón de Acuerdos (Meeting Room)

Once Chapultepec Castle became the official presidential residence, there was a need for a dedicated space to receive cabinet members, and that’s where the Salón de Acuerdos (Meeting Room) comes in. Designed in the early 20th century, the green velvet tabletops and portraits of past leaders lining the walls make the room feel very presidential. Among those displayed are Presidents Francesco Madero, Álvaro Obregón, Emilio Portes Gil, Pascual Ortiz Rubio and Lázaro Cardenas.

The bronze grasshopper atop the Fuente del Chapulín was sculpted by Luis Albarrán y Pilego and installed in 1924.

Patio del Chapulín (Courtyard of the Grasshopper)

Before climbing to the second floor, we took a moment to explore the Patio del Chapulín (Courtyard of the Grasshopper). Framed by manicured hedges and anchored by the Fuente del Chapulín (Grasshopper Fountain), the courtyard opens onto a balcony terrace with breathtaking views of Mexico City below. 

Six statues dedicated to the Niños Héroes stand atop the balustrade at the edge of the Patio del Chapulín.

Standing atop the terrace balustrade are six statues of the Niños Héroes, created in 1942 by artist Armando Quezada Medrano. They depict the young military cadets who died defending Mexico during the Battle of Chapultepec on September 13, 1847, during the Mexican–American War. Note that these figures are separate from the Altar a la Patria (Altar to the Homeland) monument, also located in Chapultepec Park, although both honor the same brave cadets.

The sweeping Escalera de Leones (Lion’s Staircase) links the first floor to the terraced gardens above. Its steps, carved from Carrara marble, are flanked at the base by two marble lions modeled after Antonio Canova’s monumental mausoleum for Pope Clement XIII in St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican. One rests peacefully, while the other stands watchful and alert. 

The Escalera de Leones leads to the rooftop gardens and includes stained glass windows installed during the presidency of Venustiano Carranza.

At the top of the staircase, stained glass windows installed during the presidency of Venustiano Carranza (1859–1920) protect the stairwell from the elements. Their designs feature floral and vegetal patterns inspired by the Mexican landscape. One window depicts the glyph of a chapulín (a grasshopper, running with the theme), perched on a hill with flowing water beneath it. The other showcases the Mexican coat of arms. 

Above the treetops, the Tall Knight keeps watch — first as a military tower, then as Mexico’s gaze turned skyward in 1877, becoming a short-lived but advanced observatory.

Rooftop Gardens

Just beyond are the rooftop gardens designed by Austrian botanist Wilhelm Knechtel during the reign of Emperor Maximilian. At its center stands a tower called the Caballero Alto (Tall Knight), surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and classical statues. This structure, built around 1842 as part of the Military College, was briefly repurposed in 1877 as an astronomical observatory, complete with meteorological instruments considered cutting-edge for the time.

Designed in the 1860s by Austrian botanist Wilhelm Knechtel, these rooftop gardens were part of Maximilian’s vision to bring European elegance to Chapultepec Castle.

Adorning the walls of the elevated garden are colorful frescoes of bacchantes — female followers of Bacchus, the Roman god of wine. Painted in the Pompeian style, these works were created by Santiago Rebull, the court painter of Maximilian and one of the few individuals close to the monarchy who managed to remain in Mexico and even thrive in the subsequent decades under the Republic. He completed four of the figures between 1865 and 1866 during Maximilian’s reign, and nearly three decades later, painted the remaining two in 1894 under the Díaz administration.

Nip slip! The bacchae depicted on the walls of the upper terrace were painted by Santiago Rebull in the Neoclassical style, inspired by the 18th century rediscovery of the ancient ruins at Pompeii and Herculaneum.

The day Wally and I visited, an orchestra and a vocalist were rehearsing an aria beneath the terrace pavilion.

---

Díaz and Chapultepec Castle

During his extended rule as president, Díaz was determined to position Mexico as a modern, forward-thinking nation, and the castle became part of that vision. Under his direction, Chapultepec Castle saw some major upgrades, including the installation of its very first elevator in 1900. It connected the basement, main floor and rooftop, and at the time, it was cutting-edge. In fact, the castle was one of the first buildings in all of Mexico to be outfitted with electricity.

Díaz’s bedroom was appointed in French style with Louis XVI furniture.

Recámara de Porfirio Díaz (Bedroom of Porfirio Díaz)

Inside, the Recámara de Porfirio Díaz (Bedroom of Porfirio Díaz) reflects a refined French taste. Though not as lavish as Charlotte’s quarters downstairs, it still impresses with its Louis XVI furnishings: a stately mahogany bed and a pair of cream-colored slipper chairs with scrolled backs and elegant fringe.

The Galería de Emplomados is lined with stained glass windows created by the French firm Champigneulle Fils, and were installed in 1901.

Galería de Emplomados (Stained Glass Gallery)

Beyond Díaz’s bedroom is the Galería de Emplomados (Stained Glass Gallery). Installed in 1901, the grand corridor features five stained glass windows crafted by the renowned French firm Champigneulle Fils, celebrated for their work in churches, palaces, and civic buildings across Europe and Latin America. Spanning nearly 800 square feet, the windows cover half the length and height of the Alcázar’s eastern elevation. Each depicts a nature goddess: Pomona (goddess of fruits), Flora (goddess of flowers), Hebe (bearer of divine nectar and grantor of eternal youth), Diana (goddess of the hunt), and Ceres (goddess of agriculture). 

It would have been the perfect photo op — if not for one particularly self-important visitor, who had commandeered the gallery, barking orders at her poor friend and critiquing every shot like she was Anna Wintour on a Vogue editorial shoot.

The Salón de Embajadores features furniture in the Louis XVI style and plaster painted to look like marble.

Salón de Embajadores (Hall of Ambassadors)

The final Díaz-period room we peered into was the Salón de Embajadores (Hall of Ambassadors) a French-inspired room where Díaz met with diplomats to discuss international relations. Originally Charlotte’s study, the room was repurposed by Díaz as Mexico gained prominence on the world stage, and the castle became a key venue for hosting foreign dignitaries. 

Designer Epitacio Calvo incorporated Baroque and French Neoclassical styles into the room’s furnishings. 

Plan Your Visit 

The weather couldn’t have been better for our visit to this incredible landmark. We spent hours exploring its magnificent halls, grand stairways and stunning rooms, not to mention the breathtaking views from the top of Chapultepec Hill. If you’re in Mexico City, this place is an absolute must-see.

Hours:

• Monday: Closed

• Tuesday–Sunday: 9 a.m.–5 p.m. (Note: The museum begins clearing rooms at 4:45 p.m.)

Admission:

• 100 MXN (about $5.50)

• Free every day for children under 13, seniors 60+, students, teachers, pensioners/retirees, and visitors with disabilities with valid ID

• Free on Sundays for Mexican nationals and residents

Ticket Purchase:

• Tickets are sold at the bottom of the hill before the ramp — there aren’t ticket booths at the castle entrance.

• You can buy your tickets online as well.

Accessibility:

• The castle offers ramps, elevators and loaner wheelchairs.

• Visitors with disabilities or those seeking adapted educational tours can arrange assistance by emailing difusion.mnh@inah.gob.mx.

Food & Drink:

• Food and beverages aren’t permitted inside the castle. You must leave these in a locker at the bottom of the hill. Plan to eat and hydrate before or after your visit.

Chapultepec Castle

Primera Sección del Bosque de Chapultepec s/n 
San Miguel Chapultepec
Mexico City 11580
Mexico

Spring Festivals Around the World: Sakura, Holi, Semana Santa and More

From Japan’s cherry blossom hanami to India’s colorful Holi and Spain’s heart-pounding San Fermín, discover spring festivals that celebrate renewal, connection and pure joy. 

Spring is the season that grabs you by the hand and pulls you outside, whispering, “Wake up, the world’s alive again!” It’s when the earth shrugs off winter’s weight, and people respond with festivals that feel like love letters to life itself. 

Some of the most enduring spring traditions come from rituals that have been blooming for centuries. The celebration of Ostara at the spring equinox draws inspiration from an ancient Anglo-Saxon festival said to honor the goddess Eostre. This, in turn, influenced early Christians, who created Easter, and is a large part of why we have the Easter Bunny today.  

Spring festivals are raw, messy, beautiful collisions of culture, memory and the kind of joy that makes your chest ache. Let’s wander through a few corners of the globe, from Japan’s petal-dusted picnics to the pulse-pounding streets of Pamplona, each festival a one-of-a-kind story that’ll stick with you long after the season fades.

1. Japan: Sakura Whispers and Stolen Moments

In Japan, spring arrives like a secret shared between friends: the cherry blossoms, known as sakura, bloom in a hush of pink, turning every park and riverside into a fleeting masterpiece. (It’s a perfect counterpart to koyo, the changing colors of leaves in the fall.)

I’ll never forget my first hanami — the custom of gathering to enjoy the beauty of cherry blossoms — in a tiny Osaka park, sprawled on a blanket with strangers who offered me homemade onigiri (rice balls or triangles) and a sip of plum wine. We didn’t need words; the petals drifting down said it all. Sakura isn’t just about the gorgeousness of nature — it’s a gut-punch reminder that nothing lasts forever, so you’d better soak it up. Families, lovers, old friends — they all come together, laughing over sake or staring quietly at the trees, each person wrestling with their own thoughts about time. It’s less a festival and more a moment where the world holds its breath.

2. Spain: San Fermín’s Roar and Reckless Courage

Half a world away, Pamplona, Spain turns spring’s energy into something primal. The San Fermín Festival, brewing through spring and erupting in July, is a beast of a celebration. Picture narrow streets, the air electric with nerves, and the thunder of bulls charging behind runners who are equal parts terrified and exhilarated. 

I stood on a rickety balcony once, clutching a sangria, watching the encierro unfold below: runners tripping, laughing, living on the edge of chaos. It’s the ultimate thrill, sure, but it’s also a nod to history, to Saint Fermín (the patron saint of Pamplona, who was beheaded for his Christian faith), to the days when humans and nature stared each other down. The whole city erupts in a burst of music, dance and sweat-soaked joy. 

If you’re crazy enough to go, keep Flight Refunder in your back pocket — they’ll help you reclaim cash if a canceled flight threatens to derail your adventure.

3. India: Holi’s Explosion of Color and Connection

In India, spring crashes in with Holi, a festival that’s like diving headfirst into a kaleidoscope. I was in a dusty Rajasthan village once, my clothes soaked, my face smeared with turquoise and magenta powder, dancing with a crowd of strangers to a drumbeat that shook the ground. 

Holi is about flinging colors, but it’s also a time to tear down walls — between people, and between the past and present. The story of Krishna — a beloved Hindu god known for his playful spirit — and his soulmate Radha runs through the heart of Holi. Their legendary love, full of laughter and mischief, is echoed in every handful of gulal, the brightly colored powder that revelers throw into the air (and, inevitably, onto other people). 

At Holi, it’s impossible to just be a bystander; you’re part of the chaos, laughing until your sides hurt, feeling like the world could be this free, this kind, every day. It’s the kind of messy joy that stains your skin and your soul.

4. Mexico: Semana Santa’s Soulful Dance of Faith

Mexico’s Semana Santa is spring at its most heartfelt. Holy Week turns towns into theaters of devotion, with processions that weave through streets blanketed in flower petals and sawdust art. 

I wandered San Miguel de Allende one April, caught in a crowd following a statue of the Virgin Mary, her face serene under a crown of roses. The air was heavy with incense, marigolds and the soft hum of prayers. 

Every town does it differently — some with mournful silence, others with bursts of brass bands — but it’s all so alive, blending Catholic roots with ancient Mexican spirit. You feel it in your bones: This is more than religion; it’s about a community stitching itself together, step by sacred step.

5. France: The Soft Spring Embrace of Easter in Provence

Then there’s Provence, France, where spring feels like a warm breeze. Easter here is less about grand spectacles and more about the small, perfect moments: a village square strung with lights, a market stall piled high with crusty baguettes and jars of lavender honey. 

I spent one Easter in Gordes, a storybook hilltop village of stone houses and winding lanes in Provence, nibbling on almond-studded nougat while a parade of kids in flower crowns skipped by. The hills were just starting to green, the air sharp with herbs and promise. Provence’s festivals are simple, soulful and so generous with their beauty. You leave feeling like you’ve been let in on a secret about how to live well.

The Joy, Chaos and Charm of Spring Festivals

Spring festivals are the world’s way of saying, “Hey, we’re all in this together.” Whether it’s Japan’s quiet awe under cherry blossoms, Spain’s reckless sprint through Pamplona’s streets, or India’s color-soaked chaos, these moments are where humanity shines — flawed, vibrant and so damn alive. Traveling to them is like chasing sparks, each one lighting up a piece of who you are. –Erik Ilin

Chapultepec Castle’s National History Museum in Mexico City

Perched atop the Hill of the Grasshopper, Chapultepec Castle is the only royal residence in North America. From its imperial past to the revolutionary murals inside, here’s why this must-visit landmark in Chapultepec Park is worth the climb.

Alegoría de la Revolución (Allegory of the Revolution) by Eduardo Solares Gutiérrez, 1933

They say the third time’s a charm, and on our latest (and yes, third) trip to Mexico City, Wally and I finally made it to the Castillo de Chapultepec (Chapultepec Castle). 

Perched atop the summit of Cerro del Chapulín (Hill of the Grasshopper) in the first section of the vast Bosque de Chapultepec (Chapultepec Forest), this historic site and local landmark is the only castle in North America to have served as a royal residence. It was home to Emperor Maximilian I and Empress Charlotte, the ill-fated rulers of the short-lived Second Mexican Empire — but more on that later. 

“Perched atop the summit of the Hill of the Grasshopper, this historic site is the only castle in North America to have served as a royal residence. ”

Chapultepec itself is one of the oldest and largest public parks in Latin America. Dating back to the pre-Hispanic era and officially designated as a public space in the 16th century, the park underwent major renovations in 1910 to commemorate Mexico’s independence centennial. Today, it spans approximately 2,100 acres — more than twice the size of New York City’s Central Park, one of the largest urban parks in the world. 

Detail of the right half of the mural La Dictadura y La Represión (Dictatorship and Repression) by Juan O'Gorman — a visual commentary on the transgressions of President Díaz

On our previous visit, we spent hours exploring the first floor of the incredible Museo Nacional de Antropología (National Museum of Anthropology), captivated by its collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts from civilizations like the Aztecs and Maya. 

---

MORE: Explore the Museum of Anthropology’s collections on Animal Pottery and Death Cults of Ancient Mexico

---

The park is divided into four sections, from historic landmarks to vast green spaces. It’s home to nine major museums covering a wide range of subjects, along with monuments, gardens and countless other fascinating sights. And so far, we’ve barely scratched the surface of Section One. 

Its name comes from the Nahuatl word chapoltepēc, meaning “Hill of the Grasshopper.” But why a grasshopper? The area may have once been full of them, but in Mesoamerican cultures, the insect also symbolized prosperity and good fortune. 

Sarao en un jardin de Chapultepec (Festive Gathering in a Garden at Chapultepec) is a handpainted biombo, or folding screen, from around 1780-1790. It depicts a sarao, a lively social gathering featuring music and dancing that played a key role in courtly and aristocratic life.

Visiting Chapultepec Castle

For this trip, we once again stayed in Colonia Condesa, a charming neighborhood that borders Chapultepec. After breakfast, we set off toward the castle, and about 25 minutes later, we were following one of the pathways leading into the park. Since it was still early morning, the vendors were just beginning to set up. 

Wally and I stopped by the Old Guard House, a brick building situated at the base of the hill, to verify our tickets with an attendant, which Wally had purchased online the night before. 

You’ll know you’ve arrived at the right place when you see the Old Guard House, located at the base of the entrance leading to Chapultepec Castle.

Note: If you’re carrying bottled water or snacks like we were, be sure to pay for a locker as well. We didn’t realize that food and drink were prohibited inside the castle grounds — and were told at the security checkpoint that we needed to finish or rent a locker to store them.

The morning we visited, we got the full experience — a busload of kids arrived at the same time we did, their chaperones struggling to keep them from running and yelling as they excitedly scattered across the path ahead of us. Fortunately, we managed to get ahead of the group and for the most part avoided them once we reached the top. 

We hurried past the schoolchildren walking up the hill — and mostly avoided them while exploring the castle.

As we continued our ascent to the top, where the castle is located, we passed a bronze statue of José María Morelos y Pavón, created by Spanish sculptor Ángel Tarrach. Morelos, a Catholic priest and revolutionary leader during Mexico’s War of Independence, was ultimately captured by the Spanish army, tried by the Inquisition, and executed by firing squad for treason. Despite his fate, he’s remembered as a champion of the people — a brilliant military strategist and a tireless advocate for a more just society. 

A bronze statue of José María Morelos y Pavón, a priest and revolutionary leader, by Ángel Tarrac

Since there’s nowhere to buy tickets at the top of the hill, it’s essential to get them online or at the guard house before making the climb. The security checkpoint at the base of the hill won’t ask for them, but the attendants at the castle gate will. If you forget, you’ll have to trek all the way back down — and trust me, that steep uphill climb is tough enough the first time, especially if you’re still acclimating to Mexico City’s altitude. After all, Chapultepec Castle is located at a height of 7,628 feet (2,325 meters) above sea level. 

Two structures stand atop the Hill of the Grasshopper: to the east, Chapultepec Castle — also known as the Alcázar (Royal Palace) — and to the west, the Museo Nacional de Historia (National Museum of History). Housed in the same building that once served as the military academy, the museum explores nearly 500 years of Mexico’s complex history that are displayed chronologically from the 15th to the 21st century. 

Fun fact: The castle exterior was used as the Capulet mansion in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet from 1996, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. 

The façade of the castle that houses the National History Museum

A Brief History of Chapultepec Castle

Construction of what would become the castillo began in 1785 during the Spanish colonial period. Originally intended as a retreat for Spanish officials, the project was closely associated with Bernardo de Gálvez, the viceroy of New Spain, who governed the territory on behalf of the Spanish crown from 1785 to 1786. 

Before his term as viceroy, Gálvez served as the governor of Spanish Louisiana, where he played a pivotal role in the American Revolution. He led military campaigns that supported General George Washington’s troops, capturing Pensacola, the capital of British West Florida, and effectively removing British influence from the region. His legacy lives on in the place names such as Galveston, Texas, and Galvez Street in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Unfortunately, Gálvez’s service was brief. Before  he could complete the project, he died from yellow fever — known in Mexico as vomito negro because internal bleeding turned the victim’s vomit black. The estate went unfinished. By 1806, the municipal government had taken ownership of the structures, and in 1833, they were converted into the Colegio Militar, a military academy that trained young officers for the Mexican Army.

Today, the grounds are remembered as the site of the Battle of Chapultepec, a pivotal conflict of the Mexican-American War fought on September 12 and 13, 1847. The U.S. was victorious, capturing Chapultepec Castle and paving the way for the fall of Mexico City. 

It was here that six young cadets, ages 13 to 19 — known as Los Niños Héroes (The Boy Heroes) — lost their lives defending the military academy against American forces in one of the war’s final battles.

The war officially ended in 1848 with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, a humiliating agreement that forced Mexico to cede over half its territory to the United States. 

Vista de la Plaza Mayor de la Ciudad de México (View of the Zócalo of Mexico City) by Cristóbal de Villapando, 1695

Exploring the National History Museum 

As Wally and I stepped through the entrance of the museum, we were awestruck by the double staircase that rose before us. Covering the domed ceiling high above is La Intervención Norteamericana (The North American Intervention), a mural by Gabriel Flores. It depicts Juan Escutia, one of the six Niños Héroes who died defending the academy from invading U.S. forces. According to legend, Escutia leapt to his death from the academy, plunging over the steep rock face of the Hill of the Grasshopper, wrapped in the Mexican flag to prevent it and himself from falling into enemy hands.

The front staircase features the mural Alegoría de la Revolución (Allegory of the Revolution) by Eduardo Solares from 1934.

There’s another large-scale mural on the staircase, Alegoría de la Revolución (Allegory of the Revolution) painted by Eduardo Solares. This powerful piece depicts a moment from the revolution that overthrew the dictatorial regime of Porfirio Díaz. 

Cute décor idea: a tzompantli — a rack used by the Aztecs to display the skewered skulls of human sacrifices and prisoners of war

The Conquest of the Americas

We passed display cases featuring armor worn by the conquistadors and their horses, along with a small 16th century wooden sculpture of the Virgin of Valvanera. According to legend, this likeness is a “true portrait” of the Virgin Mary, carved by Saint Luke and brought to Spain by the disciples of Saint Peter.

Sacrificio de Españoles por Mexicas (Sacrifice of Spaniards by Mexicas) by Adrian Unzeta, 1898

While these were fascinating, the installation that stopped us in our tracks was a tzompantli — a rack used by the Aztecs to display the skewered skulls of human sacrifices and prisoners of war. Discovered in 1994 at Tecoaque, an archaeological site in central Mexico whose name translates to “the Place Where They Ate Them” in Nahuatl, this tzompantli is believed to have been built by the Acolhua, allies of the Aztecs. It held the skulls of a defeated Spanish-led convoy captured in 1520 — comprising conquistadors and their indigenous allies, who were ritually sacrificed and quite possibly eaten. 

This image, #1 De Español y Indio, Mestizo o Cholo (From Spaniard and Indian, Mestizo or Cholo), depicts the highest-class of the caste hierarchy imposed by the Spanish colonists.

The depiction of the lowest caste in #16 De Coyote, Mestizo y Mulata: Ahí te estás (From Coyote, Mestizo and Mulatto: There You Are) reflects the prejudices of the Spanish invaders.

The Pecking Order of New Spain

In a nearby room, a series of 18th century casta (caste) paintings hung on the wall. 

These 16 scenes depicted the colonial social hierarchy of New Spain, a system imposed by the Spanish government to classify individuals based on ancestry and racial mixing. At the top were Spaniards, both those born in Spain (peninsulares) and those born in the Americas (criollos). Below them were mestizos, people of mixed Spanish and indigenous heritage, and other mixed-race groups, followed by indigenous people and those of African descent. Though rigid in theory, this system allowed some social mobility through wealth,  marriage or official status changes. 

Juan O'Gorman was invited by Antonio Arriaga Ochoa, the director of the National Museum of History, to complete the project that had initially been commissioned by his friend, Diego Rivera, who had died three years earlier in 1957.

The STRUGGLE WAS REAL: MEXICO’S WAR of INDEPENDENCE

The Salón de Independencia (Hall of Independence) features the Retablo de la Independencia (Independence Altarpiece), a monumental mural painted by architect and muralist Juan O’Gorman between 1960 and 1961.  

The mural is divided into four sections, each representing a different stage of the Mexican independence movement. At the center stands the white-haired figure of Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, dressed in clerical robes and brandishing a torch in his left hand. During Mexico's fight for independence, he took a banner depicting the Virgin of Guadalupe from the Sanctuary of Jesús Nazareno de Atotonilco, using it as the flag for his insurgent army. Look for the flag in the case below the mural. Hidalgo’s call to arms, known as the Grito de Dolores (Cry of Dolores), ignited the fight against Spanish colonial rule.

Nearby, José María Morelos is depicted gripping a sword, with a white bandana tied around his head. Morelos was a key leader in the movement, organizing insurgent forces to abolish slavery and the casta system.

Among other figures, Josefa Ortiz de Domínguez appears wearing a green dress and a purple rebozo (shawl), seated on a white horse and surrounded by indigenous victims of exploitation, hunger and death.

---

MORE: The Controversial Murals at the Palacio de Bellas Arte

---

The western terrace, or Patio de Juan de la Barrera, was named in honor of one of the young Mexican cadets who died during the Battle of Chapultepec fighting in the Mexican-American War.

Pergola Terrace, or Patio de Juan Barradas

Wally and I stepped out of the building and into the sunlight-drenched western terrace. A gurgling fountain stood before us and an expansive pergola stretched out to the right, offering shade and views of the park’s artificial lake and city beyond. 

At the back of the garden stands La Madre Patria, Agradecida a sus Hijos Caídos (The Motherland, Grateful to Its Fallen Children), a classical monument commemorating the Niños Héroes. Designed by architect Luis MacGregor Cevallos and sculpted by French-trained Mexican artist Ignacio Asúnsolo, it was inaugurated in 1924.

Asúnsolo finished the monument to the Niños Héroes in a mere three months, fulfilling President Álvaro Obregón’s request to have it completed and inaugurated before the end of his term.

The top of the pylon-shaped memorial features a solemn veiled matron, an eagle at her side, its wings spread protectively. Encircling them is a coiled, feathered serpent, a creature from pre-Hispanic mythology that symbolizes the deity Questzacoatl and reflects the national coat of arms. Below, four muscular figures of young native warriors clad in loincloths represent a different aspect of sacrifice and struggle, each facing a different direction: Supreme Sacrifice (east), Desperation in Defense (north), Unequal Fight (south) and The Epic (west).

The mural Sufragio efectivo, no reelección (Effective Suffrage, No Reelection) by Juan O’Gorman is named for the rallying cry of President Francisco I. Madero against the long dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz.

Fall of the Feudal Empire

When we stepped back inside from the terrace, we entered a room to the right, where a series of murals by Juan O’Gorman covered the walls. These paintings depict a turbulent chapter in Mexico’s history — the fall of the Porfirian dictatorship and the revolution that followed.

(Incidentally, O’Gorman wasn’t just a painter — he was also an architect. He designed strikingly modern homes for Frida and Diego, which pissed off the neighbors.)

One of the most striking murals, Sufragio efectivo, no reelección (Effective Suffrage, No Reelection), dominates one of the walls. Part of O’Gorman’s Retablo de la Revolución (Altarpiece of the Revolution), it captures a pivotal moment in the Mexican Revolution: the Marcha de Lealtad (March of Loyalty). At the center, Francisco Madero rides on horseback, wearing the presidential sash across his chest. The mural portrays his journey from Chapultepec Castle to the National Palace on the morning of February 9, 1913, escorted by students of the Military College. This march would mark the beginning of the Decena Trágica (Ten Tragic Days), a coup that would ultimately cost Madero his life.

Madero had risen to power in the wake of the Mexican Revolution, which erupted in 1910 against the long rule of President Porfirio Díaz. Although Díaz modernized Mexico and maintained a period of stability known as the “Pax Porfiriana,” his policies overwhelmingly favored the wealthy and foreign investors while leaving much of the population — especially indigenous communities — trapped in near-servitude. His ousting paved the way for Madero’s election as president, ushering in hopes of democracy and social justice.

But Madero’s time in power was short-lived.

The Decena Trágica was a violent siege that led to his downfall. What began as an armed revolt quickly turned into a bloody standoff in Mexico City, with intense fighting around the National Palace and the Ciudadela armory. In a devastating betrayal, Madero’s own army chief, Victoriano Huerta, turned against him. Forced to resign on February 18, 1913, Madero and Vice President José María Pino Suárez were executed just days later, on February 22, under Huerta’s orders. Their deaths threw Mexico into further chaos, deepening the revolution that would reshape the nation.

Looking into the gift shop in a central courtyard of this wing of the castle

Cannonball Run to the Gift Shop

The museum shop is located on the ground floor at the center of the Patio de Cañones (Patio of Cannons), so named for the cannons that can be found in the courtyard of the museum. The space is anchored by a sculpture by David Camorlinga dedicated to Emiliano Zapata, a key figure in the Mexican Revolution, known for championing land reform and peasant rights under the rallying cry, “Tierra y Libertad” (Land and Liberty).

The somewhat cartoonish bronze statue of revolutionary leader Emilano Zapata by David Camorlinga can be found in the Courtyard of Canons near the gift shop. The artwork captures Zapata’s defining features, including his iconic walrus mustache and broad-brimmed charro hat.

When we visited, a team was renovating the mural Batalla de Zacatecas (Battle of Zacatecas) by Ángel Bolivar from 1965. 

During our visit, the whimsical and informative temporary exhibit Juárez/Max, Reflejo de dos vidas (Reflection of Two Lives) featured dioramas that told the story of the second Mexican empire, as well as the arrival and establishment of the republic, complete with cute felt Day of the Dead-style dollies of President Benito Juárez, First Lady Margarita Maza, Maximilian von Habsburg, and his wife Princess Charlotte of Belgium.  

An ornate door in the Salón de Malaquitas

Green With Envy: Salón de Malaquitas 

This richly decorated room takes its name from its impressive malaquita (malachite) and gilt metal doors, fountains and vases. They’re actually composed of carefully fitted slivers of malachite that combine to create the illusion of a seamless surface. 

The malachite objets d’art came from Russia, purchased by Díaz from a collection shown at the first World’s Fair in 1851.

These pieces were fabricated at the Imperial Peterhof Lapidary Factory and sent by Tsar Nicholas I to showcase the artistic achievements of Russia at the first World’s Fair in London in 1851. Later, they were purchased by Díaz for the Palacio Nacional before ultimately being installed here. The vibrant green color, with their undulating bands of contrasting hues, come from naturally occurring copper carbonate deposits.

The Salón de Virreyes at Chapultepec Castle displays portraits of all 62 viceroys of New Spain. Among them is Antonio Sebastián Álvarez de Toledo y Salazar, the 18th viceroy, who served from 1664 to 1673.

Salón de Virreyes, the Hall of the Viceroys

Rounding out the museum is the Salón de Virreyes (Hall of the Viceroys), a gallery showcasing every viceroy who ruled New Spain from 1535 to 1821. It’s fascinating to see how attire and hairstyles evolved over the centuries — but the portrait that stood out most to me was of Bernardo de Gálvez, who governed from 1785 until his early death in November the next year. Created in 1796 by two friars using the sgraffito technique — derived from the Italian graffiare, meaning “to scratch” — this piece feels strikingly modern. While Gálvez’s face, hands and hat are painted, his uniform and prancing horse emerge from an intricate web of white spirals, loops and squiggly lines revealed by the “scratching” or removal of the top layer of paint. 

The surprisingly modern equestrian portrait of Bernardo de Gálvez, the 49th Viceroy of New Spain, was painted in 1796 by two friars: Jerónimo and Pablo de Jesús. 

This room was a fitting close to the National Museum of History as the castle’s buildings sprang forth from viceroyalty and evolved into a spectacular showcase of Mexico City’s past.

With the museum’s murals, artifacts and revolutionary history behind us, we stepped out into the sunlight once more. But Chapultepec Castle wasn’t done with us yet — next, it was on to the imperial side, where Maximilian and Charlotte once reigned in opulence. –Duke

Museo Nacional de Historia Castillo de Chapultepec

Primera Sección del Bosque de Chapultepec 
San Miguel Chapultepec, C.P. 11580
Delegación Miguel Hidalgo
Mexico City
Mexico

 

Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo House-Studio Museum

The studio and home of prolific artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo at the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo wows as a striking example of 1930s Mexican modernist architecture. 

You definitely have to tour Casa Azul and Anahuacalli Museum — but this site is also worth visiting if you have time.

When Wally and I talk to friends about our travels in CDMX, the conversation often turns to the places we’ve seen, and the places on our list for our next trip. 

One of the places I’d been wanting to visit was the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo, the former home and studio of two of the city’s most revered artists — though I’d argue that Frida has eclipsed Diego in fame since their deaths in the 1950s. It felt like a fitting comeuppance for how he treated her. But more on that later. 

“Whenever Frida wanted to visit Diego, she had to pull herself up an exterior floating staircase and cross a narrow footbridge.

Diego had specifically requested this to make it difficult for Frida to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. ”

San Ángel: An Escape From the City

The historic house museum is located in San Ángel, an enchanting neighborhood southwest of Mexico City. Once a separate municipality, San Ángel served as a retreat for wealthy families who built grand country homes to escape the chaos of city life during the rise of the Industrial Revolution. Ancient lava flows shaped this rugged terrain, where its cobbled streets and colonial estates were eventually consumed by the ever-expanding sprawl of Mexico City.

Duke and Wally stand on the terrace by the walkway that connected Diego’s home to Frida’s.

We planned our visit to coincide with the Bazar Sábado, a weekly market held on Saturdays, where artists and artisans set up shop and sell their wares. 

Our Uber driver dropped us off at the museum’s entrance on Calle Diego Rivera. As we waited for our guide, we couldn’t help but notice valets dressed in traje de charro, the traditional attire of mariachis, running past us in pairs. They were undoubtedly heading to the entrance of the nearby San Ángel Inn to park arriving cars. Known for its restaurant, the historic inn is a favorite dining spot for both locals and tourists, especially on weekends.

O'Gorman's Mexican fence post cactus barriers (and modern aesthetic) pissed off his traditional neighbors.

Wally and I walked to the front of the property, which faces Avenida Altavista. In our opinion, the best view of the two buildings is from across the avenue. On the left is the big house, a boxy white and red structure with a distinctive sawtooth roof and water tanks, which once served as the residence and studio of the plus-sized muralist Rivera. 

It’s linked at roof level by a narrow walkway and contrasted by the little house, the vivid blue home on the right, which belonged to his unibrowed surrealist painter wife, Kahlo.

The building that now serves as the restrooms originally functioned as a darkroom for Kahlo’s father, Guillermo.

Not the Blue House: The History of Diego and Frida’s San Ángel Studio Home

When the site opened at 10 a.m., we met our guide, Fernanda, in the museum’s courtyard. She resembled a proto-punk Japanese schoolgirl, with her nose ring and dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt under a black sweater, grid-pattern miniskirt fastened with oversized buttons and shiny black loafers. Joining us were a couple from Alabama celebrating their pandemic-postponed honeymoon and a towering white-haired man on a business trip from Germany who had added a day for sightseeing. 

Before the tour began, Fernanda asked how many of us had visited Casa Azul, Kahlo’s family home in the boho Coyoacán neighborhood. She explained that a lot of visitors show up here thinking they’re about to see the Blue House.

“It’s important to understand the difference,” Fernanda explained, “because that’s the house where she was born and where she returned after divorcing Rivera in December 1939.” 

She continued, “Here, there isn’t much furniture — it’s more of a photographic history. But what makes this site significant is the architecture of these three buildings.”

Our charming tour guide, Fernanda, was an expert on O’Gorman, Rivera and Kahlo.

Kahlo only lived here for six years. The couple moved into the home in January 1934 after Rivera was essentially forced to return to Mexico following the controversy surrounding his mural at Rockefeller Center, Man at the Crossroads. The mural, which included a depiction of Vladimir Lenin, led the Rockefellers to order its destruction and terminate Rivera’s commission. Rivera later re-created the mural in Mexico City. This version, titled Man, Controller of the Universe, can be seen at the Palacio de Bellas Artes murals in Mexico City.

Kahlo and Rivera remarried in December 1940, a year after their divorce, at San Francisco City Hall in California; however, she never returned to San Ángel. Her declining health made it more practical for her to remain in the beloved house of her childhood, la Casa Azul, which now serves as a popular attraction. This house offers a comprehensive glimpse into her life, showcasing her furniture and personal belongings. Rivera, however, lived in the studio home until his death in 1957.

In 1981, the National Institute of Fine Arts (INBA) acquired the houses from Rivera’s daughter, Ruth Rivera Marín, and, after nearly 16 years of restoration, it opened to the public. And three decades later, INBA acquired the Cecil O’Gorman House and incorporated it into the museum campus.

You can imagine Juan O’Gorman’s bold modernist design didn’t go over so well with the neighbors, who lived in colonial-style homes.

Cecil O’Gorman House 

Thanks to his interest in sports, Juan O’Gorman was the first to discover that the pair of tennis courts belonging to the San Ángel Inn were for sale.

In 1929, the aspiring 24-year-old architect purchased the plot at 81 Las Palmas, now Calle Diego Rivera, using money he had earned as chief draftsman at Carlos Obregón Santacilla’s atelier. 

He then began constructing a revolutionary dwelling inspired by Swiss architect Le Corbusier, whose work he had studied at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM). The design adhered to the principle that buildings should be created solely based on their purpose and function. 

Nearly a century later, the structure remains one of the earliest examples of functionalist architecture in Latin America. Its stripped-back, utilitarian design was radical for its time, standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding 18th century colonial homes.

An exposed concrete spiral staircase swirls up the side of O’Gorman’s house.

By 1930, O’Gorman had completed the Cecil O’Gorman House, which, according to his autobiography, he designed as a home and studio for his father. 

But that’s not the whole story. 

His father, the Irish painter Cecil Crawford O’Gorman, was an avid collector of colonial art and antiques. He already owned a spacious hacienda nearby and had no interest in downsizing to the modernist glass box that his son had built. In reality, it’s likely that O’Gorman designed the house to showcase his architectural ideas and intended it to serve as a prototype for low-income housing, though the project never came to fruition.

Elevated on pilotis, slender columns that raise the reinforced concrete structure off the ground, this innovative construction method eliminated the need for traditional load-bearing walls, allowing O’Gorman to incorporate an entire wall of articulated glass windows. 

Access to the second floor is provided by an external spiral staircase, but unfortunately, it was closed during our visit due to the installation of an upcoming exhibition.

We weren’t able to go upstairs in the O’Gorman House because they were setting up for a new exhibition.

Like Rivera, O’Gorman had socialist inclinations and sought to challenge the norms of his time. He wasn’t just building a home — he was making a declaration of functionalist design amid the traditional architecture that characterizes much of San Ángel.

The neighbors were said to be outraged, demanding that his architectural degree be revoked. 

The locals didn’t care for the home’s curb appeal, either. Enclosed by Pachycereus marginatus, a tall columnar cactus, also known as Mexican fence post cactus, and landscaped with agaves, it reflected the aesthetic of an indigenous Mexican village rather than the prevailing manicured European style.

Rivera, on the other hand, appreciated O’Gorman’s vision. He commissioned him to construct a similar pair of homes for himself and his wife, Kahlo, on the adjacent lot. 

A model of the property inside the O’Gorman House.

Inside, what formerly served as the dining room and kitchen now holds a glass case with a scale model of the trio of buildings as well as a series of photographs by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá, Kahlo’s grandniece. Among the photos are images of the hospital gowns Kahlo wore during her stays at the American British Cowdray Hospital in Mexico City, on which she often used to wipe excess paint from her brushes while she painted.

These doodles became the mural Entre Filosofía y Ciencia by O’Gorman.

In 2012, the museum’s restoration team uncovered the sinopia, or preparatory sketch, for the fresco Entre Filosofía y Ciencia (Between Philosophy and Science) on a layer of lime plaster beneath where the completed mural by O’Gorman originally stood. The fresco was purchased by Banco Nacional de México in 1957 and, when it’s not traveling, can be found in the Museo Foro Valparaíso.

Recall that Frida had leg and back issues, and imagine her having to walk up and down this floating staircase onto her roof and then across the walkway to get to Diego’s house.

Frida and Diego’s Complicated Relationship 

After we exited the Cecil O’Gorman House, Fernanda directed our attention to the floating staircase perched on the exterior of Kahlo’s house. Its tubular steel handrail leads from the second floor studio windows to the rooftop terrace. We couldn’t believe anyone would have used those stairs — especially Kahlo, whose chronic health issues significantly impaired her mobility. 

As a child, Kahlo contracted polio, which left her right leg weakened and deformed. Then, as a teenager, she was in a horrific accident when the bus she was riding collided with a trolley car. The impact left her with a fractured spine, and a handrail pierced her body, entering through her back and exiting through her pelvis.

RELATED: 9 Fascinating Facts About Frida

Yet, whenever she wanted to visit Rivera, she had to pull herself up those stairs and cross the narrow footbridge. Rivera had specifically requested this particular feature from O’Gorman to make it difficult for Kahlo to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. It was a marriage strained by mutual jealousy and infidelity. Rivera didn’t fit society’s standards of handsome — Kahlo nicknamed him el Sapo-Rana (Toad-Frog) — but his fame, confidence and charisma made him irresistible to many women. 

Tour groups meet in the small courtyard in front of Diego’s house.

Rivera’s House and Studio

In my opinion, the most fascinating part of the museum is Rivera’s house. It still contains some of the original furniture and artwork from when he lived there. 

The bedroom has a set of small windows high on the wall, which limited the amount of direct sunlight and helped keep the room cool. Next to the bed, there’s a pair of shoes, an enamel bedpan and a leather suitcase sitting atop the woven coverlet, awaiting its next trip. An articulated gooseneck task lamp and a small bust of Chairman Mao sit on the olive green-painted nightstand, with a watercolor landscape by Rivera hanging above it.

Diego’s bedroom

Like his bedroom, the studio was mostly left as it was at the time of Rivera’s death. The main section, with its double-height space, was perfect for large works and transportable murals. The design facilitated easy handling of the panels, allowing them to be moved in and out of the studio through the folding windows.

Our favorite pieces among the personal items were Rivera’s collection of larger-than-life cartonería (papier-mâché) figures. Known in Mexico as Judases, these brightly colored effigies, with features like oversized or abnormally small heads and stubby limbs, commanded the room with their massive presence. Originally, these figures were depictions of Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ. Rivera’s collection includes devils, skeletons and other fantastical creatures, which were traditionally burned, exploded or flogged on the Saturday before Easter. 

Some of Diego’s collection of papier-mâché Judases in his studio

Many of these larger-than-life-sized effigies were created by the Mexican folk artist Carmen Caballero Sevilla. One Holy Week, Rivera visited the Mercado Abelardo Rodríguez and was impressed with Sevilla’s Judas figures and invited her to work in his studio in San Ángel. (He admired the working class, which is why he often wore overalls.)

Cool metal skeletons covered the walls.

Diego collected handicrafts like these Judases.

Brushes and trays with reserves of dried paint remain exactly as Rivera had left them, offering a glimpse into his creative process. Among them were shelves with jars of pigments that reflect his color palette — including Paris Green, a highly toxic emerald green powder made from copper and arsenic. 

Diego’s paints line the shelves of his studio but have long since dried up.

There are bookcases filled with pre-Hispanic and indigenous folk art. On one of the easels was a painting of the Latin American actress Dolores del Río, who was rumored to have slept with both Rivera and Kahlo. 

Diego painted Dolores del Rio, a beautiful Latin American actress who is said to have slept with his as well as Frida.

Fernanda pointed out a papier-mâché torito, a little bull, hanging high above us. She explained that this tradition dates back to the mid 19th century. These creations are mounted on a kind of scaffolding that rests on the wearer’s shoulders, stuffed with fireworks like roman candles and bottle rockets, which are set alight as part of the annual festival in the town of Tultepec honoring Saint John of God, the patron saint of (what else?) fireworks makers. 

Sound dangerous? It sure is — but that didn’t stop Fernanda’s brother from participating in one. And he has the burns to prove it. 

Our group followed Fernanda up the staircase to the second floor, where we could take in a full view of the studio. Fernanda explained that this was the very spot where Kahlo discovered Rivera with her younger sister Cristina — an incident that became the proverbial last straw, which led to their separation and brief divorce. It wasn’t Rivera’s or Kahlo’s numerous indiscretions that caused the rift; it was the fact that Rivera was having an affair with her closest confidant.

Just off the landing, we entered Rivera’s private office, a space with a desk and a typewriter and additional bookcases filled with pieces from his prolific collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts, an obsession that can be seen at the Anahuacalli Museum in Coyoacán. 

Diego’s typewriter and some of the pre-Columbian artifacts he loved to collect.

From Rivera’s office, a door opened onto the rooftop terrace and the narrow bridge connecting his former residence to Kahlo’s. However, Fernanda quickly dismissed any thoughts of taking the infamous floating stairs. Instead, we followed her back through Rivera’s office and down the staircase to the courtyard below.

Frida’s house leaves much to be desired — but at least O’Gorman painted it the vibrant blue of her beloved family home, Casa Azul.

Kahlo’s House

Our group paused outside Kahlo’s house as Fernanda pointed out an interesting feature: a carnelian red painted garbage chute extending from the second floor, connected to a steel drum barrel. Its purpose? To collect kitchen waste.

By this time, the site had grown much busier, with dozens of visitors streaming in and out of the buildings.

The rooms inside Kahlo’s house were noticeably smaller and compact than those in Rivera’s, in large part because there wasn’t an open studio space. Unlike her husband’s residence, Kahlo’s house was devoid of decorative objects or furniture, leaving the space feeling even more austere.

The tiny kitchen exemplified functional design, featuring a concrete countertop with a gas cooktop, a small sink, and the opening of the chute that connected to the steel barrel outside. 

A man from Germany insisted Wally pose for a picture in his bright T-shirt to contrast with the blue of Frida’s house, next to the kitchen garbage chute.

We peeked into the modest bathroom, the very space where Kahlo’s 1938 oil painting, Lo que el agua me dio (What the Water Gave Me), was conceived. Fernanda told us that there weren’t any good spaces for Frida to paint in her home, so she chose the bathroom, which had better lighting. 

Frida’s home is small and dark, so she preferred to paint in the bathroom. One of her most famous works, Lo que el agua me dio, came from this period.

Wally paused in front of a framed letter that Kahlo had written to Hungarian-born photographer Nickolas Muray, with whom she shared a decade-long, on-again, off-again relationship, and read this poignant sentence aloud: “Please forgive me for having phoned you that evening. I won’t do it anymore.”

One of the glass cases in Kahlo’s house displays an open copy of the book Complete Anatomy of Man by Martín Martínez, and included a handwritten dedication from Kahlo to Dr. Juan Farill, the surgeon who performed seven spinal surgeries on her. 

The final room we explored was her small bedroom — a fitting conclusion to our visit. The room was concealed behind thick black drapery that we had to pull aside to enter. Inside, an installation by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá features numerous lightboxes  illuminating Kahlo’s medical records from the American British Cowdray Hospital. The air in the room felt heavy and still, with the slow rhythmic sound of a heartbeat emanating from a hidden speaker. 

We knew beforehand about Diego and Kahlo’s turbulent relationship. But standing in the dark, claustrophobic space Diego had O'Gorman design as her home was a different kind of gut punch. It was hard not to feel the weight of it — the realization that someone as fiercely powerful as Kahlo could be confined like this by a man who claimed to love her. It really shook us, and we didn’t linger.

Our group poses under the entrance to Frida’s house.

Know before you go

We purchased tickets prior to our trip through a site called Tiqets. At $30 per person it’s definitely more than the $2 price of general admission, but we felt it was worth it. 

Our guide, Fernanda, was charming and incredibly knowledgeable, offering all the insights we could have hoped for about the site. She didn’t shy away from discussing the complexities of Rivera and Kahlo’s relationship either. And even though the tour was scheduled to last an hour, she stayed with us for an hour and 45 minutes, never once making us feel rushed.

The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Admission is 40 pesos for adults, while children under 13 and seniors can enter for free. On Sundays, admission is free for everyone. –Duke

Floor-to-ceiling windows opened wide to allow transport of Rivera’s large-scale mural panels into and out of his studio. 

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo

Diego Rivera s/n
San Ángel Inn
Álvaro Obregón
01060 CDMX
Mexico

 

Saints and Social Change: A Q&A With Artist Laurie Buman

Discover how Laurie Buman’s art, heavily influenced by her travels in Mexico, shines a light on social issues through her captivating saint and botanical series.

Saint Monarca of the Milkweed

Duke and I popped into Everybody’s Coffee in our neighborhood of Uptown in Chicago — and were instantly captivated by the striking art gracing the walls. Laurie Buman’s works are a visual feast: wide-eyed saints with a hint of steampunk flair and Day of the Dead influences, each collage exuding a powerful spirituality. Among the holy figures were unique creations like a holy canine and the butterfly-infused Saint Monarca of the Milkweed, canonized straight from Buman’s imagination. We couldn’t help but be intrigued by the stories each piece told.

We reached out to Laurie a few months ago to learn more about her artwork and process. –Wally

Artist Laurie Buman

Let’s start from the beginning. What inspired you to become an artist and develop your style?

Since I was little, I knew I was an artist. I would draw from around 4 years old and always loved coloring and drawing. My parents noticed I had a natural ability to draw realistically, so they nurtured that talent. I received an art scholarship to the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design and later finished my degree at the University of Milwaukee. Over the years, I took continuing education courses in design and art, earning a BFA [bachelor of fine arts degree]. I spent many years working as a designer full time, which consumed a lot of my time, but I’ve gradually increased the time I spend in my studio.

Saint Cabrini of the River

How does Mexico influence your art?

I’ve been traveling to Mexico since I was 17. My first trip was for Day of the Dead, and I was captivated by the landscape’s beauty and the culture. It’s very unlike Wisconsin, where I grew up. The people in Mexico are so welcoming and inviting, and their culture is rich in history, color and ritual. It draws you in. My art was influenced by these experiences, especially my Day of the Dead photography.

What are some of your favorite places in Mexico?

Oaxaca is very dear to my heart, with its intense culture and natural beauty. I also love Mexico City and Mérida. I’m excited to visit Chiapas in spring 2025, which has a rich indigenous culture.

Can you tell us more about your saint series?

The series started with Saint Catherine of Bologna, an incorruptible saint whose body did not decompose. I channeled her and created my first saint piece, and the series grew from there. I've created pieces addressing social issues like femicide and mental illness, each piece becoming a shrine where people can put their thoughts and prayers. The process is therapeutic for me, as it allows me to bring light into the darkness.

What’s your artistic process like?

I spend months thinking about a particular saint. I do extensive research, layer images in Photoshop, and bring in original photography and found objects that add dimension and meaning. For example, I use rosaries and milagros in my pieces and top them with hand-applied gold leaf.

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha of the Indigenous

What other themes do you explore in your work?

In the past two years, I’ve been focusing on the environment and global warming, creating pieces about monarch butterflies and bees. My latest work, Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the first Native American saint, celebrates ecology. I’ve also been working on botanicals and cyanotypes, exploring themes of nature and spontaneity.

What are some of the biggest challenges you face as an artist, and how do you overcome them?

Keeping momentum can be challenging, especially when starting. Making connections and finding venues to show my work helps. Having a studio at the Bridgeport Art Center provides a monthly audience and a supportive community. It’s vital to share your work and feel inspired by those around you.

Tell us about 3rd Fridays at the Bridgeport Art Center.

All the resident artists open their studios, and there are galleries on the third and fourth floors. We always have a show or two going on. I have a small gallery called Galería Azul, where I feature a guest artist every two months.

Daffodils + Fireflies

How has your work evolved over the years?

As I’ve aged and grown more confident, my work has become more expressive. My experiences at the University of Chicago and the Bridgeport Arts Center have elevated my work and given me the confidence to be myself and share my ideas.

Night Sky

What do you hope people take away from your art?

With my saint series, I hope people feel compassion towards the subject matter and think about social issues. With my botanical pieces, I want people to delight in spontaneous moments and appreciate the beauty of our world, realizing how precious our planet is.

A Day of the Dead ofrenda by Buman at the Chocolate Museum in Mexico City, featuring Saint Agatha of the Forgotten Daughters

Are there any upcoming projects or exhibitions you’re excited about?

Yes, I have a Day of the Dead show at the Patrician Gallery in Wilmette and a potential show in December at the Chocolate Museum in Mexico City. 

Infant Saint Ben of the Pit Bulls

Is there a particular piece that holds significant personal meaning for you?

All my pieces are special, but Saint Ben of the Pit Bulls is very dear to me. I used to do pit bull rescue, and this piece commemorates a pit bull named Ben who had a significant impact on my life.

The Black Madonna of Light

What legacy would you like to leave as an artist?

I hope to have brought attention to social issues, brought light into the world and added beauty. If people said I reminded them of Frida Kahlo, that would be a great honor.

Anything else you’d like to share?

Just that I’m grateful for this opportunity to share my story. I love connecting with others who share a passion for travel and culture.

---

Gorgeous Guanajuato: The Ultimate Day Trip From San Miguel de Allende

A one-day itinerary for travelers looking to experience the best of Guanajuato City, including the Museo de las Momias, the Teatro Juárez and the funicular to the Pipila Monument and overlook.

If you’re staying in San Miguel de Allende, you’ve gotta take a day trip to Guanajuato — and we’ve got the perfect itinerary for you.

Even if you’re not into displays of desiccated corpses, the charming and colorful capital of Guanajuato, Mexico has plenty to offer. It makes for a delightful day trip from the tourist hotspot San Miguel de Allende. 

“The sights in Guanajuato are equal parts beautiful and bizarre.”

A Brief History of Guanajuato

Originally inhabited by indigenous groups, the region was conquered by the Spanish, and the town of Guanajuato was incorporated in 1554. 

Like San Miguel, Guanajuato was an important and wealthy colonial city due to the region’s large silver deposits. It played a pivotal role in Mexico’s struggle to break the Spanish yoke. The city was the site of the first major battle of the Mexican War of Independence, which took place in 1810. Guanajuato also played a significant role in the Mexican Revolution, which began in 1910 — it was the site of the first battle (which the revolutionaries won).

Hop to it! Follow this walking tour of charming and quirky Guanajuato.

Guanajuato Day Trip Itinerary

With this tried-and-true one-day itinerary, you’ll experience the best of colorful and quirky Guanajuato, taking in the top attractions, flavors and vistas that this charming city has to offer.

Start your day at the Mummy Museum, then head to the Plaza of the Frogs before strolling along the main street of town. Here are the places we recommend stopping at, before ending with a funicular trip to overlook this incredible mountain town. With its vibrantly painted buildings and lively plazas, Guanajuato is one of Mexico’s most beautiful colonial towns.

Museo de las Momias

Looking for a bit of spook-tacular fun? The Museo de las Momias has you covered. In our estimation, this is the town’s main attraction. The macabre museum features the desiccated husks of some of the city’s former residents who couldn’t pay their burial tax, were dug up and discovered to be naturally mummified due to the arid climate. It’s a morbidly fascinating experience that’s not for the faint of heart.

LEARN MORE: The Haunting and Horrific Mummy Museum of Guanajuato

Explanada del Panteón Municipal s/n

Plaza de las Ranas

Hop on over to Plaza de la Hermandad, also known as Plaza de las Ranas (Frog Plaza). The centerpiece is a fountain created by French sculptor Gabriel Guerra and installed in 1893. It looks a bit like a swimming pool, but the stars of the show are the whimsical frog statues made of stone that decorate the open plaza. 

Why frogs? The name Guanajuato comes from the indigenous Purépecha words Quanax-Huato, which means “Place of the Frogs.” One theory is that the town took its name from a pair of colossal boulders resembling giant frogs. Seeing this as an auspicious sign, the Purépecha decided to settle here. They were a powerful empire that dominated western Mexico prior to the Spanish conquest. 

Fun fact: Guanajuato was the birthplace of Mexican muralist Diego Rivera, who referred to himself as “el Sapo-Rana,” the Frog-Toad. 

Galereña Dulces Típicos de Guanajuato

Want something sweet? Next stop: Galereña Dulces, a candy store that’s been around since 1865. They’ve got all kinds of traditional Mexican sweets — but don’t get your hopes up about mummy gummies. Much to our dismay, those don’t exist. 

The cellophane-wrapped caramel-colored confections we found are actually known locally as charamuscas. They’re a type of hard candy made from spun boiled cane sugar twisted into a mummy figure shape. Which, now that I think about it, these gnarly, crunchy versions are actually more fitting. 

Avenida Benito Juárez 188

Empanadas MiBu

Feeling a bit peckish? Time for a snack at Empanadas MiBu. I always say: If there’s a Heaven, there will be empanadas up there. These tasty little pockets of joy come in all sorts of varieties, from savory (rajas con queso are my fave) to sweet (you can never go wrong with Nutella), and are the perfect snack to munch on while exploring the city. They’re made to order and served in paper bags, making them the perfect handheld food to eat on the go. 

Avenida Benito Juárez 65-A

Jardín Reforma

Escape the hustle and bustle of the city by taking a stroll through this serene park that’s just past Empanadas MiBu. Head through the classical arch into a tranquil oasis that’s surprisingly peaceful for being mere steps off the city’s main drag. The loudest sound you’re likely to hear here is the gurgling of the fountain in the center or the chirping of birds.

Be sure to pop into G&G Cafe, the coffeeshop in the corner of this small park, if you need a caffeine fix. 

Basilica of Our Lady of Guanajuato

Continue down Avenida Benito Juarez until it turns into De Paz. The yellow Basílica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato, dedicated to the city’s patroness, Our Lady of Guanajuato, is hard to miss. The yellow edifice stands proudly on the historic Plaza de la Paz (Plaza of Peace), the main square. However, unlike most Spanish colonial cities, the plaza is not a square but a triangle, to better fit Guanajuato’s hilly geography. 

The church’s façade was designed in the Mexican Baroque style and is adorned with carvings of saints and features two bell towers and a red clay dome. The interior is just as impressive, with soaring arches, intricate gold leaf detailing and a stunning main altar that encompasses the local likeness of the Virgin Mary. 

Calle Ponciano Aguilar 7

Teatro Juárez

While you’re in the vicinity, stop by the Teatro Juárez, a majestic Neoclassical theater, built from 1872 to 1903. Bronze statues of the Greek Muses, who represent the arts and sciences, stand on the roof.

We didn’t get a chance to go inside, but it looks impressive, awash in red velvet and gold details, with a colorful ceiling motif in the Neo-Mudéjar style, a nod to the mix of Spanish and Arab design popular in the South of Spain.

The landmark hosts a wide variety of performances, from concerts and operas to plays, international movies and dance. It has served as the main venue of the Festival Internacional Cervantino since 1972. 

De Sopena 10

Funicular and El Pipila Monument 

End your stroll through town with a ride on the funicular. The station is close by the Teatro Juárez. A cable car system built in 2001 takes you up the hill to an overlook and costs 60 pesos (about $4) for a roundtrip ticket. We had to stand in line for a bit, but it was worth the wait. The ride up is pretty fun — but the view is breathtaking. I was utterly captivated by the hilly landscape and the colorful, densely clustered  patchwork of buildings that stretched out before us. I leaned against the railing and gazed out at it for a long time. It’s easy to see why the enchanting city center is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Pro tip: When facing the city below, head off to right for a less-crowded viewing platform above the basilica.

Crowds of tourists and locals gather in the shadow of the El Pipila monument, a towering 80-foot statue built in 1939 to commemorate a hero of the Mexican War of Independence.

So who exactly was this Pipila fellow? His real name was Juan José de los Reyes Martínez, who, during the siege of Guanajuato, crawled towards the Alhóndiga de Granaditas, a granary used as a fortress by Spanish troops. He had a large stone slab used to grind corn (a pipila — hence his nickname) on his back. Once he reached the door, he used the stone to break it down, allowing the rebel forces to enter and defeat the Spanish troops.

De La Constancia 17

Outside the Mummy Museum, we watched a performance of men in drag mock-fighting. The sights in Guanajuato are equal parts beautiful and bizarre.

SMA Day Trip

All told, we spent about four hours in Guanajuato. We hired a driver from San Miguel de Allende through our hotel’s concierge. The ride is an hour and a half each way. We got dropped off at the Mummy Museum and then texted our driver at the end of the day once we on our way back down on the funicular.

From truly disturbing to truly delightful, Guanajuato is a day trip not to miss. –Wally

San Miguel de Allende’s Knockout Door Knockers

Knock, knock! Who’s there? It doesn’t matter — just keep a lookout for the Mexican town’s amazing and Instagrammable door knockers.

People go ga-ga over doors. When I was younger, I remember seeing posters of the doors of Dublin or Tuscany. And while I’m able to appreciate these elements of design, something else jumped out at me as Duke and I wandered the streets of the charming colonial town of San Miguel de Allende: nice knockers.

Door knockers, that is.

 San Miguel de Allende, or SMA, as many call it to save a few syllables, is known for its rich cultural heritage and stunning architecture — and its door knockers are no exception. These decorative pieces not only add a touch of charm to the town’s doors but also reveal the history and cultural influences of the region.

I’m obviously not the first one to note the proliferation of door knockers around town. “I love how each door knocker in San Miguel de Allende tells a story. It’s like a miniature work of art that you can appreciate every time you enter a building,” says Kevin Raub, a travel writer for Lonely Planet.

From rustic wrought-iron to ornate brass, SMA’s door knockers come in a variety of shapes and sizes, though you’ll mostly see animals (especially lions, fish and horses) and faces. 

Unlocking the Past: Exploring the Origins and Evolution of SMA’s Door Knockers

The tradition of elaborate door knockers in San Miguel de Allende has its roots in the city’s rich colonial history. During that era, many families were all about showing off their wealth. Door knockers became a popular status symbol and were often made from expensive materials like brass or wrought iron.

As the city grew and evolved, the tradition of ornate door knockers continued, but with a new focus on craftsmanship and artistry. Today, the door knockers of San Miguel de Allende are more of a reflection of the city’s artistic heritage.

So, whether you’re a fan of history or art, or just appreciate the quirky things in life, San Miguel de Allende’s door knockers are sure to catch your eye and knock your socks off. –Wally

Meet the Mojigangas: The Larger-Than-Life Puppets on the Streets of SMA

What’s a mojiganga? From their origins in the 16th century to current wedding celebrations, here’s everything you need to know about this big and bold Mexican folk tradition. 

Spend some time in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, and you’re sure to come across the giant puppets known as mojigangas. OMG, is that Frida on the right?!

On our first day wandering through the hilly cobblestone streets of San Miguel de Allende (aka SMA), Mexico, we stumbled upon a sign that read, “Mojigangas.” Being the curious adventurers that we are, we couldn’t resist the urge to investigate. We stepped off the street and saw that the metal door to the workshop of the Sanmiguelense artist Hermes Arroyo wasn’t fully closed, and decided to take a peek inside. We caught a glimpse of a few of his colorful, larger-than-life creations. 

We couldn’t help ourselves. Seeing that Hermes was talking to an assistant, we passed by his studio and walked into what we learned was the courtyard of his family home. We admired the cast of characters lined up against the walls. Catrinas — tall, female skeletons wearing fancy hats — stood shoulder to shoulder with a bride, groom and grinning devil wearing a striped shawl. 

Moments later, we were greeted by the master puppet maker himself. He was more than happy to show us around. 

“Mojigangas are very important to Mexican culture.

They are a representation of our customs and traditions, and they allow us to pass down our heritage to future generations.”

— Hermes Arroyo

When we asked to take a photo with them, he called over one of his assistants so Duke and I could both be in it with him.

Hermes regaled us with stories of his life and how he began making mojigangas (pronounced mo-hee-gon-gahz), a traditional Mexican folk art form of papier-mâché puppets with oversized noggins. He learned the art of making mojigangas from a master craftsman named Genaro Almanza, who was a coworker of his father. While apprenticing with Almanza, he became adept at working with a variety of materials, including resin, plaster, wood, fabric and paint.

Mojigangas come from a longstanding tradition of entertaining the public — and best of all, they don’t even mind being groped!

The Origin of Mojigangas  

Mojigangas are an essential component of the local culture. These towering figures are a familiar sight, bringing the streets to life with their vibrant colors and playful antics.

These puppets, also known as gigantes, or giants, have been around since the Spanish brought them to Mexico in the 16th century. In Catalan, capgrossos, or giant heads, were worn for street theater performances that provided comic relief. 

A mojiganga of Anado, the artist behind the ultra-quirky Chapel of Jimmy Ray, outside of SMA

Nowadays, the puppets reflect the country’s diverse cultural influences, with many sporting traditional indigenous dresses. The Mexican love of poking fun at death and sin is evident in the high number of skeletons and devils. And some pop culture icons have popped up as well, including Maleficent and Frida Kahlo. 

The top part of a mojiganga

The Art of Making Mojigangas

How are these quirky, supersized puppets made? First, an armature, or skeletal wire frame, is constructed in the shape of the figure. Then, using cartonería (from the Spanish word for cardboard), layers of paper and paste are affixed to the frame to create a base. After the base is dry, several more layers of paper are added, each getting progressively thinner and smoother. Once the paper layers are complete, the mojiganga is painted with vibrant colors and decorated with accessories like teeth, cloth arms and hands, clothing and other details.

Mojigangas grace the entrance to many shops in SMA.

Today, thanks to modern materials like foam and fiberglass, some mojiganga makers create even more impressive and intricate figures — some even have blinking eyes, mouths that open and pipes that smoke!

SMA has become a major wedding destination, and no celebration would be complete without a parade that includes mojigangas depicting the happy couple.

Here Come the Mojigangas: A New Wedding Tradition

Mojigangas have become a popular addition to wedding celebrations in San Miguel de Allende. Couples often customize their mojigangas to resemble themselves, complete with traditional wedding attire. The puppets then lead the wedding party through town in a parade called a callejoneada, where everyone dances and sings in celebration of the newlyweds.

If you’re thinking about incorporating mojigangas into your wedding, a customized pair of mojigangas typically costs between $500 and $1,000. It’s a memorable way to celebrate your big day. 

Hermes Arroyo graciously posed for a picture with Duke and Wally in his studio in San Miguel de Allende, and gave them a quick tour.

Hermes Arroyo: Master Mojiganga Maker

Our new friend Hermes has been making mojigangas for over 30 years. His work has been featured in exhibitions and festivals all over Mexico and the world. 

“Mojigangas are very important to Mexican culture,” he told Culture Trip. “They are a representation of our customs and traditions, and they allow us to pass down our heritage to future generations. It’s important to preserve these traditions, so that they can continue to be a part of our culture for years to come.”

Hermes’ dedication to preserving the traditions of mojiganga making has earned him a reputation as a master craftsman and a cultural ambassador for Mexico. His work has been featured in museums and galleries around the world, such as the Museum of Latin American Art in Long Beach, California and the Museo de Arte Popular in Mexico City. 

He has also inspired others to take up the art of mojiganga making by teaching workshops and sharing his knowledge and skills. 

The Day of the Dead parade that kicks off the Bond flick Spectre, complete with skeletal mojigangas, was so popular, it has become an annual tradition in CDMX!

His puppets were featured in the opening scene of the 2015 James Bond movie Spectre, for which he created dozens of mojigangas for the iconic Day of the Dead parade. He’s also appeared in the History Channel documentary series The Strongest Man in History in 2019, where he challenged four buff dudes to carry his mojigangas through the streets of San Miguel de Allende. His puppets stand between 16 to 20 feet tall and weigh over 40 pounds, or 18 kilograms. 

Some of the fun folk art for sale at Hermes’ shop, la Casa de las Mojigangas

We popped into his shop and came home with a much more manageable, smaller luchador sporting a blue mask and trunks. 

Meeting a master craftsman like Hermes is just one of the many delightful surprises that SMA has to offer. If you want to experience part of what makes San Miguel de Allende so special, head to his shop and studio and discover the magic of mojigangas. –Wally

La Casa de las Mojigangas

San Francisco 62
Zona Centro 37700
San Miguel de Allende
Guanajuato 
México

 

---