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Strewn with time's dead flowers

And the theme continues. Just prior to my unfortunate illness, Alaster, associate from many years of university, passed through Ciudad de Mexico on his way south. We generally quested about for places for a beer, and when I accidentally ordered 5 litres owing to my lack of Spanish, I was distraught to find that Alaster, veteran of more drinking adventures than any man may rightfully hope for, has found age has caught up with him, and wished me to cancel the order.

With the security of company, broad daylight, guide book, and two compasses, we set out to find the 2 death cult temples. Out provisions were inadequate and we bought the city street directory. The first, and newer, was just a fairly average Catholic-style church which fancies itself to be a little naughty. Reasonably unimpressed, we journeyed on, into dodgier and dodgier territory, scattered with market stalls selling pirated midget erotica, and eventually came to the original alter of Santa Muerte set up local lady Doña Queta in her front window. This was the real deal. Genuine devotees offered prayers and and small gifts to the shrine, and those little Saint prayer cards were handed out. Alaster and I were both happy to have bought candy skulls as offerings, given the solemn attendees. The photographic record we made isn't great, but we didn't want to push the envelope too far.

Now, jumping two weeks into the future, over much porcelain abuse and boring work stuff, and it is now the eve of Dia de Muertos. On Wednesday just been, each of the faculties of UNAM observed yearly ritual and built a display in the central lawns, all orange marigolds, candles, and stylised skeletons. Then, they parade down the middle by school or organisation, like a far superior Moomba. The theme this year was the 200th anniversary of the death of Edgar Allan Poe. Prepare thyselves for blurry night-time photos...

This lunar cycle

April 2015
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