On Saturday, the town was busier. They'd set up a few more stalls on the plaza and in the surrounding streets... the place was really thick with people... they'd come to pay homage to Saint Francis. The service dedicated to the town's patron had already begun.
We went to watch the pilgrims in their acts of devotion. Their object of worship was a mannequin of the saint... said to grant wishes and cure ailments... he struck the usual estranged pose (I'd love to see the factory where they bang 'em out). They had him raised up on a chair at the end of a walkway. The pilgrims shuffled up on knees... weeping. When they reached the statue they rubbed his feet... sometimes feverishly and beseeching with prayers. We did not follow the example, we instead wandered to the rear of the church... took a peek in a little room. The walls were plastered with childish drawings... car crashes, fires, disasters... notes of thanks to the statue... for close escapes from death.
In the afternoon we heard a drum beat... regular... the beat of a march. I ambled off the balcony to the plaza below. Children had formed a procession and were stamping out a dance. They waved strange rattles and whirled about in purple clothing. They had long black skirts with large red tassles... black waist coats emblazened with the virgin of Guadalupe... sequined letters indicating their particular religious sect. At the front of the procession a man held up a banner of Our Lady... at the procession's heart was a figure with a monster's mask... the ritually symbolic demon. The dancers continued up the road... pilgrims trailing behind with flowers and prayer books and laminated cards permitting them a moment with the statue of St Frank.
Early next morning, we realised more fully the extent of the festival. Departing early and in the darkness, the town's streets were utterly clogged. Thousands of pilgrims were arriving... they filled up the roads entirely... dragging processions or else heading to make an ealy vigil... burning candles between palms. The town's chefs were up too... and all of the street stalls were filled with visitors... the air was a mist of coffee smells, cooking eggs and frying tortillas. It took a while to get through it all... we were heading the opposite way... with back packs strapped, we ground against the flow of pilgrims.
We made it to the tunnel and everything was dark and wet with puddles and mud... everything was thick with fog. The pilgrims were emerging out in droves... supplies tied up in string... great bags and packs in tow. They came on foot... or in carts dragged by horses or donkeys... the flow was enormous, endless, surreal. We got in a horse carriage of our own and entered into the dark dripping tunnel... trotted past familes... they were clutching babies wrapped in blankets... we wondered how the town could sustain so many visitors.
When we made it to the other side it was raining a little. Hawkers rushed at us with rosary beads and crucifixes. I didn't realise we looked so religious (maybe we looked like vampires). In the car park the pilgrims were arriving by cattle truck... they splashed through the brown puddles... fog lights washed it all yellow. A man with a megaphone directed the traffic. He pointed us to our bus and we got on board. Only two other people were leaving Real de Catorce.
OF PEYOTE
We took a 10km hike out of the mountains to the edge of the desert. A mexican drove up and offered us peyote... a trip out to get it. Despite a fixation with the stuff... since reading Carlos Castaneda... I had to turn down his offer. Peyote is used primarily as means of divine communication... it is used mainly by the Huichol tribe although it is also ingested by the shamans of the Tarahumaras in northen mexico for rituals of healing and divination. Given that I am white and godless... I could only hope to have a good time with the stuff. I do not worship gods of water, earth or maize... I do not speak the Huichol language... I am a child of western culture. I was tempted to experiment privately with the stuff... sit out in the desert somewhere... trip madly... but I figured ultimately it was bad karma. Their sacred desert is both a protected spot and their holy land. How would it fare taking some of their sacrement without asking? Peyote takes twenty years to reach maturity and the desert is already providing substantially less fruit than it was twenty years ago. So then... another time.