My Copenhagen adventures were vast, so in this post, I’ll focus on just one event—the Electronic Love Parade—and two sites: Superkilen Park and the Royal Danish Library. In an effort to be merciful to you, gentle reader, I am trying a new thing where I keep my posts to 2,500 words. If you include captions in my word count, I’ve now officially blown far past that. Nonetheless, I am going to cover some other highlights in a second post, where I’ll share photos and briefly highlight the Ordrupgaard Art Museum, the Viking Ship Museum, and the National Museum of Denmark.

To start us off, here is a collection of my favourite photos from Copenhagen:

Spring is a perfect time to visit Copenhagen. From our arrival in May to our departure in mid-June, the trees were heavy with flowers blooming pink, white, yellow, and purple. Daffodils, poppies, peonies, and tulips were in abundance. The fragrant scent of lilacs followed me down many streets. As a resident of the west coast of Canada, I found Copenhagen’s weather and temperatures similar to Vancouver’s, though slightly cooler, with the seasons lagging by three to four weeks due to its more northern location—Copenhagen is about 710 kms (441 miles) farther north than Vancouver¹.

I was determined to improve my photography skills on this trip. I sought out interesting compositions, experimented with my camera settings, and pushed myself to photograph strangers—something that makes me deeply uncomfortable but often results in the best shots! I also became more mindful of my surroundings, allowing me to spot cool and unusual details I might have otherwise missed. Here are a few of my favourites:

Elektronisk Kærlighedsparade

Copenhagen is a vibrant city where there’s always something going on. Throughout our stay, we were spoiled for choice with a variety of festivals including those celebrating music, dance, theatre, beer, food, photography, visual art, and science. One of the first we attended was the 48 Timer Festival (48 Hour Festival), a weekend-long cultural event in the Nørrebro district. True to its name, it spans 48 hours and highlights “the weird, the personal, the geeky, and untraditional initiatives” that define the neighbourhood. The festival is a collaborative effort, organized by local artists, businesses, organizations, and residents.

The 48 Hour Festival weekend kicked off on a Friday afternoon in mid-May 2023 with the Elektronisk Kærlighedsparade (Electronic Love Parade), which is a “gathering of dancing souls and queer minds for a powerful walk through the streets of Nørrebro to the sound of pumping electronic music.” We had an absolute blast at this event! The festivities started at 3:00 pm in a public square (Blågårds Plads), where two trucks equipped with DJs and loud speakers got the party started. We danced there for an hour before the parade began. One truck led the way while the other brought up the rear, with volunteers in yellow vests shepherding us through the city streets. What began as a sizeable crowd quickly swelled as we turned onto one of Nørrebro’s main streets, where homeward-bound commuters eagerly joined in. Victoria and I danced until our feet hurt too much to carry us anymore. If we hadn’t already been in love with Copenhagen, this event would have definitely won us over.

Speaking of queer minds, Copenhagen is an incredibly 2SLGBTQIA+ friendly city. Looking through my photos has been like climbing through an escape hatch into a more loving and accepting world as conditions south of my country’s border deteriorate. (Yes, it’s a temporary get-away; yes, I know that Copenhagen, like any city, has its issues too.) It’s reassuring to revisit a place—even if it’s just through photos and a couple of years later—where public benches can be painted in the colours of various Pride flags without significant backlash. Copenhagen also has a public square located next to its city hall that was renamed Regnbuepladsen (Rainbow Square) in 2014, as both a tribute to the Pride flag and a demonstration of the city’s commitment to diversity.

Superkilen Park

Victoria and I stayed in the Nørrebro district, northwest of downtown, about a 20-minute transit ride from the historic city centre. On one of our first mornings in Copenhagen, I decided to walk the route instead of taking the bus—a journey that took just over an hour. The warm spring sunshine made the prospect of a walk even more tempting. A few minutes into my journey, I came across Superkilen Park. My heart thrilled at the sight: the park burst with photographic possibility, practically singing to me through its bold white lines, trees heavy with pink blooms, circular white benches, and a striking star-shaped fountain.

I kept returning to Superkilen Park throughout our trip—it was such a joy to photograph, and each visit revealed something new. The name Superkilen translates to “Super-wedge,” referring to the park’s wedge-like shape. It is located in one of Copenhagen’s most cosmopolitan neighbourhoods, and was designed to promote unity between immigrants and locals. To celebrate the area’s cultural diversity, Nørrebro residents were invited to nominate objects—such as benches, swings, trees, streetlights, playground equipment, and signage—either from their country of origin or from places they had visited. These items were then either replicated or purchased and transported to the park, resulting in over 100 objects sourced from or inspired by 62 different nations! (I’m unsure which items are original equipment brought from the location and which are reproductions, so I’ve listed them below and labeled the picture captions as ‘from/inspired by’ to reflect this uncertainty).

Among the highlights are an octopus slide from/inspired by Japan; a Soviet-era bus stop from/inspired by Kazakhstan; Bulgarian chess tables; the star-shaped fountain from/inspired by Morocco; neon signs from/inspired by Qatar, Taiwan, Russia, and the USA; as well as benches and manhole covers from/inspired by a variety of countries. On one of my final evenings in Copenhagen, I wandered through the park’s three main areas, embarking on a photographic scavenger hunt to capture all these unique treasures. It is fitting that both the first and last photos I took in Copenhagen ended up being of Superkilen Park.

Superkilen Park is a great example of how seriously Danes approach design and architecture. I admire how the designers sought to turn a public space into something both personal and universal by seeking contributions from local residents. The park offers a welcoming space for Nørrebro’s diverse population, fostering a sense of community among those who might otherwise struggle to feel at home. Throughout Copenhagen, there are many other architectural projects with a similar level of ambition and purpose.

Det Kongelige Bibliotek (The Royal Danish Library)

Since Victoria and I had accommodation located outside of the downtown centre, it was helpful for me to have a place where I could go for a break after a busy morning of sightseeing to rest my feet, make plans, and charge my batteries—both technological and personal. The main branch of Det Kongelige Bibliotek (The Royal Danish Library) was my favourite place to do that. It’s located along the harbourfront at Søren Kierkegaards Plads, within walking distance of many downtown attractions. It consists of two buildings: a historic brick structure built between 1898 and 1906, as well as a modern extension of glass and black granite, known as The Black Diamond, which was inaugurated in 1999. There are multiple reading rooms and study areas in the library, including some that provide access to the special collections. There’s also a café, a bookstore, and a couple of permanent exhibitions.

The Old Reading Room was my favourite place to rest and make travel plans. Anyone is welcome to use this space, as long as you’re silent and respectful of others. It was a quiet and comfortable space with plenty of natural light. I was always able to find a desk, even when it was busy, and the desks had outlets where I could plug in my device chargers. These workstations are spacious and provide ample privacy; I never felt cramped or like I was intruding on others. Public libraries are amazing! After making use of this one in Copenhagen, I’ve promised myself to take full advantage of them in every city we visit.

Near the Old Reading Room, there is a hallway lined with bookcases that houses an old card catalogue filled with handwritten index cards. Victoria and I had a lot of fun looking through these drawers! I found the variety of penmanship styles utterly charming.

Another favourite spot of mine at the library, the Garden of the Royal Library, is tucked away behind the historic brick building. This peaceful and inviting spot features a fountain, flowers, benches, and rows of colourful chairs. Also, an interesting piece of history! The gardens were laid out in 1920 overtop what was formerly part of Christian IV’s 17th century naval harbour. Old metal moorings still hang from the wall at the end of the gardens behind a couple of benches.

That’s it for this post! If you liked it, please check out part 2 of this photo journey through Copenhagen.

Thank you for reading!

¹ Copenhagen is comparable to Prince George, BC, in terms of latitude (55.7 N to 53.9 N, respectively). 

I like Halloween, but not in the way you might think. I hate horror movies. I can’t stand to watch anything that has blood, gore, and violence. I don’t enjoy the parts of Halloween that lean into that. I’m fascinated, instead, with an older energy that underlies the season’s folklore and traditions. It’s that subtle, collective acknowledgement that there is more to the world and the universe than we could ever understand. To cope with the unease that this provokes, we do what I believe humans excel at: we tell stories. Storytelling is our way of grappling with the mysteries of the unknown, and it helps shape our comprehension of the world. Many of my favourite parts of the autumn season—folklore, superstitions, costume traditions—have all emerged from this storytelling instinct. So too have tales of monsters, witches, ghosts, and other supernatural phenomena. I feel that fall is the season most conducive to story. Is there any other time of year¹ that inspires a comparable volume of seasonal narratives, inviting us to ponder the mysteries of life, the world, and the universe?

In North America, Halloween offers a brief moment for our culture to consider death and mortality. Unfortunately, this reflection is limited to death as a source of entertainment or spectacle. Think bloody chainsaws, haunted houses, and serial killers. Death is presented as being terrifying, violent, impersonal, and unexpected. This holiday leaves no room for genuine emotions, particularly the solemnity of grief. It offers no opportunity for us to acknowledge that death is an inherent part of life, and that the price of love is loss. Halloween doesn’t encourage the community to rally around the grieving, nor does it offer them the comfort that love endures, even after death. The celebrations can be fun but, beyond the costumes, parties, and the bonfires, I find it all a little wanting. I sometimes wish this holiday had a little more meaning to it, especially as I get older.

That’s why I eagerly seized the chance last year to journey to Mexico with Victoria, delving into one of the country’s most momentous cultural celebrations, Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead (also called Día de Muertos or just Muertos for short). In Day of the Dead, I found what I wish Halloween could be: all the fun of dressing up combined with a profound sense of communal remembrance, as well as a celebration of the enduring bonds of love and life. Plus history. Lots and lots of history to learn about. Read on to find out more!

Grave Expectations: A Trip to Mexico

Victoria and I spent a couple of weeks in Mexico in October and November 2022. We spent most of our time in Cholula, a city situated in the central part of the country, approximately 120 kms southeast of Mexico City. We started our trip there because Victoria had signed up for a polyglot (a multilingual speaker) conference that took place during the last weekend of October. In addition to the conference itself, participants had the opportunity to arrive in Cholula a few days before the event and engage in a 4-day immersive language course. They could choose to study either Spanish or Nahuatl. Nahuatl, an indigenous language (or group of languages), has been spoken in central Mexico, including by the Mexica/Aztec people, since at least the 7th century CE. Victoria signed up for the Nahuatl course along with friend and fellow polyglot, Ingrid. While the two of them kept busy with both their language course and the conference, I explored Cholula and the nearby city of Puebla². 

The polyglot conference was scheduled so that it coincided with the weekend before Day of the Dead. Arriving in Cholula for the language course meant we were there a week in advance. As a result, we got to partake in a few celebrations in Cholula and Puebla during that week leading up to Day of the Dead. The conference ended on Sunday, which then gave us (and other attendees) the opportunity to travel to Mexico City on Monday, October 31. We thus arrived in the capital with plenty of time to soak in the cultural sights and experiences of the November 1-2 celebration.

An Introduction to Day of the Dead

Mexico is the country with which Day of the Dead is most strongly identified, although it is observed throughout Latin America as well as various regions in the United States that have significant Latinx populations³. Many of the holiday’s traditions originated in Mexico, and its celebration is considered an integral part of Mexican identity. Day of the Dead integrates pre-Hispanic traditions, including those of the indigenous Nahua⁴ people, and Catholic customs, which were brought to the region in the 16th century by Spanish conquistadores, along with contemporary Mexican culture. The holiday is dynamic as it continues to synthesize ancient traditions, colonial influences, and the vibrant expressions of present-day Mexican life.

An illustration of the holiday’s ever-evolving character is that, in the 2015 James Bond movie Spectre (released on November 6), director Sam Mendez incorporated scenes featuring a Day of the Dead parade as a spirited backdrop to Daniel Craig’s movements through the streets (and rooftops) of Mexico City. At that time, however, the city had not yet established the tradition of such a procession. The subsequent year, in 2016, inspired by the popularity of the film and the interest it generated for a similar celebration, the mayor of Mexico City, Miguel Ángel Mancera, hosted the city’s inaugural Day of the Dead parade. The procession was a hit, and in the years that followed, has drawn millions of spectators to the downtown streets of Mexico City. Beyond the Grand Day of the Dead Parade in Mexico City, the city now orchestrates a number of spin-off processions, including one featuring alebrijes, brightly coloured Mexican folk art sculptures depicting fantastical creatures; one dedicated to costumed female skeletal figures known as La Catrinas; a nocturnal Day of the Dead bike ride; and even a parade celebrating pets.

Day of the Dead is traditionally observed on November 1 and 2, aligning with the Catholic holy days of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day⁵. However, people often plan for the celebration days, weeks, and even months in advance. Some larger community events, such as parades, also take place earlier. The holiday is based around an old belief that, around this time of year, the border that divides the realm of the natural from the supernatural weakens; the North American concept of Halloween shares this premise. But Day of the Dead differs from Halloween in that the beings that cross over carry far more personal meaning for the people who encounter them. According to this cultural tradition, the barrier that stands between the world of the living and that of the dead grows so thin that, at midnight on October 31, it becomes semi-permeable. Consequently, on November 1, recognized as Dia de los Angelitos (Day of the Little Angels), the souls of children are able to pass through and rejoin their families for a 24 hour period. The spirits of adults are permitted to do the same on November 2. For this brief span of time, the living and the dead can reunite. But when the clock strikes midnight between November 2 and 3, the dead must return to the afterlife⁶. They remain there, resting peacefully, until the following year. 

Despite what you may think, Day of the Dead is not a grievous or ghoulish occasion. Rather, it is a homecoming— a passionate celebration of love and life. Families eagerly anticipate the chance to welcome the spirits of their loved ones back into the world. The living treat the souls of the dead like honoured guests, and do everything they can to make this brief visit as joyous as possible. Preparations in the home often include celebrants building a homemade altar, known as an ofrenda, dedicated to the memory of the deceased⁷. They fill the ofrenda with the departed’s favourite foods, beverages, and other cherished personal objects. People also decorate the ofrenda with photos, candles, copal incense, orange and yellow marigolds (called cempazúchitl or cempasúchil) and dark pink crested cockscomb, as well as garlands of coloured tissue paper with intricately cut patterns (papel picado). At cemeteries, celebrants clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones in a manner similar to the ofrendas.  

The pinnacle of the Day of the Dead holiday occurs on November 2 when families gather together in their homes and/or at the cemeteries in order to commemorate the departed. Celebrants may share a big family meal featuring their loved ones’ favourite dishes. They tell stories, make toasts, eat pan de muerto, and exchange decorated candy skulls (calaveritas de dulce). There can be music and dancing. The literary-minded sometimes write funny, light-hearted mock epitaphs (calaveras literarias) for their friends and family members. Newspapers do the same for politicians and other public figures, usually with a more pointed tone. At the cemeteries, local merchants set up provisional stands outside the gates to sell food, drinks, and flowers; some families bring picnic baskets with them. Death may be the name and theme of this holiday, but it is celebrated through some of the best activities that life has to offer. 

I was fascinated by this entirely new-to-me cultural experience and so, in my typical fashion, decided I wanted to learn more about it. If you’re similarly interested, let’s go ahead and take a closer look at some of these Day of the Dead traditions together! I’ve discovered that the history and significance of this holiday provides a great entry point for gaining a deeper understanding of Mexican culture as a whole. 

Ofrendas: Crafting A Heartfelt Tribute to Departed Loved Ones

One of the most important and distinctive aspects of Day of the Dead is the building of ofrendas. These homemade altars serve as a personal expression of love made by living family members in honour of their dead. They are used to remember and celebrate the life of the person they are dedicated to. Ofrendas are constructed with the hope that they will help guide the souls of the departed home, and provide them with comfort and joy throughout their stay.  

Ofrendas are an art form, with each bearing a distinctive appearance as unique as the personalities of both their creators and the individuals to whom they are dedicated. Their size can range from a simple overturned crate in the corner of a room to a multi-tiered structure that takes up an entire courtyard. The quality and degree of an ofrenda’s ornamentation depends on the wealth of the individual or family building it, the personal taste of the deceased, local traditions, as well as a region’s natural resources. 

Mexico City, Puebla, and Cholula had ofrendas set up in many public venues such as museums, town halls, libraries, universities, city squares, and cultural centres during our 2022 visit. Embarking on a quest to find these ofrendas added to the fun of exploring these cities. One of the highlights of our time in Mexico City was going to the central downtown square, the Zócalo, where we encountered 32 ofrendas, each dedicated to representing a different Mexican state. The ofrendas were accompanied by 32 towering skeletons (about 9 meters/30 feet tall by my estimation), known as Catrinas, each adorned in the region’s traditional attire. The altars showcased the cultural essence of each region through displays of food, beverages, costumes, decorations, and more. Some even featured poignant tributes, including photographs and write-ups, honouring recently departed local figures.

To build an ofrenda, families will establish a designated area in the home for it. They will then clear out or rearrange the normal furnishings present in that space. In their place, tables and wooden crates are assembled in tiers and covered with clean linens. Offerings and other thoughtfully curated items are then laid out in an artistic and symmetrical fashion. All of this may be done ahead of time in order to make sure everything is ready for November 2. 

Ofrendas are designed to draw the attention of the spirit they are dedicated to, and then to help that spirit find its way home. As a result, several customary items deemed essential for this purpose are typically present on most altars. These include marigolds, crested cockscomb, and other flowers for their scent, as well as candles for their light. Incense made from the Protium copal tree⁸ is burned because, traditionally, it was believed that its scented smoke (copalli in Nahuatl) carried prayers up to heaven. Marigold petals can be employed to create a path leading from the door or street to the ofrenda⁹. In smaller communities, these paths of petals may extend all the way to the graveyard.   

An enduring theme found in most ofrendas is their incorporation of the four fundamental elements of life, with each represented by a corresponding item. For example, earth is symbolized through food, fire with candles, water is served in a glass or clay jug, and air or wind is embodied through the fluttering tissue sheets of papel picado. Salt spread in the form of a cross may also be added to the ofrenda in order to represent the four directions: north, south, east, and west. 

Many ofrendas feature a multi-tiered arrangement, which is meant to symbolize the realms of heaven, earth, and purgatory. The lower tier of the altar, representing purgatory, typically features items such as lit candles and a wash basin for the deceased. Some families also place pillows and blankets around the base of the ofrenda so that their loved ones can rest after their long journey. The middle tier, earth, is adorned with offerings for the deceased, including their favourite homemade meals; bottles of tequila, mezcal, or pulque; seasonal treats such as pan de muerto and candied calaveritas; cigars and/or cigarettes; as well as other items tailored to the individual such as dearly loved books, vinyl records, pieces of jewellery, and—in the case of children—toys. The third tier, heaven, could include a photo of the deceased as well as a crucifix, religious statues, and images of saints; the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mexico’s patron saint, is a popular figure. Above all of this a fourth tier, meant to suggest the sky, may be depicted through the use of a sheet suspended from the ceiling or several strings of colourful blue papel picado.

Ofrendas are made to attract the spirits of departed loved ones. While it remains unclear whether these structures hold any appeal for the dead (tough to know, as they’re mostly mum on the subject), it’s clear that the living derive great enjoyment from them. After all, ofrendas appeal to all five living senses. Sight, through a colourful and interesting display; smell, through the flowers, incense, and food; taste, also through food; touch, through all the different items and textures; as well as hearing, through the flickering candles, rustling sheets of papel picado, and whatever music or conversation the ofrenda has elicited from the people surrounding it. Day of the Dead is a holiday that honours the dead, and it does so in a way that the living also delight in. Likewise, ofrendas pay homage to the souls of departed loved ones in a manner that the living also get to enjoy. 

As you can see, a lot of thought and effort goes into the making of ofrendas. They are full of personal and cultural meaning. I imagine that building one would be a fairly emotional experience, as a person couldn’t help but think of and remember their loved one—fondly or otherwise—throughout the process. I can also see how easy it would be for someone to start contemplating their own mortality in such a circumstance. They might consider questions such as: Who will build an altar for me? What would I want to have included in it? Who will gather around it? If there is an afterlife, will I be able to visit the living and take part in this celebration? Exploring these questions can be challenging, and yet Day of the Dead provides people with an opportunity to think about them on an annual basis. I wonder if this reflection brings any solace or understanding? Does it make anything about experiencing grief and death easier?    

Delicious Delights: Exploring the Special Foods of Day of the Dead

I believe that one of the best parts of any holiday is the opportunity it provides to eat special occasion food. Examples that come to my mind include birthday cake, Christmas cookies, massive pieces of bunny-shaped chocolate, strawberry shortcake, and more¹⁰! I’ve already mentioned a few of the distinctive dishes associated with Day of the Dead, but let’s now dig in explore them in more detail. 

Dough-lightful Departure: Rising to the Occasion with Pan de Muerto, the Bread of the Dead

One of the central culinary traditions associated with Day of the Dead is the eating of pan de muerto, which translates as “bread of the dead.” It is a loaf of semi-sweet bread made with eggs and infused with citrus flavours, usually orange and lime zest, as well as anise. As a decorative touch, strips of round dough are artfully arranged on top of the loaf, resembling the bones of a skeleton. A rounded piece of dough at the centre is crafted to symbolize a skull, adorned with a sprinkle of pink sugar on top. Pan de muerto is usually served alongside a cup of cinnamon-infused hot chocolate.

Calaveritas de Dulce: the Sweet Symbolism of Candy Skulls

Candy skulls, known as calaveritas de dulce, play a vital role in the Day of the Dead celebration. They have a dual purpose, serving as offerings for the deceased on homemade ofrendas¹¹ and as gifts exchanged among friends and family. These deathly sweet skulls are typically crafted from white cane sugar, chocolate, or amaranth. Among them, sugar skulls¹²—referred to as calaveritas de azúcar—stand out as the most popular and traditional type of this confection. 

The creation of calaveritas de azúcar is considered an artisanal craft. While some of these candy skulls are crafted for consumption, the more intricate ones are regarded as folk art and are not meant to be eaten. Artisans often prioritize the aesthetic appeal of these skulls over their flavour. Calaveritas de azúcar come in a range of colours and are finely decorated with icing as well as (inedible) objects such as coloured foil, beads, sequins, and even feathers. This adornment symbolizes the vitality and individuality of a departed loved one. Is it weird that these candy skulls look so vibrant, even happy? No, not at all! The dead like to be remembered. When these skulls are exchanged as gifts, it is common to have the name of either a departed loved one or the living recipient written on a band of foil placed across the confection’s forehead. Calaveritas de azúcar are given to the living as a poignant reminder that the only certainty in life is death. They can also symbolize a promise from the giver that they will save a place for the recipient in the underworld. 

Artistry in Sugar: The Confectionary Magic of Alfeñiques

Calaveritas de azúcar are also called alfeñiques¹³, a term which refers to an intricately decorated confection or figurine made of sugar paste. Alfeñiques are commonly associated with the artisanal crafting of sugar skulls for Day of the Dead, but other popular forms include coffins, crowns, angels, food, animals, and butterflies, as well as skeletal figures depicted in a range of costumes and scenarios. While recipes vary, the essential step for making alfeñiques involves boiling sugar and corn syrup in water. This results in a pliable paste that can then be pressed into a mould to set and solidify. Hours later, after the confection has cooled and hardened, it can be removed from the mould and decorated. 

Alfeñique ingredients, techniques, and decoration vary by region. In Oaxaca, for example, the core of the alfeñiques contain honey. In Puebla, a blend of sugar, egg, almonds, peanuts, and pumpkin seeds creates a sweet almond paste. Other alfeñique recipes may incorporate lemon and vanilla. Vegetable dyes are often used for colour. Alfeñiques are made throughout Mexico, with notable centres of production located in the cities of Toluca, San Miguel de Allende, and Guanajuato. Toluca (located 64 kms west of Mexico City) hosts a prominent alfeñique festival, the Feria del Alfeñique, where hundreds of vendors gather annually from mid-October to early November to sell their embellished confections¹⁴. In the state of Mexico, numerous artisans are able to make a successful living from their craft. Families often pass down their skills, techniques, and even their sugar moulds from one generation to the next, ensuring the continuity of the tradition. 

Beyond Sweets: A Savoury Tribute to the Dead

Day of the Dead isn’t just about sweets, even if the focus of my writing seems to suggest otherwise. A generous amount of hearty food is also prepared for both the living and the dead. These include heaping dishes of rice, chiles, beans, candied pumpkin or sweet potato, tamales, and meat (often chicken or pork) served in mole sauce. Puebla is famous for its mole poblano, a thick, dark red or brown sauce that contains chilli peppers, onion, garlic, raisins, peanuts, almonds, pumpkin seeds, coriander seeds, cinnamon, cloves, pieces of day-old bread, peppercorns, and chocolate. It is believed that the smell of the food placed on the ofrendas helps draw spirits back to their family and, like the living, they can’t resist the opportunity to taste favoured family recipes.

Pulque: Toast to A Mesoamerican Spiritual Tradition

Bottles of tequila, mezcal, and Corona are often included in Day of the Dead festivities as they are favoured by both the living and the dead. Another traditional alcoholic drink, pulque, may also make an appearance. Pulque is made from the fermentation of fresh sap extracted from several species of agave plants, known as maguey in Mexico¹⁵. Pulque has a milk-white appearance, a thick and sticky texture, and a tangy, milky, slightly acidic flavour that is also subtly sweet—many people consider it an acquired taste. 

Non-Alcoholic Beverages

Day of the Dead celebrations also feature some distinctive non-alcoholic beverages, such as Agua de Jamaica, a vibrant ruby-red tea crafted from the flowers and leaves of the Jamaican hibiscus plant. In English, this drink is referred to as “hibiscus water.” The tea is served cold, sweet, and with plenty of ice. 

Atole (also called atolli, atole, and atol de elote) is a hot beverage that, like pulque, can also trace its history back to the pre-Hispanic era. The drink is prepared by heating milk and water with piloncillo (unrefined cane sugar) and corn flour (usually masa harina, which is also used to make corn tortillas). Atole can be further infused with flavours such as vanilla, cinnamon, anise seed, ground nuts, orange zest, and guava. Adding chocolate results in champurrado, a beloved year-round beverage typically enjoyed with churros, either as a simple breakfast or as a snack at any time of day. 

Afterlife Ambiance: Decorative Traditions of Day of the Dead

While traditional food and shared meals often serve as the heart of a holiday, it is the decorations that truly infuse it with charm and magic. In our previous discussion about ofrendas, you may have noticed some recurring decorative elements in the photos I shared, such as the widespread use of marigolds, vibrant tissue paper banners, and images of lively, vivacious skeletons. We’ll now explore each of these in turn, and examine how they each contribute to the unforgettable ambiance of the Day of the Dead holiday.

Marigolds: The Emblematic Flowers of Day of the Dead

My favourite aspect of Day of the Dead is, by far, the beautiful, cheerful, and colourful abundance of marigolds!

Marigolds belong to the Asteraceae family, a vast group of flowering plants encompassing 32,000 species including sunflowers, daisies, and asters, among others. Within this botanical family, the genus Tagetes comprises 50 distinct species¹⁶ of marigolds. The primary marigold species used for decoration in Day of the Dead is Tagetes erecta, more commonly known in English by various names such as the Mexican marigold, American marigold, Aztec marigold, African marigold¹⁷, and big marigold. In Mexico, the marigold is called cempazúchitl or cempasúchil. Tagetes erecta is native to Mexico, and grows wild in the states of México, Michoacán, Puebla, Veracruz, and Guerrero. It is the largest marigold species with heights ranging between 30-120 cms (12-47 inches), and displays large, double pom-pom shaped blooms measuring 5-12 cms (2-5 inches) in diameter. Beyond their impressive size, these voluminous flowers are cherished for their vibrant yellow, orange, red, and creamy white colours. Many people also consider the plant’s powerful fragrance, which is emitted by squeezing its stems and leaves, to be integral to their experience of the Day of the Dead holiday. 

The Nahua people gathered and cultivated marigolds for a variety of medicinal¹⁸, ceremonial, and ornamental purposes. The Nahuatl term cempoalxóchitl or cempōhualxōchitl was used to refer to several species¹⁹ of marigold, including Tagetus erecta. The word is derived from the Nahuatl words cemposalli (twenty) and xochitl (flower), which translates as “the flower of twenty petals.” Marigolds, with their round shape, bright colours, and numerous petals radiating from the centre of the plant, bear many physical resemblances to the sun. As a result, they naturally became associated with one of ancient Mexico’s most important deities, Tonatiuh, the god of the sun²⁰. According to legend, Tonatiuh gifted the Nahua people with marigolds to help them honour their deceased loved ones. The tale behind this unfolds as follows:  

There was once a young man named Huitzilin (the Nahuatl word for “hummingbird”) and a young woman named Xochitl (flower). The couple had been in love with each other since they were children. Together, they climbed a mountain dedicated to Tonatiuh, the god of the sun, to offer him bouquets of flowers. Some time later, war broke out and Huitzilin, a warrior, joined the fight to defend their people’s land. Sadly, he died in battle. Xochitl was devastated by his loss. Grief-stricken and alone, she climbed the mountain that she had once ascended with her beloved. When she reached the top, she pleaded with Tonatiuh to end her suffering and reunite her with Huitzilin. The sun god was moved by her cries and softly, tenderly, shone his light down on her. As the rays of the sun warmed her face, she transformed into a flower. Soon after, a fluttering hummingbird²¹ landed in the centre of the bloom, and the marigold gently opened its 20 petals. 

The marigold’s widespread use in Day of the Dead has transformed it into a national symbol for the celebration, earning it the title flor de muerto, or “flower of the dead.” Marigolds are one of the main decorative items featured in ofrendas and graves. They are used in the construction of floral arches, wreaths, crucifixes, five-point stars, and pathways. Their blooms are meant to symbolize the beauty and fragility of life. This sentiment deepens as the days pass following the marigold’s harvesting: its once-vivid colours fade, its petals droop. 

Marigold petals are also thought to have cleansing properties. Some use them to form a cross on the floor in front of their ofrenda. It is believed that when the souls of the deceased pass through this cross of petals, they are cleansed of their sins and guilt.  

Crested Cockscomb: The Distinctive Floral Companion of Day of the Dead

Among the profusion of marigolds, I noticed that there was a second flower commonly featured on the Day of the Dead ofrendas. I was immediately drawn to these blooms as their dark pink jewel tone happens to be one of my favourite colours. At first, I thought that these flowers were a special type of marigold. However, when I got closer, I realized that the shape and texture of these flowers were unlike any I had seen before. I couldn’t discern any individual petals, only intricate swirls of floral material that spiralled and folded in on itself in a way that reminded me of both coral and the human brain. These unique patterns compelled me to touch them, and I was further surprised by their soft and velvety texture. What type of flowers were these? What was their story?  

The answer to these two questions is a little bit complicated. To start with, this flower is a specific variety of Celosia argentea. Celosia is a genus of ornamental and edible plants that are part of the Amaranthaceae (amaranth) family. Celosia derives from the Greek word keleos, which translates as “burning,” and is a reference to the plant’s vibrant, flame-shaped flower heads. There are three main cultivars or varieties of celosia argentea, with each name based on the shape of their flowers: Plumosa, which bears fluffy, feathery heads composed of hundreds of tiny flowers;  Cristata, with crested blooms, and Spicata, which features bushy, spike-shaped flowers that look like heads of wheat. Among the approximately 50-60 species of celosia, Celosia argentea stands out as the species most commonly grown in gardens. I have seen examples of Celosia argentea var. plumosa and Celosia argentea var. spicata. However, prior to our visit to Mexico, I could not recall ever seeing their eccentric sister Celosia argentea var. cristata. 

Celosia argentea var. cristata, also known as crested cockscomb because its flowers bear a passing resemblance to the red comb of a rooster, is a botanical oddity. If a crested cockscomb plant were to grow normally, its flower head would develop into either the feathery plumes of the plumosa variety or the wheat-shaped points of spicata, as seen in the photo gallery above. But instead, the crested cockscomb plant undergoes a rare form of abnormal growth known as fasciation. Fasciation is a relatively rare condition in which the tip of a developing plant deviates from its typical growth pattern, resulting in the production of ribbon-like or crested tissue formations. With crested cockscomb, the fasciation within the flower head leads to the development of hundreds of tiny fan-shaped flowers densely clustered in wave-like folds, as seen in the photo gallery below. 

Crested cockscomb occurs rarely in the wild as the crested appearance of its flowers are the result of an atypical condition. The plant also has a low seed yield, which hinders its natural propagation. Had it relied solely on its ability to survive in the wild, this flower would have likely become extinct centuries ago. Luckily, the gardeners who first came across this crested botanical oddity loved it and began growing it especially for its distinct appearance. A number of cultivated varieties of crested cockscomb have since been developed, offering an array of heights and colours. In Mexico, the flowers I encountered were mainly from the “Flamingo Feather” line. The plants in this cultivar typically reach heights of 30-60 cms (12-24 inches) and feature a range of pink shades. Other cultivars boast blooms in red, yellow, and orange. Crested cockscomb can be cut and dried in order to make everlasting bouquets. 

I was trying to figure out why crested cockscomb enjoys such widespread popularity in Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations. This flower, whose Spanish names include Flor de Terciopelo (velvet flower) and Cresta de Gallo (crested cockscomb), doesn’t appear to have the same deep-seated cultural significance in Mexico’s history as marigolds. I’m not sure when the plant was introduced to the region, but I think it was likely after European contact in the 17th century as the plant is not native to Mexico. So if it’s not a matter of history, then what could it be? Perhaps it comes down to something as simple as colour. I find the dark pink tone of the Flamingo Feather variety of crested cockscomb irresistible. If I come across a piece of clothing with that exact hue, it will be difficult for me to resist purchasing it. As it turns out, I share my love of this rich pink—reminiscent of fuchsia and magenta—with the country I was visiting! This particular shade of pink is known as Rosa Mexicano or “Mexican Pink.” It rose (ha) to prominence as a symbol of Mexican culture and fashion in the mid-20th century thanks to the influence of Mexican fashion designer Ramón Valdiosera. The colour featured predominantly in a 1949 collection that Valdiosera presented at a parade in New York. He drew inspiration for it from the art and clothing of several Mexican ethnic groups, as well as the pink flowers of the bougainvillaea (the Trinity and Santa Rita varieties in particular). When asked about the colour by journalists, Valdiosera told them that this pink was a characteristic colour of Mexican culture. Et voilà, the designation of this colour (Hex #E4007C or an RGB value of 255, 0, 126) as Rosa Mexicano was born. 

Alongside marigolds and Mexican pink crested cockscomb, other flowers commonly used in Day of the Dead celebrations include baby’s breath (Gypsophila Paniculata), carnations (Dianthus Caryophyllus), wallflower (Erysimum), and chrysanthemums. 

Paper Panache: Papel Picado and Day of the Dead

One of the many things I love about Mexico is its abundance of colour. I favour Mexican pink, of course, but I also enjoy how the buildings, flowers, murals, textiles, food, and art suggest an overall cultural delight with all the colours of the rainbow. This celebration of colour can be seen through the year-round, widespread use of papel picado, also known as “banderitas.” Papel picado, which translates as “punched” or “perforated” paper, is a Mexican folk art that involves the intricate cutting of tissue paper into elaborate designs and patterns. These colourful paper cut-outs are often strung together to create charming banners that can be hung in the streets or displayed in the home. They are often used as decorations for holidays and special occasions such as Day of the Dead, Mexican Independence Day, Christmas, Easter, weddings, birthdays, and quinceañeras. Christmas papel picado typically features a prominent use of red and green paper, while weddings often employ white sheets, which are reminiscent of lace.

A holiday centered around remembering the deceased has the potential to be a somber occasion. Papel picados, however, serve to counterbalance the solemnity of the event, helping infuse it instead with a sense of celebration and joy. Papel picados with Day of the Dead themes typically feature patterns of skulls and skeletons, often playfully illustrating the activities of the living. Colourful strands of the elaborate, cut-out paper designs are suspended above, around, and even on ofrendas, serving to embellish their different tiers. As mentioned earlier, strings of blue papel picado can be hung over an ofrenda to symbolize the sky. The graceful sway of the tissue paper is intended to represent one of the four fundamental elements of life, air or wind. Some people also believe that the gentle, fluttering movement of the banners serve as a signal to families that their departed loved ones have arrived to join the celebration. The delicate nature of the tissue paper used to make papel picados adds poignancy to its use as a decoration for Day of the Dead. If left outside, the paper will disintegrate in less than a month due to its exposure to sun, wind, and rain. Papel picado are, like people, vibrant and intricate, but also fragile and ephemeral.

Traditionally, symbolic meanings have been attributed to colours used in Day of the Dead decorations, representing various individuals and their ways of passing. The selection of papel picado colours for a particular ofrenda may reflect these associations. The papel picado I encountered largely featured blue, orange, yellow, green, red, purple, and pink designs. Blue, as mentioned earlier, symbolizes the sky. Furthermore, it represents water and honours those who have passed away due to water-related incidents, such as drowning and lightning strikes. Orange and yellow both symbolize the light of the sun and the glow of burning candles, serving as beacons to guide the visiting spirits back home. Yellow is also employed to remember the elderly, while green recognizes those who died young. Red pays tribute to warriors who died in battle and mothers lost in childbirth. Purple is connected with the Catholic religion, in which the colour serves as a symbol of grief and death. Pink symbolizes the joy and celebration of the living and the dead reuniting. Black and white are not commonly employed in papel picado designs, although they may be featured in other ways, such as in the colour of linens used to adorn ofrendas. White signifies purity and hope, serving as a representation of the innocence of the souls of infants. Black symbolizes Mictlán, the underworld, or the land of the dead in Mexica/Aztec mythology.

The History of Papel Picado

The art of paper-cutting has been practiced in numerous cultures for centuries throughout the world. Papel picado, with its origins spanning Asia, Europe, and Mesoamerica, is a common sight not only in Mexico but also in other former Spanish colonies.

The introduction of various foreign goods by the Spanish to Mexico in the colonial era included delicate Chinese porcelain, typically wrapped in tissue paper known as papel de China. This paper sometimes featured stenciled designs for ceramics or embroidery. During the 19th century, the rise of expansive haciendas in the Mexican countryside led to the establishment of tiendas de rayas, stores where laborers were compelled to purchase essential items at marked-up prices. These stores introduced the Mexican populace to tissue paper, often used to wrap purchased goods. The town of San Salvador Huixcolotla in the heart of Puebla, southeast of Mexico City, emerged as the birthplace and hub of the papel picado tradition, with a rich community of craftsmen specializing in its production. Papel picado production is a tradition passed down through generations within families. Starting from Huixcolotla in the mid-19th century, the art form gradually spread to other regions of Mexico, such as Puebla, Tlaxcala, and eventually to Mexico City in the 1960s. By 1970, it became a common practice to use papel picado for street decorations and ofrendas, contributing to its widespread popularity. Unfortunately, due to its delicate nature, only a few historical examples of this cherished folk art have endured the passage of time.

How to Make Papel Picado

To create papel picado, artisans assemble 50-100 sheets of tissue paper, stacking them on a lead iron pad. The original stencil pattern, known as the patrón, drawn on a sturdy sheet of manila paper derived from hemp, is placed on the top of the stack. A layer of transparent plastic is then added to safeguard the original design. With the aid of a small mallet and an assortment of sharpened chisels, featuring various sizes and shaped tips similar to those used for punching and embossing leather, the artisans used the stencilled template to guide them as they meticulously pierce through the delicate stack of paper. The lead pad absorbs the force of the strike, preventing the chisel from bouncing back. Scissors can be employed for this process, although chisels provide greater precision and finer detailing, which is particularly crucial when producing papel picado for mass distribution. Artisans carefully cut away the negative spaces of a design, ensuring the overall image remains intact. The outcome is fragile webs of paper that display tailored messages and images. After being cut, the sheets are individually separated and glued to threads, known as guides, strips, or pasacalles (parade), which can extend over 5 meters (16.5 feet) in length. The entire process, from conception to the final cut-out, requires a significant amount of time and patience. From the initial design phase to the completion of the artwork, the process can span over 30 hours. 

Beyond Chinese-style tissue paper, papel picado can be crafted from materials such as rice or silk paper. Plastic has gained favour for its enhanced durability, and Mylar, a synthetic polyester film with a frosted surface, is employed for its shininess. Recently, laser-guided machine-cutting has seen increased popularity, particularly in the United States. This art form faces a threat as village artisans shift away from the labour-intensive process in pursuit of better-paying jobs in urban centres. However, a dedicated group of artisans remains committed to the traditional handcrafting of papel picado. It is important to support them if you are a fan of their work. For purists, the handmade approach remains unparalleled in terms of quality and adherence to tradition. Tissue paper, like human life, is ephemeral. Plastic, unfortunately, is forever as bacteria cannot break it down. Unlike organic material, plastic does not decompose and reintegrate into other life forms. As we’ll explore shortly, the cyclical nature of life and death is a significant theme in Day of the Dead and was integral to the Mesoamerican worldview. Plastic banners fly in the face (ha) of all that.

Below is a video of some papel picado artisans working in a Mexico City workshop:

Tapetes: The Intricate, Temporary Carpets that Adorn Day of the Dead Celebrations

Alongside the plentiful flower arrangements and streams of papel picado, I noticed that numerous ofrendas also featured vibrant artworks laid out on the ground below them. They were made of various materials including flower heads and petals, pine needles, beans, seeds, rice, pieces of fruit, feathers, salt, ash, shells, dirt, and coloured sand or sawdust. Their intricate designs often consisted of crosses, skulls, flowers, swirls, repeating geometric patterns, and blocks of colour. In English, these imaginative creations are referred to as sand or sawdust paintings, while in Spanish, they are known as tapetes, a Spanish word that can translate as rug, mat, or carpet. 

Tapetes are part of a decorative tradition that is believed to originate in the celebration of a Catholic holiday, the Feast of Corpus Christi, in Santa Cruz de Tenerife—a city located on one of the Canary Islands, about 210 kms (130 miles) off the northwest coast of Africa. Traditionally, the feast of Corpus Christi often includes a religious procession through city streets. At some point during the Middle Ages, the city of Santa Cruz began adorning the streets of its procession route with temporary carpets made of flowers and coloured sand. Over the years, this embellishment became increasingly elaborate. Other holidays such as Good Friday and Holy Week soon incorporated the creation of these ephemeral artworks in their festivities. The practice spread to other cities and countries, and was brought to Central America by the Spanish in the 16th century. It has since been practiced across Latin America and parts of the southwestern United States, but remains most popular in Mexico and Central America where its practice now includes Day of the Dead. 

Traditional tapetes are made with coloured and uncoloured sawdust, although other materials are often used with it and sometimes in place of it. The sawdust is sorted, cleaned, soaked in water with dye, and then set out to dry. The finer and more compact the sawdust, the smoother the finished work appears. Designs can be laid out either freehand or with stencils. After the carpet is finished, it is lightly sprayed with water to help fix the sawdust in place. The artwork can reach up to 10 meters (33 feet) long and wide. Day of the Dead-themed tapetes often feature playful depictions of death. They are known for their bright colours, festive spirit, and touch of irony.  

Exploring Iconic Day of the Dead Motifs

Thus far, our exploration of Day of the Dead has focused on the importance of crafting personalized ofrendas to honour and commemorate loved ones. We’ve delved into the symbolic meanings embedded in their decoration and examined the significance of their offerings. Next, we’ll turn our attention to a motif featured in many Day of the Dead decorations and festivities: the frequent, if not ubiquitous, portrayal of the human skeleton. Earlier, we explored the craftsmanship behind calaveritas de dulce, with a specific focus on the artistry of the calaveritas de azúcar. I highlighted that these beautifully decorated confections serve as a poignant reminder that the sole certainty in life is death, and that their bright, colourful adornment is meant to symbolize the distinctive personality of a departed loved one. I’ve also noted that the papel picado employed in Day of the Dead celebrations typically showcases intricate patterns of skulls and skeletons. Beyond these candied skulls and papel picado banners, skeletons also feature prominently in costumes and other forms of decoration. Skeletons are commonly used in Day of the Dead celebrations as they encapsulate many key themes of the holiday: that death is a natural part of life, that life continues after death, and that the spirits of the departed remain a part of the community, worthy of celebration and remembrance. Rather than being associated with fear or horror, the skeletons of Day of the Dead exude a festive spirit. They also demonstrate the lively and vibrant nature of Mexican culture. 

Day of the Dead skeletons are often portrayed revelling in life, adorned in elegant attire, and engaging in lively scenarios. This depiction shares similarities with the European tradition of the Danse Macabre, an artistic genre that emerged following the devastation of the 14th-century Bubonic plague. It is estimated that the plague killed between 75-200 million people, or 30-60% of Europe’s population at the time. Two distinct reactions emerged from this calamity. The first involved an urge to atone and seek God’s mercy, while the second manifested as a hysterical, desperate craving for amusement amid the uncertainty of life. As a creative response to the latter, skeletons from various walks of life were illustrated in a way that mocked death, emphasizing their continued engagement in the activities of the living. This use of humour and ridicule served as a tool to confront death, aiming to diminish its imposing stature and power. In this context, laughter emerged as a source of strength, providing a semblance of control—a small knife held in one’s hand when confronting a towering mountain of darkness and uncertainty. The European artistic traditions of danse macabre would have been brought to Mexico with the Spanish conquistadores in the early 16th century. 

Pre-Hispanic Mesoamerican cultures also used skulls and skeletons as powerful symbols representing life, death, and the afterlife. The prevalence of skull imagery extended to murals, reliefs on pyramids and temples, scenes painted on pottery, illustrations in codices, and incorporation into jewelry. For the Mexica/Aztec, bones, with a special emphasis on skulls, were considered repositories of profound sacred power. According to their belief, the god Quetzalcoatl reanimated the human race by sprinkling his blood on human bones pilfered from the underworld.  Death was conceptualized as an integral part of the life cycle, a process through which new life emerged. In death, a person’s body and spirit contributed to the nourishment of the earth, fostering the growth of new life in the form of trees, plants, and crops. The Mexica/Aztec perceived life and death as interconnected—where life transitions into death, and death, in turn, paves the way for new life. Commoners of the Mexica/Aztec civilization were typically buried beneath their homes or in their fields, with their bones serving as sacred fertility symbols, ensuring abundance and prosperity. These bones emitted and transmitted sacred power, acting as potent reservoirs of vital life forces. Similarly, the Maya often kept ancestral bones on home altars as a means of honouring and connecting with their ancestors.

For some Mesoamerican civilizations, including the Mexica/Aztec and the Maya, the Earth itself was a force that constantly demanded sustenance in the form of human life. Ritual human sacrifice, typically involving war captives, was carried out in order to feed the gods and ensure the continued existence of the world. It was conducted during religious ceremonies, seasonal festivals, and political events. The ritual was performed by priests wielding obsidian blades sharper than surgical steel.

During our visit, we came across several reproductions of skull racks, known as tzompantli. A tzompantli was a type of wooden rack or palisade that was used for the public display of human skulls, usually of war captives and other sacrificial victims. Another type of tzompantli, referred to as a sculptural tzompantli, was adorned with sculpted stone skulls, symbolizing the real or original tzompantli that featured human skulls. Numerous structures of both kinds have been recorded across Mesoamerica, with the earliest known instance credited to the Zapotec civilization at a site in Oaxaca, dating back to approximately the 2nd century BCE to the 3rd century CE. Other noteworthy tzompantli can be traced to the Toltec, Maya, and Mexica/Aztec civilizations. For the Mexica/Aztec and the Maya, these skulls symbolized life and regeneration, as they ensured the continued existence of the world and humanity. Eventually, after months or years in the sun and rain, these skulls would begin to disintegrate. The priests would take them off the rack, employing mortar to integrate them into another structure (perhaps a tower of skulls) or fashion them into masks, which were subsequently placed in offerings. This marks the origin of the tradition of incorporating skulls and skull masks on ofrendas and in the Day of the Dead celebrations.

La Catrina

La Catrina, a female skeletal figure, is one of the most prominent icons of Mexico’s Day of the Dead. Her roots can be traced back to Mexico’s lively political art scene in the early 20th century. Mexican artist José Guadalupe Posada played a significant role in this influential movement as a skilled political cartoonist and lithographer. In his art, he employed skulls and other figures to satirize politicians, highlight governmental injustices, shed light on the exploitation of the masses, as well as delving into themes such as revolutionary politics, religion, and mortality. Throughout his prolific 42-year career, which began in 1871 when he was an adolescent, it is believed that Posada created over 20,000 engravings for various broadsheets, pamphlets, and chapbooks. Among these, an image made between the outbreak of the Mexican Revolution in November 1910 and his death in January 1913, known as La Calavera Catrina, would endure as his most significant legacy. 

The Spanish colonization of Mexico gave rise to cultural tensions that intensified social divisions. For centuries, Mexico was governed by an upper-class that revered and aligned with European culture, often disparaging indigenous and mestizo cultures and their traditions. The image that would become known as La Calavera Catrina portrays a skeleton wearing an extravagant, European-style hat adorned with ostrich feathers and flowers. At the time, an ostrich feather cost significantly more than what the average working-class individual could earn in a week. Posada likely intended this cartoon to satirize affluent Mexicans who embraced European aristocratic influences. Posada’s engraving might have also served as a political commentary on the long-term rule of Mexican dictator Porfirio Díaz, who came into the country’s presidency in 1876 and remained almost continuously in office until 1911. Díaz’s modernization efforts largely favoured both international and domestic parties he supported, leading to the exploitation and impoverishment of the broader Mexican population. Despite his humble origins in Oaxaca and his pivotal role in defeating the Second French Empire led by Austrian Archduke (and French/Napoleon III puppet) Emperor Maximilian I in 1867, Díaz also adopted European fashions and cultural norms. Díaz’s controversial re-election in 1910 spurred his opponent, Francisco I. Madero, to incite an armed uprising, marking the beginning of the 10-year Mexican Revolution. Such was the impassioned political atmosphere that first gave rise to Catrina.  

Posada’s engraving remained unpublished until November 1913, almost a year after Posada’s passing. It was eventually featured in a broadsheet, accompanied by text—written by someone other than Posada—that censured a group of working-class Mexican women for switching from selling native Mexican produce such as beans and corn to Spanish-introduced garbanzos/chickpeas. The text accompanying Posada’s engraving essentially read, “those that today are powdered garbanceras will, in the end, become deformed skulls.” Garbancera was a term used to describe indigenous Americans who sought to emulate European appearances, often by applying powder to lighten their skin and adopting European fashions. Within this context, fair skin held significant cultural value, leading even light-skinned Europeans to use pale makeup to accentuate their whiteness. The bite of Posada’s image, when juxtaposed with this text, is the idea that nothing embodies whiteness more than a skeleton. This scathing critique resulted in the initial title of this image as La Calavera Garbancera. 

While Posada conceived the iconic (and ironic) portrayal of a skeleton donning a bourgeois hat, along with its potentially rich satirical elements, he did not bestow the name “Catrina” upon his calavera figure, nor was he solely responsible for its subsequent widespread popularity among the Mexican public. Sadly, when Posada passed away in 1913, he did so in relative obscurity and financial difficulty. Nevertheless, his former publisher continued to circulate his works in various broadsheets, extending their influence well into the 1920s. In 1922, French artist Jean Charlot, who had relocated to Mexico City from Paris a year earlier, took an interest in Posada’s prints, inspired by his fascination with Mexican manuscripts, art, and pre-Hispanic artefacts. Charlot’s deep appreciation for Mexican culture led to his establishment as a key figure of the Mexican Renaissance. Charlot tracked down Posada’s overlooked printing blocks, including woodcuts, leadcuts, and zincuts, in the workshop of Posada’s former publisher. He shared Posada’s work with other luminaries of the Mexican Renaissance, such as the renowned Mexican muralist and illustrator Pablo O’Higgins, the accomplished American author, publisher, anthropologist, and ethnographer Frances Toor, and the celebrated muralist Diego Rivera, husband of the artist Frida Kahlo. Collaborating with the son of Posada’s former publisher, Charlot, O’Higgins, Toor, and Rivera curated several catalogues featuring Posada’s engravings. In 1930, a book co-published by Rivera and Toor presented the image, formerly known as La Calavera Garbancera, with a new title: La Calavera Catrina. The term “catrine,” initially used in a 1920s broadsheet to describe a male dandy, was the precursor to “Catrina,” used in this book by Toor and Rivera to represent the female counterpart.  

On April 13, 1944, the Art Institute of Chicago hosted the United States premiere of an exhibition titled “Posada: Printmaker to the Mexican People,” organized in collaboration with the Mexican government. This exhibition sought to foster stronger ties between the United States and Latin America amid the turbulence of World War II (cultural diplomacy!). La Catrina featured as the cover girl of the exhibition catalogue, was highlighted in various promotional materials distributed by the museum, and a large print of her adorned the museum wall. Her depiction attracted an overwhelming number of enthusiastic attendees to the exhibit’s opening, surpassing the museum’s capacity and necessitating police intervention to manage the bustling crowd. This exhibition turned La Catrina into an international sensation, even though prior to this she had remained relatively unknown in Mexico. The exhibition was also hosted in New York, Philadelphia, Mexico City, and elsewhere in Mexico. Prominent artists in the United States and Mexico received complimentary copies of the exhibition catalogue. Both Mexican and American writers and artists started incorporating Catrina as a central theme in their creative endeavours.  

Diego River played a crucial role in propelling Catrina to widespread national recognition. In 1947, he featured her prominently in one of his most celebrated murals, Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park, a 50-foot long portrayal spanning Mexican history from the Spanish Inquisition to the Mexican Revolution, encompassing approximately 400 figures. Catrina is depicted linking arms with Posado on one side and a youthful Rivera on the other. Rivera redefined Catrina as a symbol of Mexican nationalism, dressing her in attire and accessories that reflect an association with the country’s indigenous cultures. Notably, a feathered rattlesnake boa links her to the Mesoamerican deity Quetzalcoatl (the feathered serpent) and the goddess Coatlicue (depicted with a serpent skirt). Subsequently, La Catrina took on a life of her own, evolving from a satirical representation originally intended to critique the affluent and their trivial pursuits into a humorous, approachable, and even sympathetic embodiment of death. She gradually became a symbol for the Mexican people, representing the notion that death is an intrinsic part of life, transcending social status. La Catrina is frequently depicted in festive attire, symbolizing the convergence of life and death in Mexican culture.   

Aside from the marigolds, my favourite aspect of Day of the Dead was the many diverse representations of La Catrina, especially all of the colourful, elaborate costumes. Just about everyone dresses as Catrina or her male counterpart, Catrine. We watched a parade featuring Catrinas and Catrines spanning various ages and time periods, adorned in a diverse array of costumes. I also saw a Catrina fashion show, and witnessed a Catrina dance party that took up an entire city street! The costumes were bursting with originality and creativity. 

Conclusion

Despite the length of this article, I feel like I have merely begun to delve into the conversation surrounding Day of the Dead. There is a lot more I would like to talk about, but I ran out of time! I wanted to post this article so that it coincided with the 2023 celebration, but I could have easily spent weeks more writing it. Topics I hope to expand on in future articles include the history of pulque; the story of amate paper and its connection to papel picado; the European celebration of All Saints’ and All Souls’, and which aspects of it got incorporated into Day of the Dead; the Mexica/Aztec calendar months that celebrated the dead; and more. 

I was deeply moved by my experience of Day of the Dead in Mexico. A year prior to my visit, I had lost a best friend and a grandparent, both to cancer. The grief of their loss was still sharp when we went on our trip. Victoria encouraged me to bring a couple of pictures of the people I was mourning because there was a possibility that the conference attendees were going to build an ofrenda of their own. This didn’t end up happening, but I still appreciated having the chance to go through my photos and dedicating some time to the memory of my loved ones. In North American culture, life and death are diametrically opposed. Death is the enemy of life. Many people, including myself, live in a state of near-constant denial that it will inevitably claim us and our loved ones. And even when it does, grief is treated as if it were a one-time, short-lived setback. Community support is typically offered only in the immediate weeks following a death; after the funeral, a person is expected to just “get on with their life” on their own, as if death is not a universal, constant, inevitable part of living. To do so otherwise is to consort with the enemy. 

And what of future losses? I have lost people dear to me, and I deeply dread the passing of more. I know from experience that my world will be forever dimmed, even ruined, by the closest of these losses. What if, instead of passively waiting for the day that tragedy hits, I was able to actively prepare myself for it? What if I didn’t view death as a final, terrifying—even traumatic—rupture between the living and the departed? What if my culture wasn’t extremely death-phobic?  

Imagine, for a moment, if it was possible to reunite with someone you loved and lost. And not just once, but every year—even if just for a day. Okay, so maybe you don’t believe in the afterlife, that’s fine! What if, instead, you believe that the only way your loved one lives on is in your memory? Wouldn’t it be a beautiful thing if, once a year, you could engage with those memories? Wouldn’t it be nice if you could do it with friends and family surrounding you? In a party atmosphere with delicious food, jokes, storytelling, and fun decorations? Mortality is a heavy weight to shoulder. What if you could share your grief and fear with the people who love you and are best able to comfort you? What if, instead of regretting the things you never got around to saying to a loved one until after they were gone, you were annually encouraged to say them? 

I admire a lot of things about the celebration of Day of the Dead. I appreciate that it stems from a culture that does not shy away or outright deny that death is a natural and necessary part of the human experience. In fact, life and death are deeply interdependent and interrelated. You can’t have life without death, and you can’t have death without life. Day of the Dead provides a communal space where grief can be safely and continually felt, expressed, and comforted

I also like that families dedicate a special annual celebration to their departed loved ones. This demonstrates their continued love, care, and respect. I imagine it’s a comfort to know, as one’s own death draws near, that one’s presence will remain cherished and alive with the people who matter most to them. 

I hope you enjoyed learning about Day of the Dead as much as I have. If you haven’t had the opportunity to experience it, I strongly encourage you towards finding a way to do so. And if you have, please reach out and let me know about it! 

May their memory, and yours, be a blessing.

Footnotes

¹ We get a lot of stories at Christmas too, but their narratives generally don’t compel us to consider the mysteries of life, the world, and the universe. They tend to be more focused on themes of love, family, and comfort. 

² Cholula is part of the metropolitan area of Puebla. 

³ Other Latin American countries include Belize, Bolivia, Brazil, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Guatemala, and Peru. In the US, various cities in states such as Arizona, California, New Mexico, and Texas also have their own celebrations. 

⁴ The Nahuas are a group of indigenous people from Mesoamerica, primarily inhabiting the central and southern regions of Mexico and parts of central America (El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua). They comprise the largest indigenous group in Mexico and the second largest in El Salvador. The Mexica/Aztecs were of Nahua ethnicity. They have a rich cultural heritage and have played a significant role in the history and development of the region. 

The terms “Mexica” and “Aztec” are used to refer to the same indigenous group that established the Aztec Empire in Mesoamerica. “Mexica” is the Nahuatl term used by the people to refer to themselves, while “Aztec” is the term that was later adopted by the Spanish conquistadors and was widely used in historical, academic, and popular discourse. I have opted to use both,  Mexica/Aztec, with “Mexica” first because that is their preferred identification. I’ve kept “Aztec” because, like me, I assume my North American audience is historically more used to that term.  

⁵ Some regions observe additional dates such as October 31, some as a day to honour those who have died in accidents, and November 6. 

⁶ As with all religious and spiritual matters, beliefs about the truth of this vary, from those interpreting it literally to others viewing it as symbolic. 

⁷ The translation of the Spanish word ofrenda into the English altar does not quite convey the right meaning. In English, altars suggest worship. Ofrendas are not set up to worship the loved one, but rather as both a memorial and a place to make offerings. The word altar does convey the look of the physical structure, so it is helpful in that sense.  

⁸ Protium copal trees are native to Mexico and Central America.

⁹ One such path successfully drew me into the Museo Regional de la Révolucion while I was exploring downtown Puebla. I checked out the altar they had set up and then, intrigued, returned to the museum a few days later to see the rest of their exhibit. 

¹⁰ Yeah, sure, these are all sweets. So what? 

¹¹ Calaveritas de dulce were originally created as gifts to be eaten by children. They weren’t traditionally placed on ofrendas, although this practice is now widespread. The first known mention of the sale of these skeletal figures dates to the 1740s. 

¹² In recent years, “sugar skulls” (calaveritas de azúcar) have been gaining popularity as costumes for Halloween. Is this cultural appropriation? That’s not for me to say. I do think there is a danger in reducing these calaveritas to just a Halloween costume and forgetting the deeper meaning they hold in Mexican culture about death and grief. I think it’s best to err on the side of being respectful. There’s lots of other costumes out there! And I am happy to appreciate the stunning costumes and makeup worn by individuals who do traditionally celebrate Day of the Dead. 

¹³ Alfeñiques were brought to Mexico by the Spanish in the 16th century. Alfeñiques, in turn, can trace their origin to Al-Andalus, the Muslim-ruled regions of Portugal and Spain from 711-1492. Sugar was introduced to Spain during this period, and it was used to make a sweet, popular Arabic treat known as “Al-Fanid.” Al-Fanid was made with almond oil, honey, sugar, and water. When cooked, it formed a viscous paste that could be pulled or stretched into a desirable shape. The confection was named for the appearance this sugar paste has after it is worked, as the Arabic word فانيد (fanid) translates to “twist” or “thread.” Al-Fanid was also used to treat sore throats and coughs.

¹⁴ This would be so fun to go to. Victoria and Ingrid, return trip?  

¹⁵ I wanted to talk more about pulque, and I did. But my discussion stretched into the length of a whole other article (3,000 words and counting). When I finish that article, I’ll post a link to it. Its history is actually quite fascinating! 

¹⁶ I am most familiar with Tagetes patula, more commonly referred to as the French marigold, as this particular species, along with its numerous cultivated species, is popularly grown in my region as an annual bedding plant. This marigold is closely related to Tagetes erecta. The main difference between the two is that tagetes patula is shorter in height and more prone to spreading. Both species are native to Mexico. Their species name is derived from their fame in French gardens. 

¹⁷ This species is also commonly referred to as the African marigold, even though it wasn’t introduced to Africa until the 16th century by Spanish explorers. The species earned this nickname due to its initial introduction to Europe through a trade route that traversed northwest Africa. 

¹⁸ Marigold are rich in carotenoids—the yellow, orange, and red organic pigments produced by plants and algae, as well as several bacteria, fungi, and archaea. Carotenoids are responsible for the bright red, yellow, and orange hues seen in flowers (daffodils, marigolds) and vegetables (such as carrots, squash, grapefruit, oranges, apricots and pumpkins). They are converted by the body into Vitamin A, which is essential to vision, growth, and development. Marigolds have been associated with several potential health benefits such as anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties, wound healing, skin health, digestive ailments, cardiovascular disease prevention, and immune system benefits. Marigolds can also be used as a natural dye in textiles. 

¹⁹ The Nahua people used cempoalxóchitl and cempōhualxōchitl to refer to several varieties of marigold, including: T. erecta, T. patula, T. lunulata, T. tenuifolia, T. peduncularis, and T. elongata. 

²⁰ In ancient Mexican mythology, there are five gods of the sun, known as the “Five Suns” or the “Five Ages.” These deities were associated with different eras or epochs that were believed to represent distinct periods of creation and destruction in Aztec cosmology. The five gods were Tezcatlipoca (often associated with the first era, the “Jaguar sun”); Quetzalcoatl (assocaited with the second era, the “Wind Sun”); Tlaloc (linked to the third era, the “Rain Sun”); Chalchiuhtlicue (connected to the fourth era, the “Water Sun”); Tonatiuh (representing the fifth and final era, the “Sun of Movement.”). According to Aztec cosmology, each of these ages came to an end through catastrophic events, leading to the creation of a new world and a new sun.  

²¹ Hummingbirds held symbolic significance as warriors in Mexica/Aztec mythology. In this story, the hummingbird alighting on the marigold is the soul of Huitzilin, the fallen warrior, returning to Xochitl, who has been transformed into a flower.

Last weekend, we opted for a different strategy entirely by launching into a whirlwind of activity in southern Sweden. We powered through our jet lag by soaking up the crisp spring sunshine, catching up with family, playing Finnish lawn games, practicing our Swedish with new friends, drinking early morning wine in a park along with tens of thousands of other people, and checking out a community bonfire. Is it better to cater tenderly to the needs of your body, or to ambush it? Who’s to say which is the more successful strategy? Is the grading based on how much fun you had, or how much recovery time you needed? (We had and needed a LOT of both).

Welcome to Copenhagen: First Stop, Sweden.

So why did we go to Sweden for the first weekend following our arrival in Copenhagen? My cousin, J, and her partner, D, live in Lund—a southern Swedish city that is just a short train ride across the Øresund—and they kindly invited us to join them for their planned weekend activities! We didn’t realize it when we booked our flights, but our arrival coincided with the Swedish celebration of Valborg, which is especially popular in their community.

Valborg: It’s Spring, Let’s Party!

What is Valborg? In Swedish, it’s pronounced “Val-bore-ee” without the hard English “g.” But the English pronunciation (rhymes with “cyborg”) is not uncommon.

I’ll get deep into the history of Valborg another time, as the reason it takes me a long time to publish posts is that I get bogged down by having too much historical detail to effectively cover. My aim with these “travel journal” posts is to focus on writing about the actual experiences we have while traveling. Hopefully, it will help me start publishing more regularly.

Anyway! What I will say about Valborg is that, in short, it is:

1. A celebration of the long-awaited arrival of spring.
2. A great excuse to get together and party outside—especially for students wrapping up the end of their school semester.

Some brief historical context is that, in rural Sweden, May 1 was typically the day that most farmers put their livestock out to pasture. It is said that the custom of lighting a bonfire on April 30, the night before, is related to this. That farmers lit a fire and made a lot of noise—through playing music, singing, and dancing—in order to scare away bears, wolves, and other predators from the countryside. It could be said that modern Valborg parties and bonfires are thus part of a long tradition of agrarian responsibility. So party on, you raucous youngsters, your ancestors would approve!

Other facts about this celebration include that Valborg gets its name from an 8th century English saint, Walpurgia (Valborg in Swedish), who conducted missionary work in a region that is now part of present-day Germany; her feast day (in Sweden) is May 1. There are also some long-forgotten superstitions involving witches, as well as an archaic local tradition in which groups of young people went farm-to-farm and played music in exchange for food and alcohol. Trick-or-treating for party supplies! But, again, I’ll talk about this another time.

Sat., April 29: Birthdays and BBQs

Victoria and I caught a train out of Copenhagen early on Saturday morning. We met up with J and D at their place, then headed out to our first event. This was a dual birthday party being held in a Malmö city park.

The weather was unexpectedly—but enjoyably—hot and sunny! It was the first day of the year that I was able to sit outside without wearing a jacket or a sweater. Not coincidentally, it was also the first time in 2023 that I (mildly) sunburned my hair part. More of that to come, I’m sure. It’s a good reminder that I should always bring sunscreen and wear my baseball cap when participating in outdoor activities, even though the latter is a dead give-away that I’m a tourist—as if my two cameras (three if you include my cell phone) weren’t already a clear indication of that!

We rounded out the evening with a BBQ at J and D’s friend’s house, where I got to share some of the weird, archaic knowledge about Valborg that I’m sure hasn’t been relevant in Sweden for hundreds of years—if it even was in the first place. For example, on Valborg, it’s possible you may come across a witch either sitting in or standing over a creek with an empty butter churn. If she is banging the churn with a wooden spoon and crying, “milk in my pot! milk in my pot!”, then she is trying to steal all the milk your cow will produce this season. To prevent this, load your rifle up with salt and shoot her in the butt, while shouting “shit in your churn!”

It’s likely I made a lasting impression.

Sun., April 30: Valborg in Stadsparken

J, D, Victoria, and I were up early on Sunday, April 30 to get ready for the big Valborg event in Lund. We met up with three of J and D’s friends and headed to a downtown park, Stadsparken, loaded up with lawn chairs, blankets, picnic supplies, and refreshments. We arrived at 8:30 am thinking that we would be among the first to set up. However, it was soon clear to us that thousands of others had already been there for hours. The presence of sleeping bags indicated that some had even spent the night there in order to secure their prime Valborg party location!

It’s estimated that some 20,000 people—mostly students—descend upon Lund’s Stadsparken for this Valborg event. They hang out there until about 2:00 or 3:00 pm. At that point, officials clear everyone out so they can clean up and prep for the evening bonfire, a more family-friendly activity. Upon leaving the park, the large Valborg crowd disperses. The celebration continues for the rest of the day and into the night, but for the most part this is no longer done en masse unless you return to Stadsparken in the evening for the city bonfire. Other options for the rest of the day include taking naps, hosting or attending private parties, either going to a smaller neighbourhood bonfire or attending the one in Stadsparken, and even clubbing. Other communities around Sweden also have their own Valborg celebrations, but I think that Lund is the largest. This is likely because the weather in this southernmost point of Sweden is actually warm enough to be (mostly) comfortable outside, whereas other parts of the country still have snow!

Although Victoria and I were older than most of the Valborg crowd, we still had a good time. It was definitely a local experience that we would have otherwise missed out on if it wasn’t for the invitation from my cousin. There was no shortage of entertainment, and lots of great people-watching. A stage had been set up with a DJ, but our late 8:30 am arrival (!) meant that we were in an area too far away to hear it. No matter, lots of people brought their own portable speakers. J & D did as well. We dedicated a rendition of “Teenage Dirtbag” to my brother, as it is his favourite song. Another memorable moment was listening to Blink 182’s “What’s My Age Again?”

At one point, we walked by a group of young people singing from a set of songbooks that they had in hand, as if they were a choir. (Perhaps a remnant of that old trick-or-treat singing tradition for party supplies?) I also spotted a distant handful of youngsters swinging their arms and hips in a manner that was unmistakeable. In that moment, a mystery presented itself to me. There is no way these children were alive when the Macarena first burned up the dance floor in 1996! I thought Generation Z had been spared that craze!? So how was I seeing it now, all these years later, being enacted by people who would have had to purposefully seek it out as opposed to being inundated with it at every late ’90s school dance and wedding reception they attended? Are they dancing the Macarena as a means of ridicule? Or are they actually enjoying it? Is the Macarena cool again?

Valborg morning was sunny, but the wind had a definite chill to it. Every time the sun went behind the clouds we felt the temperature drop by several significant degrees. I had dressed as if the weather would be the same as it was on Saturday, even though we were in the park hours earlier on Sunday morning than we had been Saturday afternoon. I had brought sunscreen (an improvement), but I had imprudently left my jacket behind at the apartment, thinking my sweatshirt would be enough! First rule of travel: LAYERS. Second rule: REMEMBER YOU’RE IN SWEDEN. I was definitely regretting the last decision I made before we left our Canadian home in which I thought to myself, “should I bring a scarf? No, it’s going to be spring and summer! It’s going to be warm! There’s no need to bring this long, thick, beautiful yellow scarf that I could wrap around my neck multiple times and thus bestow upon myself layers of necessary heat retention. It will take up too much room in my luggage.” You beautiful fool, you just wear the scarf and boom, no extra space taken up at all! Third rule of travel: Always pack a scarf! It will always be one of the most useful things you could bring.

Anyway! Victoria and I left the park around 1:30 pm, feeling sufficiently chilled and wind-blown. This was a decision that was certainly prompted by wisdom, not age or jet lag. Okay, definitely some jet lag. We did require a restorative nap while the youths continued on with their agrarian duty in our absence.

Sun., April 30: BBQ in a Swedish Allotment Garden

We all regrouped around 4:30 pm for a BBQ hosted by one of J and D’s friends, M. M had told us earlier that he had recently acquired an allotment garden plot located really close to his apartment. Now, if you’re like me, you might be envisioning a community garden where someone is lucky if they get a patch of soil big enough for one or two vegetable beds. No, the Swedish allotment gardens are quite more expansive than that! M’s garden plot includes a small wooden cottage with a deck, a mini-greenhouse, a couple of trees, and enough land to have a lawn, a couple of landscaped pathways, and several flower and vegetable beds! In effect, it’s like having a yard! M told us that these allotment gardens are very Swedish in nature. They began to appear in Swedish cities as early as the late 1800s. The idea behind them was to provide places where the urban working class could grow their own food and have a place of refuge from city life. It’s a great idea that continues to be very timely. It is next to impossible to afford a semi-detached house with a yard in many cities. I’m sure a lot of people would love to have access to this kind of (private!) space!

I took a short walk to check out some of the other nearby allotment gardens.

After dinner we played another round of Mölkky. I surprised everyone (including myself) when, after failing to hit anything two turns in a row, I hit the “12” block and won the game. A dopamine hit like that can’t be replicated.

Sun., April 30: Bonfire Time!

We concluded Valborg weekend with the best activity of all, a local neighbourhood bonfire! We decided to go to this one instead of the big one in Stadsparken because it would be way less crowded.

Below is the photo that made me laugh so hard I cried. “Was I in that photo?” D asked. I didn’t think so. But then we zoomed in.

Onto the bonfire! Below, it’s just starting to pick up:

It’s really getting underway now:

Up close and personal:

The kids in the pictures below were super cute, waiting patiently to toast their marshmallows. A second, smaller fire was later set up nearby so that it would be safer for them. An older boy did try to get really close, until a guard discouraged him. They didn’t want anybody to get hurt, after all.

The fire from a distance:

Oh, look, it’s Victoria!

And that’s it for Valborg! For now, anyway. Thank you for reading!

It was beautiful but we didn’t stay long because it was really windy and cold. I’m sure Whitby is charming on a beautiful, sunny day, but we just weren’t feeling it.

We did park by some really cool brick homes! Check out those chimney pots!

After checking into our hotel following our drive from York and feeling way too comfortable to go outside and look at something else in the rain, we convinced ourselves to make our way to the first set of ruins at Hadrian’s Wall that I wanted to see: Housesteads Roman Fort.

Hadrian’s Wall was the Northwest frontier of the Roman empire. It was built on the order of emperor Hadrian after his visit to Britain in C.E. 122. His purpose for the Wall was “to keep the barbarians out.” It took the Roman army over 10 years to build the Wall. When it was done it was 73 miles (80 Roman miles) long, crossing the breadth of Northern England not too far from where the Scottish border is today (70 miles south on the Western end). But Hadrian’s Wall existed before the nation states known as “England” and “Scotland” existed. Hadrian’s Wall was occupied for almost 300 years.

I first heard about Hadrian’s Wall when looking up some information about Game of Thrones. The North Wall manned by the Night’s Watch is based on Hadrian’s Wall. Instead of ice and magic, the Romans used turf, stone, and timber to build their Wall. The Wall was made of turf to the West of the river Irthing and measured 20 feet wide by 11.5 feet high. The Wall east of the river was made of stone and measured 10 feet wide by 16-20 feet high. North of the Wall a broad and deep ditch was excavated, except where the landscape made that additional defence unnecessary.

It was originally planned that there would be a protected gate (milecastle) located along the Wall at intervals of every one mile. Two observation towers (turrets) would be placed between the milecastles. Before the Wall was completed, however, it was decided that 15 forts would be added to the Wall line—possibly because of security issues.

A deep ditch was also excavated behind the Wall and its forts and towers. This was known as the Vallum, and it effectively protected the military zone from intruders coming up on the Roman troops from behind. The Vallum also made it so that it was only possible to cross Hadrian’s Wall at a fort where a causeway was provided over the deep excavation. The number of crossing points was thus reduced from an original 80 or so to about 16.

Outside most of the forts, civil settlements sprang up where the soldiers’ families lived. Shops, inns and taverns also looked to profit from the Roman soldiers who were relatively well paid, at least in comparison to the farmers of the frontier area.

Below is a reconstruction of what the Wall would have looked like. Note the ditch in front of it.

Below is a reconstruction of a milecastle.

Below is a reconstruction of a tower turret.

Below is a reconstruction of an observation tower.

Below is a reconstruction of what the Housesteads Roman Fort would have looked like. The fort included a Headquarters building, a Commanding Officer’s house,  a hospital, granaries, and barrack blocks for the soldiers.

The layout of the fort is shown below.

Below is the view of the ruins of the fort, as seen from above, looking West. You can see a branch of the Wall at the bottom right of the picture. The Wall also continues into the trees at the top right of the picture. The fort is located South of the Wall.

Below is a glimpse of the ruins as you are walking in from the south.

Below are the remains of the Headquarters building.

Below are the remains of the granary.

The stones sticking up out of the ground would have been covered by stone tiles to create a raised floor. The raised floor helped keep the food dry and safe from rodents. Vents in the exterior walls allowed for a circulation of air.

Below is a reconstruction of what the granary would have looked like.

Looking across the barracks to the East. You can see the Wall stretch out toward the trees.

Below are the remains of the storehouse (the wider enclosure) and the bathhouse (the smaller enclosure). You can see the East gate just beyond the ruins (there’s a small wooden gate peeking out at the top right of the bathhouse.)

Some interesting information about the bathhouse. Interestingly, this one was located inside the fort, which was unusual because of the fire risk.

The bathhouse. Like the granary, the stones would have supported a raised floor. Fires would have been used to channel heat underneath the floor, making it as hot as a sauna.

The East gate. Housesteads actually faced east towards the rising sun, a preferred direction. This would have been its main gate.

The North gate. This was the only one of the four gates that opened into enemy territory. However, the approach from the North had that steep ditch to bypass. Like the other three gates, the North gate had two arched passages flanked by towers with guard rooms.

Standing in the North gate.

I can’t remember what this is.

The Wall.

Below are the remains of the soldiers’ barracks. A unit of Roman soldiers was a centurion, which consisted of 80 soldiers. There would have been 10 barracks, with 8 soldiers in each. There were two areas in each of the barracks—the front would be where they kept their armour and personal items, the back area would be where they slept.

More information on the barracks.

Below is a closer image of the illustrated reconstruction of the barracks.

Looking north, into the land of the so-called “barbarians.”

Looking northeast.

The furthest northwest point of the fort. The Wall continues west on the left side of the picture.

West gate.

Looking southwest in the direction of the museum.

Looking south back into the land of the so-called “civilized world.”

Look, I found flowers!

Below are the remains of the hospital.

Some more information below.

Another view of the hospital.

A far-back view of the ruins looking south. The remains of the hospital are on the right. The remains of the Headquarters building are to the left.

Looking southeast.

The ruins of the Commanding Officer’s house.

Below is a reconstruction of what the Commanding Officer’s house would have looked like.

Like the granaries and the bathhouse, these stones in the Commanding Officer’s house supported a raised floor.

Commanding Officer’s house continued.

You can see some of the remaining floor slabs in this image.

Rome was in decline in the late 4th century. Gradually, Roman influence withdrew from Britain. By 410 C.E., the Roman legions and their administration were gone. The Wall fell into disuse, but continued to be useful to locals, as is the case below. Many of the stones from Hadrian’s Wall and its forts were also reused in the construction of farm houses, castles, fences, and other buildings.

The ruins of the castle house.

All of the information and illustrations used in this post come from the English Heritage Guidebook of Hadrian’s Wall.

After checking out Chatsworth House, we drove north to the city of York. I wanted to see York for a few reasons: first, I really wanted to see the medieval wall that encircles it; second, I heard they had a great Viking museum; three, a couple of friends of ours had gone there and highly recommended it. Unfortunately, heavy flooding in 2015 meant that the Jorvik Viking Museum was closed. But there were still plenty of other attractions for us to see!

Part of the old wall below.

A tower gate.

There were some really narrow—and short!— streets. I think this is an example of one of the infamous York snickelways (a small street or footpath). According to Wikipedia, the term was coined in 1983 by local author Mark W. Jones and combines the words snicket (passageway between walls or fences), ginnel (a narrow passageway between buildings), and alleyway. York has many of these paths, most of them medieval in origin. They have quirky names such as Mad Alice Lane, Hornpot Lane, and Mucky Peg Lane.

Below is York Minster. “Minster” is a term applied to churches established in the Anglo-Saxon period as missionary teaching churches. More on York Minster will follow later in the post.

Below is The Shambles, an old street in York with timber-framed buildings that date as far back as the 14th century. The street was once known as “The Great Flesh Shambles” for all of the butcher shops and their shelved displays of fresh meat. The design of the buildings—with the upper levels jutting out into the street overtop the ground floor—was a way to minimize taxation. Property taxes were based on the ground-floor area of a building.

“Shambles” is an obsolete term for an open-air slaughterhouse and meat market. There were 25 butcher shops on this street in the late 1800s, but none remain today.

There were no sanitary or hygiene standards at the time so blood, guts, and organs would be tossed into the gutter in the middle of the street. Things are a little prettier these days.

We went to The House of the Trembling Madness for dinner and a pint. The Trembling Madness refers to a state of withdrawal from alcohol in which the person becomes confused, shakes or shivers, and has a rapid heart rate. The pub was inspired by Belgian beer halls and has a medieval theme. The building it is housed in dates back to 1180. As a friend pointed out, it is interesting that all of the weight-bearing beams in the roof are different sizes.

We then went to The Golden Fleece, York’s oldest (and most haunted!) pub.

More information below.

I didn’t see any spectral figures but, more importantly, I met this delicious Swedish cider that I enjoyed everywhere I could find it for the rest of the trip. It tasted like strawberry campinos!

We continued onto a third pub where we ran into a group of locals who were out on a company pub crawl. My partner and I were waiting in line at the bar when a man cheerily asked us what we were drinking and ordered us two pints. We had just received them and were beginning to chat with his friends when he informed everyone that we were all moving onto the next establishment. We had been adopted!

After a couple of more pubs and a pleasant talk with the locals, people were beginning to pack it in. The man who had initially invited us gave us a walking tour of the brickwork in some of the local buildings. I wish I could remember what he said—it was all very interesting. We then ended up in a loud dance club (apparently York is a happening place for clubs and hen parties!) before the three of us called it a night.

The next day, Thursday, June 16, was a full day of York sightseeing. We began with a walk on the city walls. York was founded by the Romans in 71 C.E. as Eboracum. The Romans built a fortress and put up walls around the city. The site of the headquarters of this fortress now lies under the foundations of York Minster. York has more miles of intact wall left than any other city in England.

After the Romans left Britain, York was taken and settled by Angles in the 5th century. King Edwin of Northumbria would later make York his capital. The first wooden minster church was made for his baptism in 627. Edwin later ordered the minster to be rebuilt in stone. In 866, the Vikings captured the city and called it “Jorvik” (the “j” is pronounced as a “y”—sound familiar?). The Danes restored the neglected city walls and destroyed all of the Roman towers but one—the Multangular Tower. The last Viking ruler, Eric Bloodaxe, was driven from the city in 954 by King Eadred in his successful attempt to complete the unification of England.

In 1068, two years after William the Conqueror took over England, York rebelled against Norman rule. William arrived in York soon after and put an end to that. The stone minster was badly damaged in the uprising. Around 1080, Archbishop Thomas started building the cathedral that would become the current Minster. York became a major manufacturing and trading centre, and began to prosper. More work on the walls was undertaken in the 12th-14th centuries, and then some further reconstruction in the 19th century and later.

A good place to hide and shoot arrows from! Sneaky!

A view of the Minster.

Spying on people’s gardens is WHAT I DO, OKAY?

Approaching Monk Bar. Monk Bar is a four-storey gatehouse that was built in the early 14th century. It was intended as a self-contained fort, and each floor is capable of being defended separately. Today, the Monk Bar houses a museum called the Richard III Experience at Monk Bar.

On our way up to York, I did my best to explain to my partner all of the personalities of the main players in the English War of the Roses—a series of civil wars fought between the House of Lancaster and the House of York, two rival familial branches of the royal House of Plantagenet, from 1455-1487. It was fun telling them about something they didn’t know a lot about—this doesn’t happen very often.

I could easily get sucked into a digression that runs on for several thousand words, but I’ll exercise some restraint. It’s a fascinating period of history, and has been covered extensively by William Shakespeare in a number of history plays: Richard II; Henry IV part I and II; Henry V, Henry VI part 1, 2, and 3; as well as Richard III. Philippa Gregory has also written several historical fiction novels about this time that I really enjoyed: The White Queen; The Red Queen; The Lady of the Rivers; The Kingmaker’s Daughter; and The White Princess. The White Queen and The White Princess were both adapted into television series, one of which stars a pre-Killing Eve Jodie Comer.

Suffice it to say that Richard III (reigned 1483-1485) maintained close connections with the city of York and visited the city several times. Shortly after his coronation in 1483, he stayed in York for three weeks. While in York his son, Edward, was made Prince of Wales at the Archbishop’s Palace. Below are a few pictures of the Richard III exhibit at Monk Bar.

In 2012, Richard III’s body was discovered buried underneath a car park.

Below: entry into a tiny corner prison cell.

Replicas of helmets that would have been worn in battle during the 15th century.

Barley Hall is a reconstructed medieval townhouse. It was originally built around 1360. The building has been set up to look the way it would have in 1483. Below is the Grand Hall. Note the Tudor roses on the wall.

Below is the main table set up for a feast, with the addition of a chamber pot. It was considered rude to get up and leave during a meal so people would remain seated throughout the whole occasion, even if they had to use the washroom.

It was customary to cook decorative birds for dinner and then dress the cooked meat with the skinned remains of the animal in order to impress the diners. It’s really a wonder anyone survived the Middle Ages without dying of plague, war, water contamination, and food poisoning.

Below are examples of a couple other rooms in Barley Hall.

Back to the wall!

Next stop: York Minster. York Minster is the second largest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe. The present building began construction in 1230 and finished in 1472.

A view from the top tower of York Minster.

A great view of the city.

Flying buttresses.

It’s 275 very steep, narrow steps up to the top.

A lower level of the Minster had an exhibit on the building’s history, and included Roman and Viking artefacts, like this Roman wall plaster below.

Below the foundations of the Minster are the ruins of the Roman fort that occupied the same site.

Below is the Horn of Ulf, dating from the beginning of the 11th century. The horn belonged to a Viking nobleman (called a “thane”) named Ulf. Ulf owned large estates around York and throughout Yorkshire. The Horn acted as a land deed and Ulf presented this horn as a symbol or record of his gift of lands to the Minster.

These medieval hand-glazed floor tiles date from the 1200s are are from the original floor of Saint Nicholas’ Chapel in the Minster. On the bottom row are the crossed keys of Saint Peter—the symbol of the Minster, which is dedicated to this saint.

The exhibits downstairs were so fascinating that we totally lost track of time. We had seen the top of the Minster and the bottom, but we ran out of time to explore the main level (and the main features) before it closed for the night!

York was a lot of fun and the locals were really friendly. Later that night we ended up sitting at a table beside a couple who were there celebrating their anniversary. We had a great conversation with them. They were interested in knowing why I had always wanted to come to England—they thought it was surprising that I had always wanted to visit there! They recommended that we go out to Brontë country in West Yorkshire the next time we came to England.

Additionally, in the not so fictional world, Mary Queen of Scots was held prisoner at Chatsworth at various times between 1569 and 1584 . Not bad digs—definitely preferable to the Tower of London.

Obviously, Chatsworth House was a must-see for me.

Below is a view of the front of Chatsworth House. There is a long, winding road that leads up to the house but it is too narrow (and too busy with other interested visitors) to stop and take a picture. The House does make quite the grand impression as you are driving up to it. The House has been open for public visitation since the mid-1650s!

Chatsworth House was acquired in 1549 by the Cavendish family. Sir William Cavendish was one of Henry VIII’s commissioners during the Reformation. William’s wife Elizabeth, known as Bess of Hardwick, sold some of the estates given to William by the Crown and used it to buy this land that was close to her own childhood home. There was likely a smaller manor house present or nearby the site of the present house. In 1552 William and Bess built a grand Elizabethan estate. Unfortunately, little of this original manor house remains as the house was altered and enlarged over the years.

After William died in 1557, Bess remarried, but was then widowed again in 1565. She married George Talbot, 6th Earl of Shrewsbury, in 1567. George and Bess then hosted Mary, Queen of Scots, during her imprisonment at Chatsworth. I read about this time from Bess’ perspective in Philippa Gregory’s novel The Other Queen. (In case you’re wondering why I found this bit of history so interesting.)

It’s fair to say that I was unprepared for what I was about to see. I’ve seen beautiful houses before. Beautiful Canadian houses. Nothing like Chatsworth. We didn’t take the time to see inside any of the palaces in London, so this was my first experience with the kind of art collecting and furnishing that takes place in grand European homes.

Below are a couple of images from the Painted Hall. The paintings were painted in 1687 and depict scenes from the life of Julius Caesar. The 4th Earl of Devonshire commissioned the paintings to flatter the new Protestant monarch, Wiiliam III, with his wife Mary II, on their royal visit. For his aid in helping them to the throne, the Earl was granted the title of Duke of Devonshire in 1694. (What passes for a promotion in the late 17th century). (Flattery never hurts).

Since I decided to look this up, here is the ranking of the nobles of England (also known as “the Peerage”) from lowest to highest: Baron/Baronness → Viscount/Viscountess → Earl/Countess → Marquess/Marchioness → Duke/Duchess. There are currently 54 Barons/Baronness titles in England, 3 viscounts, 26 Earls, 1 Marquess, and 11 Dukes.

The 12th Duke and Duchess of Devonshire currently live at Chatsworth House and are dedicated to its ongoing upkeep and improvement. 16 generations of Cavendishes have lived at the Estate.

Every inch of the home was covered with beautiful oil paintings, silk tapestries, ornate banisters and delicate carvings on the wall. It was hard to know what to pay attention to because there were so many different things on display!

Below is the Chapel Corridor.

Below is the Chapel, which was built between 1688 and 1693, a year before the 4th Earl of Devonshire was created the 1st Duke of Devonshire. The room remains almost completely unaltered from that time. The room was inspired by the now lost Chapel at Windsor Castle.

On the second floor are a grouping of rooms that were meant for the reigning King and Queen to stay in on the occasion of their visit. The resident family never stayed in these rooms themselves.

After the State Apartment (which I didn’t take a picture of) the visitor enters the the Great Chamber, which served as a lobby in which members of the Court would have gathered to await the King and Queen. It was also occasionally used for dining. Below is a display of silver-gilt plate and oriental porcelain to illustrate this use.

The painting on the ceiling depicts the Triumph of the Virtues over the Vices.

View from the window of the Great Chamber of the Emperor Fountain and the Canal Pond.

The State Drawing Room is the first room in which select members of the Court could retire from the Great Chamber to meet with the royals.

Below are the Coronation Chairs of King George III and Queen Charlotte in 1761. They are unusual because they were carved by a woman, Catherine Naish. They were given to the 4th Duke as a reward for his role at the coronation.

The Mortlake Acts of the Apostle tapestries date to the mid-1630s. They were woven from designs by Raphael that were originally made for tapestries that decorate the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. In 2014 a major conservation project on the tapestries began as they had deteriorated from exposure to light and atmospheric pollution. (This helps to explain why a lot of the houses and palaces are dimly lit).

Below is a display of Chinese porcelain, highly prized in Europe because the secret for creating true porcelain had not been yet discovered in the West. I love the beautiful chest it is sitting on!

Below is the State Music Room, which was also known as the Second Withdrawing Room or the Green Velvet Room. Stamped and gilded leather now cover the walls, replacing the green velvet of the 18th century.

I’m sorry some of these pictures are blurry. The rooms, as I’ve said, are dimly lit and it’s hard to get a crisp, sharp image. The image below was taken in the State Bedchamber. The bed below was made for Kensington Palace, and is the bed in which George II died (1760).

Below, the silver-gilt toilet service on the dressing table is the most complete example of Parisian silver from this period of time (1694). It was used by a lady when getting ready in the morning.

Now to view some paintings in the South Sketch Gallery.

Below is a portrait of the 5th Duchess Georgiana. Georgiana was a bibliophile, arts patron, and referred to as “the Empress of Fashion” by her contemporaries. She was also a little bit scandalous, as the sign below the picture states. Her best friend, Lady Elizabeth Foster, lived in a ménage-à-trois with the Duke and the Duchess. After Georgiana passed away, the Duke married Lady Elizabeth.

The below painting of Georgiana was created in 1785-1787. In 1876 it was stolen from an auction house in London and taken to America by “the Napoleon of the Criminal World”, Adam Worth. The theft was widely publicized. The painting was eventually retrieved and purchased by the 11th Duke of Devonshire; it was brought to Chatsworth in 1994. The story of the theft inspired a Moriarty caper in the Sherlock Holmes mystery The Valley of Fear.

Some of the many paintings in the Oak Stairwell.

Below is the Queen of Scots Dressing Room, a guest bedroom. The room only takes its name from Mary as she didn’t actually stay in this part of the house (although this was long believed to be the case). Today the rooms are presented as they would have looked in the 19th century.

A ladies’ vanity.

Close-up of some curling irons.

Hand-painted Chinese wallpaper that I absolutely loved, although it didn’t photograph that well.

I also loved this beautiful dressing screen.

Below is the Wellington Bedroom, another guest bedroom.

An imposing wardrobe.

A painting miniature of Marie Antoinette.

The Library! There are over 17,000 books covering six centuries contained here including the scientific manuscripts of Henry Cavendish (1731-1810), who calculated how to weigh the Earth.

Here is a close-up of the beautiful detailed work on the ceiling. The plaster work was done in the late 17th century and the paintings are by Antonio Verrio from that same time period; his work is also in the Painted Hall.

Below is the Veiled Vestal Virgin, created in 1847 by Raffaelle Monti. It is so beautiful—the marble veil looks so soft and delicate.

The Great Dining Room. The first dinner held here was for the Princess Victoria and her mother the Duchess of Kent in 1832. Victoria was 13 years old and it was the first time she had dined formally in adult company.

The walls are covered in red silk tapestries.

The fixtures on the table are pure silver. I now understand what it is to “hide the family silver” and why Jean Valjean got in trouble for stealing a candlestick from a church. Because they were real silver, not stainless steel. I had never seen real silver dining ware until Chatsworth House. This silverware was created by the leading silversmiths of the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

A beautiful chandelier.

The ceiling of the dining room was covered with these beautiful gold roses.

The sculpture gallery was created by the 6th Duke between 1818 and 1834. It is one of the most important collections of early 19th-century European marble sculpture.

This was my favourite sculpture.

I also really liked the pair of cranky lions.

The Cascade was designed by Grillet, a French hydraulics engineer with experience working for Louis XIV, King of France, in 1696.

Great view of the surrounding countryside. There’s a story behind this unobstructed view. There used to be a small village, Edensor, located immediately below Chatsworth but it was moved between 1838 and 1842 by the 6th Duke of Devonshire out of sight over a hill. 145 people still live in the village. There’s rich, and then there’s moving an entire village because you don’t want it to impede the view of your estate rich.

The grounds are massive, with lots of different gardens. There’s also a maze that we had fun exploring.

Beautiful flowers.

View of the southern end of Chatsworth House as we were walking along the Canal Pond.

All of the information that I have used in this post I got from Your Guide to Chatsworth. And so, turns out there was a good reason I made us drag this increasingly heavy load of guidebooks all over the U.K.!

After finishing at Bletchley Park, my partner and I drove out to Bourton-on-the-Hill to our Air BnB for the night. It was in this cute garden cottage.

Mere steps away from the cottage was the charming Horse & Groom pub.

We popped in for a lovely dinner. It came with a side bowl of peas!

Adorable.

We went for a short walk before the sun went down. I thought it was clever that they are re-using these iconic red telephone booths as defibrillator stations.

I’ll take it!

A golden oolitic limestone specific to this area is what was used to build these lovely homes. The Cotswolds became prosperous in the Middle Ages thanks to the wool trade. It is thought that Cotswold translates to “sheep enclosure in rolling hillsides.”

Yes, I even found their fences ridiculously cute.

The following day, Wednesday, June 15, I had a busy day planned for us! (What else is new?) In the morning, I wanted to take a quick tour of some areas where my ancestors had lived. First up, a grouping of houses (not even a hamlet) known as Lower and Upper Swell.

I had been carrying a Father’s day card for my Dad since we were in Vancouver. I had meant to pop it into a mailbox en route to the airport but that didn’t happen. So I threw a few English stamps on it and put it in this mailbox in Lower Swell, where his ancestor once lived. I thought that was a neat thing to do and it actually made it to him!

People here take their gardens seriously. (AS THEY SHOULD!)

One of my ongoing jokes was how, with place names, we were seeing the originals. For example, Old York, or York 1.0. On the sign below is a town named Naunton which is similar to the name of a town I grew up in. Did the name come from here? Interestingly, that is where my grandmother now lives. Coming full circle, in a sense?

Our next stop included Lower and Upper Slaughter. Slaughter is an Old English word for slough, which makes sense. Although we did see a mystery book in a gift shop titled “Slaughter in Slaughter” (someone had to do it, right?)

I couldn’t stop taking pictures of these beautiful houses. Bear with me.

A former corn mill from the 19th century.

A lovely church.

The road goes through a shallow creek, no big deal.

We grabbed brunch in Bourton-on-the-Water.

Which was 110% cute. It was all decorated for the Queen’s birthday. (“Happy 90th Ma’am”? I can’t. It’s too much).

These buildings below are not quite as polished as the other ones, and I can totally imagine it is only a few steps until I am back in history hundreds of years ago.

Not that I would mind living in one of the more polished homes, of course!

Here, we have an inescapable attraction. Flowers and Cotswold brick.

Better get another angle.

More.

Remember how I said that it is thought that Cotswold translates to “sheep enclosure in rolling hillsides”? Case in point. These are the first of many sheep we would see throughout the rest of our trip.

The curbside garden: a story in three pictures.

One.

Two.

Three!

I would go back there today if I could. We didn’t make it to Bibury, which is considered the “loveliest town in England”, but I would love to see it next time. Broadway, Stow-on-the-Wold and Chipping Norton are also supposed to be super charming. For family history reasons, I would like to see Wyck Rissington in the future and Minchinhampton. Wyck Rissington is actually one of four Rissington villages: the others are Great, Little, and Upper.

If I had so many places to see in the Cotswolds, why was I forced to leave? Well, I had a really good reason. It’s coming up in the next post!

Happily, we made it to Bletchley Park in one piece!

Bletchley Park was one of the best kept secrets of WWII. It was where the brilliant minds of men and women alike worked to break the codes that the Axis powers were using for their war-time communications. I first learned about Bletchley Park from a television show on Netflix called The Bletchley Circle in which three women who worked at the park together team up after the war to solve murders. The story of Bletchley Park was most recently featured in a movie called The Imitation Game starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Kiera Knightley.

The information used in this post was obtained from two Bletchley Park guidebooks: Home of the Codebreakers and Demystifying the Bombe (by Dermot Turing).

It is estimated that the work done at Bletchley Park shortened the war by 2 years and saved 14 million lives.

I have read a lot of novels set in WWII, so it was really fun for me to see these exhibits. The Churchill War Rooms were one of the many places in London that I wanted to check out, but didn’t have time. Hopefully on a return trip!

Below is a reference book that contained detailed information about all the world’s warships used by staff at Bletchley Park. Each time a German ship was sunk, they crossed out its name and wrote a note at the top of the page describing how it had been destroyed.

Below is a replica of a Marconi Universal Crystal Receiver set. The sign accompanying it reads: “This is a replica of a crystal receiver, cutting-edge technology in 1914. Sets like this were used to listen to enemy communication, picking up radio waves through their long wire antenna.”  Guglielmo Marconi, for whom this device is named after, is credited as being the inventor of the radio. I read about him in Erik Larsen’s book, Thunderstruck.

WWII ration books! I’ve read about them so many times, but this was my first time actually seeing them. I geeked out a little.

Enigma machines, such as the one below, were used by the Axis powers to code their messages. The Enigma used rotors to scramble messages into unintelligible cipher text. A standard three rotor Enigma (such as the one below) used by the German army and air force was capable of being set to approximately 159,000,000,000,000,000,000 (that’s 159 million million million!) different settings. At midnight, the Enigma machines would be reset. Finding the right setting for the right day and then using it to decipher the message was the challenge faced by the Codebreakers. Alan Turing and Gordon Welchman developed the Bombe machine (detailed later in the post) to speed up the breaking of Enigma, so that messages could be deciphered in time for them to remain operationally relevant. The lid and the front flap of the Enigma machine below are open so you can see all the components: the rotors, lampboard, keyboard and plugboard.

A crossword puzzle? No. The sign accompanying it reads: “This is a stencil hand cipher page found abandoned as German troops were retreating. Thin paper was placed over a daily changing grid of black and white squares. The message was written on the clear spaces, starting in a random square.”

Radio set and headset. The sign reads: “Equipment of the type used by Intercept Operators at Y Stations.”

Card catalogue.

Below is a Phoenix bombe reconstruct. Remember the 159 million million million different settings a German army and air force Enigma machine could have? The German navy’s Enigma machine could have 889 million million million settings. A successful run of the Bombe could reduce that to a million possible settings in about 20 minutes.

The Bombe’s job was to find a possible start-up configuration for the rotors in an Enigma machine. The spinning drums mimicked the rotors in the Enigma’s scrambling unit. They rotated through each of the possible configurations until a contender for the right one was found. If the Bombe stopped in the middle of its run, it meant that the Bombe had found that configuration along with a single possible plugboard connection.

A smaller machine, a checking machine (such as the rebuild of one shown below) would then be used to see if the result produced by the Bombe was correct or just a chance stop, and also to find out the remaining plugboard settings.

Another Enigma machine. This one was once owned by Italian dictator Mussolini! It also features 4 rotors, adding another layer of complexity. Adding a fourth rotor locked the code breakers out for ten months until they got new Bombes up and running.

Below is a display of equipment that was used for wireless interception.

Cool trench coat.

Dispatch riders (including many women!) used a motorcycle to get between stations.

More information below.

Alan Turing worked for Bletchley Park. Turing was crucial to the mission of deciphering the codes the Axis powers were using. He devised a number of techniques for speeding the breaking of German ciphers, and his work on the electromechanical bombe machine helped crack the settings that were used on the German Enigma machines. He is considered the father of theoretical computer science and artificial intelligence. Unfortunately, Turing was prosecuted after the war in 1952 for homosexual acts. It is a sad, horrific story that ends with his death in 1954. A war hero condemned by his own country, to which he had contributed so much. An essential genius at the forefront of a new scientific field who had so much more to give. All because of prejudice.

The display case shown below has several items that belonged to Turing including his teddy bear, Porgy.

A transceiver (transmitter/receiver) in a suitcase, used by German spies who parachuted into the U.K.

More information below.

The fight was not just with the Germans at sea, but with the Japanese as well.

Below is a flag that possibly belonged to a Japanese Kamikaze soldier.

More information below. (Along with the reflection of my shoe, sorry.)

The huts are where the men and women of Bletchley Park did their work. Some of them have been set up to recreate the working environment. They were really cool to see and I definitely recommend a visit if you are interested in this period of history.

The brick walls located around some of the huts (such as below) were there to help protect from bomb blasts. The new brick is a rebuild, the lower discoloured brick wall is from wartime.

A recreation of Alan Turing’s office.

Apparently he chained his tea mug to his radiator so it wouldn’t be taken. Coffee/tea mug politics are the same in any era it seems…

The hallway outside of his office.

Blackout curtains were drawn in each of the rooms, so it was hard to get a non-blurry picture of the exhibits.

Hut 11 & 11a were built to house the Bombe machines developed by Alan Turing and Gordon Welchman.  The Women’s Royal Naval Service (WRNs) operated the machines.

Below is the exhibit in Hut 11 that describes the Bombe machines and the workers of Hut 11 in more detail.

Heroes of a different feather.

Thank you for your service!

The work of Bletchley Park began in the mansion. Then the huts were quickly built to accommodate the project’s expansion.

Below the library is set up to look as it did during World War II.

Inside the mansion, there were some props and sets from the filming of The Imitation Game.

The bar and dance hall is a lot smaller than I thought it was… but I guess that’s Hollywood.

The reconstructed Bombe machine that was used in the movie.

A little pond and green space that the staff were welcome to use. They went skating in the winter time when the pond froze over.

Amusing real estate ad. How is a house “bomb resisting”?

A German radio receiver.

At first, I didn’t want to take any pictures of the Nazi flags, arm bands, or pennants. I didn’t want to glorify it or show any appreciation for it. But it’s history and, whether we like it or not, show it or not, it happened.

I had never actually seen any real Nazi items before my visit at Bletchley Park.

Those who don’t know (or most importantly, understand) their history are doomed to repeat it.

At the time I took these pictures, in June, I thought history would remain history. I didn’t realize. I didn’t know.

To end the post on a lighter note… Here are some treats spotted in the gift shop.

The work at Bletchley Park was part of the Official Secrets Act. For decades, little was known about the work that took place here. A friend of mine discovered that his grandmother had worked there during the war. She took her secrets to the grave, not sharing any of it with even her closest family members.

The National Museum of Computing is on the same site as Bletchley Park. We didn’t have time that day to visit, but would definitely like to do so in the future.

The view below overlooks the Thames, St. Paul’s Cathedral to the right, and the London Eye to the distant left.

Below is a closer view of the London Eye.

Closer look at St. Paul’s and some of the many construction cranes in the city. (There was construction everywhere!)

Overlooking Tower Bridge and the Tower of London.

A closer look at the Tower of London. A raven’s eye view, one might say.

A glimpse at the viewing floor in the Sky Garden at 20 Fenchurch. Also known as the “Walkie Talkie” building.

Afterwards, my partner and I walked to their company’s office in Soho and they got to meet some of their U.K. coworkers.

It was a grey, drizzly day so it was a good time to explore the British Museum! We didn’t have time to see everything, so we went on a 3 hour highlight tour.

Below are some ancient Egyptian columns and a sarcophagus. The items in this room range from 2600 B.C.E. to 2nd century C.E. More information here.

A close-up of the Egyptian hieroglyphs on the above sarcophagus.

A close-up of one of the Ancient Egyptian columns.

This had me feeling homesick for my cat.

A few more hieroglyphs.

The Assyrian Lion Hunt Reliefs were one of my favourite exhibits. Created in 645-635 B.C.E, these sculpted scenes graced the walls of a palace belonging to an Assyrian King in what is now northern Iraq. More information here.

Parthenon sculptures. The Parthenon was built in 447-432 B.C.E. as a temple dedicated to the goddess Athena. These sculptures, depicting figures from Greek mythology, once decorated the outside of the building. More information here.

There were two of these winged human-headed lions, dated from the 11th-8th century B.C.E. Together, they  flanked the entrance to an Assyrian palace. More information here.

Easter Island statue. Created around 1200 C.E. More information here.

Carved jade turtle from 1600 C.E. More information here.

These chess pieces were discovered on the Scottish Isle of Lewis. They were carved between 1150 and 1200 C.E. out of walrus ivory and whale tooth. More information here.

You’ll notice that the pawns lack any human features. Social commentary?

More chessman and some other Scandinavian gaming tokens, as well as a belt buckle.

Below: A helmet from the Sutton Hoo ship burial. 18 burial mounds were discovered in 1939 at Sutton Hoo, in Eastern England. The artefacts date from 610-635 C.E and were so extraordinary that it is believed the burial commemorated the death of a very high-ranking Anglo-Saxon man, even a King. The items serve as a time capsule into the Anglo-Saxon world. An impression of a 27-foot long ship was discovered in the ground. For more information, check out the British Museum’s page here. The helmet itself had been crushed into 500 pieces, and was painstakingly pieced back together.To the left, you can see a glimpse of a re-creation that shows what the helmet would have originally looked like.

An automated, mechanical galleon from 1580. The ship is a clock, the cannons fire, the figures move, and the ship propels forward. More information here.

Egyptian scroll.

We barely even scratched the surface of all the amazing exhibits that are in the Museum. A return trip is definitely necessary.

We also paid a visit to the Museum of London on Sunday, after we went to the Tower of London. Below are some of the exhibits that we saw there.

Below, a printed text of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales from 1542.

I wish I could remember what this was. Tiles? It was made of stone. I thought the faded roses were interesting.

Below is part of a painting of London as seen from Southwark, c. 1630. This is the earliest known painted view of London. St. Paul’s Cathedral is shown below as it was hundreds of years before Christopher Wren rebuilt it with its distinctive dome. It was still an impressive and imposing building.

Below is the other half of the painting. London Bridge is shown below. If you look closely to the end of the bridge closest to the viewer, you can see heads on pikes. Notice how London Bridge used to be covered with buildings! To the right you can see the Tower of London.

This was the first time I’ve seen one of these Victorian bikes in real life. They were actually real, and not just cartoons?

Anne Fanshawe’s dress, c. 1751. Made from brocaded silk. This would be a good way of making sure nobody sits on the bus beside you.

After the British Museum, my partner and I went to the British Library. The Treasures of the British Library collection was a real highlight. Unfortunately, you’re not allowed to take photos inside. We browsed: Jane Austen’s writing desk and her handwriting; a journal belonging to Leonardo da Vinci; one of only four copies of the Magna Carta; a Gutenburg Bible; an incredible exhibit on the art of book making throughout history; letters from Elizabeth I, Mary Queen of Scots, Winston Churchill (authorizing the Monuments Men); prints and texts from all major world religions; handwritten lyrics from the Beatles on a birthday card; original scores by Mozart, Beethoven. Handel and others; Thomas Moore’s Utopia; Beowulf; and all other kinds of historical documents. The free exhibit was definitely a favourite part of the trip, and it’s a must if you’ve ever studied or been entertained by literature.

That night, my partner and I also attended Wicked at the Apollo Victoria Theatre. It was my first musical, and I really enjoyed it! Again, no pictures, but sometimes it’s nice to just sit back and experience an outing and not worry about documenting it.

The White Tower, the central keep, is the innermost point of the site (pictured below). The Tower of London was built in the 1070s by William the Conqueror following his invasion and conquest of England. Nothing like the Tower had ever been seen in England before. It was a formidable demonstration of Norman power. The Tower was painted white in 1240 to make it seem more imposing (and thus definitely more memorable.) The top storey was added in 1490 and the onion-shaped turrets were added by Henry VIII.

Below is an artist’s rendition of what the Tower and its defences would have looked like when under construction.

Below, my partner is standing in front of the White Tower (the main keep) and the remains of a Roman wall.

The original design incorporated ruins of the Roman city walls, such as the one my partner is standing in front of. In the illustration below, you can see what that wall once looked like.

For fun, here is another angle of that wall, with Tower Bridge in the background.

Today’s entrance to the Tower of London is through the Byward Tower, a 13th century addition from Edward I who also added the outer curtain wall and moat.

The moat below was drained in 1845.

Some shots from the Tower grounds.

A crotchety yeoman of the guard.

Interestingly, the Tower wasn’t built as a prison (even though that would be one of its main functions) and there were no purpose-built prison cells. Prisoners were kept anywhere they would fit. In some of the buildings you can see prisoner graffiti carved into the walls, some of it very intricate.

Some prisoners were kept in conditions that were more comfortable than others, such as Sir Walter Raleigh, a favourite of Queen Elizabeth I. A reconstruction of his room is shown below. At the time of his imprisonment in 1592 and 1593, “the Bloody Tower” was simply known as “the Garden Tower.”

My favourite part of the Tower was the Medieval Palace. In St. Thomas’s Tower, there is a  re-construction of Edward I’s bedchamber as it might have looked like when he stayed there in 1294.

Did you know medieval people slept sitting up? They would crowd pillows all around them.

The Wakefield Tower features a replica throne, private audience chamber, and chapel.

The sun came out, and suddenly things were looking a lot more picturesque.

Traitor’s Gate.

I could get in trouble for this since you’re not allowed to take pictures of the Crown Jewels, but below is an exclusive shot of the Imperial State Crown. It doesn’t photograph that well. Trust me, it was much more beautiful in person.

And because I decided seeing a flower market and the Tower of London in one day was still not enough, we then moved onto the Museum of London.