Three Nights When the Dead Come Home: Field Notes From Oaxaca’s Día de Muertos
By ten o’clock on the last night of October, Oaxaca smells like marigolds, copal smoke, and frying dough. Brass bands are working their way up streets you thought you knew, entire families are picnicking beside gravestones under thousands of candles, and nobody — not one person — is wearing a costume. They’re wearing photographs pinned … Read more