When a gas-can-like decanter filled with mezcal began making its way around our 15-passenger van, I knew I was in for a wild night. It was barely 5 PM, and we were rolling north out of Oaxaca City on Highway 190 toward San Gabriel Etla, a Zapotec village of roughly 500 people in the municipality of San Juan Bautista Guelache. It was November 1, the Day of the Dead, and the mood among the face-painted revelers in our group of international travelers fell somewhere between sheer excitement and nervousness. I could never have predicted the shenanigans that awaited us in the streets of Etla, which began with dinner at a local family’s home and ended with a party-hopping parade across the town that carried on until the sun came up. Oaxaca City comes to life in October, with calaveras de azúcar placed in shop windows and the streets lined with marigolds, skeletons, and papel picado. But if you visit for the holiday itself, the best thing to do is get out of the city and experience this unique holiday in a small town in the hills. Here’s what it’s like to do so.
What It's Really Like to Celebrate Day of the Dead in Rural Oaxaca
Experiencing Day of the Dead in San Gabriel Etla
In the fall of 2019, my wife and I spent two months living in Oaxaca City, where we rented a studio apartment a few blocks from the Zocalo (central square). We timed the trip to conclude just after Dia de los Muertos, the annual celebration of lives past, where families set photos of deceased family members on a temporary alter called an ofrenda in their home. Tradition states that those with photos on the ofrenda can visit relatives in the world of the living for one night only, before crossing back over to the land of the dead. We’d signed up for the Day of the Dead in San Gabriel Etla experience with the tour operator Coyote Aventuras in hopes of learning more about the holiday and experiencing it firsthand.
Upon arriving in San Gabriel Etla around 6 PM, a family of eight welcomed us into their home and served us the holiday’s traditional meal of Pan de Muerto, tamales, and pozole. Celebrations on this night include this traditional family meal and, of course, enough mezcal that the word decanter hardly seems appropriate to describe its storage container – if “gas can” is too disconcerting a descriptor, we’ll just call it a large plastic jug with a nozzle dispenser, that sat near the head of the table. Conversation over dinner flowed in Spanish and English as the recipes and family traditions were explained. The meal was incredible, and it was humbling to be a total stranger (one of 12) invited into this home to dine with a multi-generational family that included elders and school-aged children celebrating one of their most sacred holidays. I couldn’t imagine that ever happening in the United States.
After dinner, the father gathered those of us interested around the mezcal jug for a final toast. At this point I raised my glass and uttered one of the most useful sayings I’d learned during my time in Oaxaca – “¡La ultima y nos vamos!” (one more and then we go!) – which drew hearty laughter from our hosts.
Then, we marched up the road to a basketball court outside the community church. When we arrived, a brass band was already warming up, kids and grandparents packed into the square. All wore masks, and scattered around the court were costumed performers who stood on stilts. People stood around talking, laughing, and pouring each other mezcal from the giant jugs, of which each family and group seemed to have its own. I’d put the total crowd at around 250 people. We’d been there about 10 minutes when the entire place exploded into action. The band dove head-on into an upbeat dance tune. Everyone around us started jumping up and down and bumping into each other joyfully as though we were in some sort of mosh pit masquerade. Stilt performers moved through the crowd, sliding their stilted legs through the chaos with the precision of a slinking Komodo dragon. They even seemed to do so in a somewhat coordinated unity, acting as dance leaders and facilitators of the uncanny revelry.
Performances complemented the live music at each stop along the route. Photo: Tim Wenger
The party went on for about 20 minutes, mezcal flowing, no breaks. Then, as unexpectedly as it had started, the band stopped and everyone began filing out of the court and onto the street. We joined the procession as it moved a few hundred feet down the road and into someone’s backyard. Here, the stilt performers again dispersed among the crowd, and the band set up behind the partygoers. But instead of launching into all-out chaos again, we were first treated to a short theatrical performance enacting a Day of the Dead crossover. Then the raucous dancing took place once again, for about 10 minutes this time. A second house followed, with a local theater troupe folding in political gossip and song between rounds of dancing.
My awareness of time ceased around the fourth stop of the night, somewhere between the jumping and the fact that my mezcal glass never seemed to make its way to empty. But I’m certain we spent at least a couple hours like this, moving between people’s homes, each with a performance and short dance party. At last we made our way to the end of the street. Then, we turned around and the night closed with a staggering parade back up the street to the basketball court. Bands traveled in just for the procession, elaborate costumes were aplenty, and food stalls along the side of the road sold cans of beer or pours of mezcal to those who’d run dry. I was kissed by a drag queen, of which there is photo evidence. The party continued until dawn, though at some point between 11 PM and midnight our crew gathered back into the van to head back to the city.
I hope our driver was paid extra that night, because he missed out on the craziest party I’ve ever been to. Vibes were high on the drive back to Oaxaca City. We spent the 45 minutes or so belting out pop songs in soft-sided unison and recounting the night’s craziest happenings. I remarked that during the dance parties as well as the parade, I felt as though I were on psychedelics, even though I wasn’t – the experience was that surreal and incomparable to anything else I’d ever done before.
How to prepare yourself to celebrate Day of the Dead in Oaxaca
The parade back to the basketball court was a highlight of the night. Nearly everyone was constumed. Photo: Tim Wenger
Before heading to San Gabriel Etla, we’d met our tour guides on a local restaurant patio for a warm-up cocktail and a preview of what was to come. Here, guests had the chance to have their faces painted in a traditional manner, though there’s no pressure to do so if you aren’t comfortable. I didn’t do it, not because I’m anti-face paint but because I was concerned about perceptions of cultural appropriation – we’re already crashing a party we don’t fully comprehend, do we need to dress the part, too? Perhaps it’s the journalist in me but I felt fine simply being an observer (albeit, one who took part in plenty of mezcal). That said, this topic came up during conversation at dinner and those who opted for the face paint were assured that it’s not viewed as disrespectful. There’s also no pressure to dress up, though many people wear dresses and masks. These are available at shops throughout Oaxaca in the weeks preceding Day of the Dead.
Coyote Aventuras did a fantastic job coordinating the excursion and even despite the freeflowing nature of the event itself, the guides remained with the group and we never felt unsafe or unsure of our surroundings. The company compensates the family who fed us and actively works in the community. We chose this tour specifically because we’d taken a hiking tour with Coyote earlier in our time in Oaxaca, and the guide (Yesi) was so fantastic that when she mentioned she was leading this experience, we knew that’s where we wanted to be. 