Day of the Dead Oaxaca 2026: Beyond the Marigolds
The History, Traditions and the True Meaning of El Día de los Muertos
I'm David Cruz, a native of Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, Oaxaca, and Day of the Dead isn't something I learned from travel influencers or social media. I experienced El Día de los Muertos at home with family — with my grandmother in the markets, with my great-aunt in the cemeteries, and in the streets of my hometown for as long as I can remember. This is Day of the Dead as I know it: through the lens of lived experience, local history, and the people who keep these traditions alive.
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chapters
The History of Day of the Dead
How Do You Celebrate Day of the Dead?
How to Make a Day of the Dead Altar at Home
Pan de Muerto: The History and Oaxaca's Varieties
La Catrina and Skull Iconography of Day of the Dead
Flor de Muerto: The Aztec Cempasúchil Legend
Candlelight Vigil in Xoxocotlán, Oaxaca
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el camino a casa nunca se olvida
When is Day of the Dead in 2026?
Day of the Dead, or El Día de los Muertos, is observed annually in Mexico on November 1 and 2, with November 2 being the date most commonly associated with the holiday. In 2026, November 1 falls on a Sunday and November 2 falls on a Monday. However, most traditions, preparations, and public celebrations often begin by early October. At its heart, El Día de los Muertos is a Mexican tradition centered on remembering and honoring deceased loved ones through family gatherings, altars, food, marigold flowers, and other regional customs.
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What is Day of the Dead?
El Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a national holiday in Mexico observed each year on November 2. A holiday synonymous with the cultural identity of Mexico, akin to Mexican Halloween with regional iconography. And in recent years, Halloween and El Día de los Muertos have overlapped in Mexico, with many participating in pedir calaverita, or trick-or-treating. But while both holidays share a handful of similarities, the heart of El Día de los Muertos is centered on honoring passed loved ones, with no single official, correct way to observe the holiday. A deeply personal holiday anchored in ancient and contemporary Mexican pop culture.
A tradition where families build altars adorned with marigold flowers, bread, chocolate, and food to honor and remember their departed loved ones, with the season coming alive through public parades, local festivals and elaborate altars leading up to the holiday. Over time, many have created their own versions of the celebration, with some decorating the gravesites of loved ones as beautifully as the altars at home. However, since Day of the Dead is a federal holiday, it is a relatively quiet day all throughout Mexico, as the day is meant for private reflection at home with family, and many businesses close in observance. As a result, the core celebrations associated with El Día de los Muertos take place in the weeks leading up to November 2.
What Day of the Dead Means in Mexico and to Me
Most who celebrate Day of the Dead generally have a positive and uplifting sentiment toward this Mexican Catholic tradition because it has always been about intention. For many, it's a holiday of nightly festivals spent with friends and family. For some, it's a time to be thankful for the little — or much — God has provided them. For others, it can be a time of quiet mourning or a celebration of the lives and memories of those who are no longer with them.
For me, it's a time spent with my grandmother in Oaxaca. Trips to the outdoor markets to gather countless ingredients for the mole she makes from scratch, a two-day, labor-intensive process. Accompanying her to the central market to help her carry the dozens of pounds of marigold flowers for the altar. Quiet afternoons with her trying to decipher the neighborhood announcements echoing through the streets. It means waking up at 5 a.m. before sunrise, feeling the October chill in the air, hearing diesel engines in the distance, listening to airplanes take off nearby, and walking with her at night to pick up food from her favorite street vendor, the air filled with the smell of deep-fried masa. With the scent of marigold flowers lingering for the two weeks her altar is on display.
To me, El Día de los Muertos is not a single day to look forward to; it's an entire month spent with family in Oaxaca. And if you choose to celebrate this year, it doesn't matter how you do it. Because El Día de los Muertos isn't really about death — it's about connection. At its heart, the Day of the Dead season is a time to remember those who are no longer with us — family, friends, and pets — a reminder to appreciate the simple, ordinary moments with those who still are.
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The Origins and History of Día de los Muertos
The origin of El Día de los Muertos is a bit of a mystery, rooted in both Catholic and pre-Hispanic Mesoamerican pagan beliefs. When Indigenous communities crafted human-shaped figures from amaranth dough, decorated with prickly pear juice to symbolize blood and represent those who had crossed into Mictlan, the Aztec underworld. A proto version of today's pan de muerto.
But that's what we're told. I'm convinced they used real blood. Because when the Spanish Conquistadors arrived, they were horrified by the pagan blood rituals practiced by the native peoples of Tenochtitlán, the Aztec capital — now Mexico City. In the effort to assimilate these practices into Catholicism, the Catholic Church strategically aligned this pagan festival — originally celebrated in August — with the Catholic holidays of All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day at the beginning of November.
The original month-long festival dedicated to Mictlantecuhtli, the Lord of the Land of the Dead, was celebrated in the ninth month of the Aztec calendar, August. However, after the conquest of the New World, this celebration became intertwined with the Allhallowtide, a three-day Catholic observance consisting of All Hallows' Eve, All Saints' Day, and All Souls' Day, observed from October 31 to November 2.
The Catholic Traditions
The practice of praying for the deceased has been part of Christendom since the second century, when it was common to visit the tombs of Christian martyrs. In A.D. 732, Pope Gregory III dedicated a chapel in St. Peter's Basilica to all the saints, establishing what would become All Saints' Day. Later, in A.D. 998, Abbot Odilo of Cluny — a Benedictine monastery in France — formally established All Souls' Day on November 2 as a time to honor and remember the departed souls. In 1915, amid the devastation of World War I, Pope Benedict XV granted all priests the privilege of celebrating three Masses on All Souls' Day — a custom previously reserved for Spain, Portugal, and Latin America. Over time, All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day merged in practice and were celebrated together as part of El Día de los Muertos.
All Saints' Day — is a significant feast day in Catholicism observed on November 1 honoring all the saints and martyrs, known and unknown, throughout Christian history. This day shares similarities with the Celtic holiday of Samhain and the Roman festival of Lemuria.
All Souls' Day — observed on November 2, known as the Day of the Faithful Departed. It is a day of prayer during which people ask God to welcome the souls of the deceased as they begin their final journey to eternal life. Many attend Mass and visit the graves of loved ones on this day.
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How Mexico Celebrates Día de los Muertos
Even with its very long, albeit murky, history, you'd be surprised to learn that El Día de los Muertos has not been celebrated mainstream in Mexico for very long. For instance, it was only in 2008, when the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) recognized El Día de los Muertos as Mexico's Indigenous Festivity Dedicated to the Dead, as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. However, like many traditions in Mexico, the celebration was primarily observed in rural Indigenous communities, only gradually gaining mainstream attention in Mexico City in the 1980s, with the first major public celebration taking place in 1999 in El Zócalo, the historic center of Mexico City.
In fact! The now world-famous Día de los Muertos parade in Mexico City wasn't even a thing until after the opening scene of Spectre hit theaters in 2016, featuring a fictional version of the event — with the movie Coco giving the holiday more mainstream attention worldwide a year later.
Over time however, each region in Mexico adopted its own traditions, beliefs, and overall guidelines for how they observe the holiday. With a number of elements widely accepted as essential, like the construction of altars, the presence of pan de muerto, the use of cempasúchil (marigold flowers), colloquially called flor de muerto, traditional skull face makeup, and the enjoyment of calaveritas (skull-shaped candies). Local cemeteries throughout Mexico have their own unique customs as well, such as hosting La Noche de Vela on October 31 in my hometown Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, where it has become the crown jewel of Day of the Dead in Oaxaca.
Five Nights Before El Día de los Muertos
Those who celebrate El Día de los Muertos do so depending on where they live and what they believe, whether through the lens of Catholicism or a belief in the supernatural. The time between All Hallows' Eve and All Souls' Day when the veil between our world and the netherworld is believed to be at its thinnest. This belief is at the core of the five nights leading up to November 2, when specific souls are believed to return to the world of the living. But the heart of El Día de los Muertos takes place at home, because these five nights hold deep spiritual meaning, particularly for older generations like my grandma, and are a prime example of the hodgepodge that is El Día de los Muertos, rooted in Catholic and pre-Hispanic beliefs.
A time when families gather in their homes to build personal altars adorned with candles, marigold flowers, and cherished photographs of their departed loved ones, with abundant prayers, food, and drinks to honor and remember those who have passed away. And for tourists visiting Mexico during Day of the Dead, local parades and altars on display in hotel lobbies, restaurants, and public parks are often the most visible aspects of the celebration. Now, according to tradition, altar assembly should begin on October 28. But it's important to note that while these five nights are traditionally observed by many families, including my own in Oaxaca, they should be seen as starting-point guidelines rather than strict rules if you choose to celebrate El Día de los Muertos at home.
October 28 — On this night, the souls who perished in violent acts or suffered tragic deaths are said to walk among us. To welcome these souls, the first candle of the altar is lit, and a white flower is placed to guide them toward eternal peace.
October 29 — The second night of the celebration involves lighting a new candle and placing it on a base of water. This gesture is believed to help defenseless and forgotten souls find their way to peace and reunite with their loved ones.
October 30 — A new candle is lit with fresh water at the base of the altar, accompanied by bread symbolizing nourishment for the souls who died of hunger.
October 31 — On this night, a new candle is lit with a glass of fresh water, and additional bread and fruit are placed on the altar. It is believed that on this day, the souls of great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, and great aunts and uncles join the living.
November 1 — This day is known as Día de Todos los Santos (All Saints' Day). More food is added to the altar to welcome the souls of children, those who passed at birth or in the womb, as well as souls of exemplary integrity. Some refer to this day as Día de los Angelitos (Day of the Little Angels).
November 2 — Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead, All Souls' Day). Before dawn, the ringing of bells from local churches signals the arrival of all souls. Local cemeteries hold celebrations, with families adorning graves with marigold flowers, and food. Families gather to mourn, laugh, and enjoy food, Mezcal, and music — either at home or during cemetery picnics.
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La Noche de Vela in Xoxocotlán, Oaxaca
On the night of October 31, my hometown of Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán plays host to the crown jewel of Oaxaca's Day of the Dead celebrations: La Noche de Vela, held at the Mictlancíhuatl Cemetery, known locally as the panteón nuevo or panteón dos. The cemetery is named after Mictlantecuhtli, the lord of Mictlan, the Aztec underworld. This candlelight vigil marks the return of deceased loved ones from the underworld to the world of the living, transforming the neighborhood with food stalls, music, carnival games, and the occasional brand sponsor, all of which fill the streets between panteón nuevo and panteón viejo. The event is free and open to the public, starts in the afternoon and continues well into the morning of November 1.
This is where my great-uncle is buried, and my step-grandpa, who passed away in 2025, is buried in the panteón tres, nowhere near all the action. But in Mexican fashion, I'm sure they'll eventually figure out how to bring the party up the hill. Though I suspect many locals appreciate having a cemetery that hasn't been touched by tourists… yet. And both my grandpa, who passed away when my mom was a kid, and my uncle are buried at the San Juan Chapultepec cemetery in the hood. As for my great-grandparents, they're buried in their hometown of San Pedro Tidaá, a couple of miles outside Asunción Nochixtlán. Translation: it's far as hell from the city of Oaxaca.
The name Xoxocotlán comes from the Náhuatl word Xoxotl, meaning place of acidic fruits. Locally, everyone calls it Xoxo, pronounced ho-ho.
A Night Among the Dead in Xoxo
The preparations for the candlelight vigil in Xoxocotlán begin on October 30, when locals hike up Monte Albán to gather flor de crucecita (or panalito), a small flower with a distinctive fragrance used to decorate altars and graves. Until a few years ago, the residents of Xoxo would draw water from the Agua Bichita well on the morning of October 31. The water was said to have a sweetness and blue hue that gave the traditional drinks placed on the altars a better flavor — and supposedly made hot chocolate foam extra beautiful.
After returning from the hill, the men would head into the flatlands to collect crown-of-thorns flowers, which were used to cover the tables where everything on the altar would be arranged. Later that day, both markets set up their plaza de muertos, where women gather marigolds, flor de borla, pan de muerto, fruit, and everything else needed to welcome their departed loved ones home. At 3 p.m., the hour when Jesus was crucified, locals believe the angelitos, or souls of deceased children, arrive. To welcome them, the church bells ring the toque de angelito, a mournful rhythm said to sound like "mi nene, mi nene" The bells continue at intervals for the next 24 hours. After that first toque de angelito, people begin making their way to the cemeteries, carrying flowers, candles, and clay skulls to decorate their loved ones' graves. Once the graves have been adorned, families settle in for the night, keeping vigil as they warm themselves with mezcal or hot coffee.
At some point during the vigil, a procession makes its way to the panteón viejo, carrying San Sebastián from his temple to his former chapel in the old cemetery. He is accompanied by the Reliquary of the Virgin of the Rosary and a group of prayer singers who lead a sung rosary. At the cemetery entrance, a traditional brass band plays funeral marches as the procession arrives. By 7 a.m. on November 1, the vigil comes to an end. As the morning light comes up, people begin making their way home — accompanied, they say, by the angelitos who could not find their way back home the night before.
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Day of the Dead Parades in Oaxaca
While the cemetery candlelight vigils are the crescendo of Oaxaca's Day of the Dead season, the comparsas — Halloween-themed parades — are the lively celebrations that fill the streets with music, costumes, and a sense of community in the days leading up to the cemetery vigils, often continuing for a week or more after November 2. And for context: a colonia is a local neighborhood outside the historic centers of major Mexican cities, similar to a borough, barrio, or neighborhood. The term doesn't necessarily mean it's a low-income area. For example, Colonia del Valle is an affluent neighborhood in Mexico City. Coincidentally, my grandmother lives in the colonia of the same name in Oaxaca — but it's not a colonia where tourists, or even locals, go out of their way to visit. Not even gong lie.
The Four Parades of Oaxaca Explained
Oaxaca is world famous for its loud and colorful public parades, known as calendas, which wind through the cobbled streets of the historic center and neighboring colonias. So whether you're visiting for a weekend or an extended stay, chances are you'll come across at least one of these processions — maybe even a wedding or two. Now, at first glance, they can all kinda look the same, with their signature brass-heavy Mexican polka bands parading up and down the narrow streets. But each one has its own name, purpose, and cultural significance. So, let's break them down:
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Calendas are the most common parades you'll encounter in Oaxaca, celebrating everything from weddings and quinceañeras to workers’ union anniversaries, town festivals (mayordomías), birthdays, and even funerals. They often feature stilt walkers, giant puppets resembling the people being honored, and a massive ball called a marmota leading the procession. Some calendas also include female dancers known as Chinas Oaxaqueñas, typically seen at weddings and during the Guelaguetza in July.
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Comparsas are parades specifically for Día de los Muertos, organized by local municipalities, colonias, and workers' unions. Participants can dress up in either traditional folk costumes or Halloween-inspired outfits. Families and friends often coordinate around a theme, but there's usually a fee to participate in a full costume, especially when joining as a group. Depending on where the comparsa is held though, anyone can show up in a simple costume for free.
Throughout the night, several households and local businesses host the comparsa for about 15 to 30 minutes, tossing fruit, candy, snacks, and even plastic plates in the air. Bread, hot chocolate, and mezcal are sometimes served to the crowd at the host's home, but unless you're right up front, you won't get any. Comparasas in the colonias can often go until the early morning hours, and the money collected typically goes toward paying the band. It's worth noting that the term comparsa is also used in Spain and across Latin American countries for local carnival parades and religious festivals.
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Unique to the Etla region of Oaxaca, La Muerteada is a variation of the comparsa that lasts twenty-four hours, beginning in the afternoon of November 1 and ending at midday on November 2. The centerpiece of La Muerteada is a theatrical performance of a widow mourning her deceased husband, whom she tries to revive with the help of shamans and otherworldly beings. This event often includes political satire and commentary on current events. After the performance, La Muerteada continues with all the lively elements of a typical comparsa.
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La Octava means the eighth night and is a recreation of the original comparsa that took place exactly one week earlier at the same location. According to Catholic tradition, the mourning period for the deceased lasts nine nights, with the eighth night serving as a celebration of the deceased's life. It is a time to honor their memory, reflect on their legacy, and find comfort in the belief that their spirit lives on. La Muerteada also has its own accompanying octava celebration a week later.
Comparsas in El Centro vs Comparsas in Las Colonias
If you stay in Oaxaca Centro during Day of the Dead season, you're pretty much guaranteed to bump into a Día de los Muertos comparsa on any given night. There are, however, a couple differences between the ones in the downtown area and those in the colonias.
As you might have guessed, the comparsas in Oaxaca Centro are geared more toward tourists. They have a polished, choreographed look that leans heavily into traditional folklore themes. They're visually stunning, but are more of a spectacle for tourists where participation isn't really encouraged. Which isn't a bad thing, especially if you're a bottle of mezcal in — as you should be. On the other hand, comparsas in the colonias are chaotic, loud, Halloween-inspired, and a little dangerous. Not in a you're gonna get mugged kind of way, but more in a you might get hit by a flying plate, an orange, or rock-hard candy kind of way. You could even get burned by sparks from fireworks or a homemade flamethrower if you're not paying attention to your surroundings.
Either way, Day of the Dead parades in the hood are a much more communal experience than the tourist-centric parades in Oaxaca Centro, inviting you to immerse yourself in the festivities, which often continue well into the following morning. The comparsas in Centro offer a beautifully curated cultural experience, but if you're up for something a little wilder and more interactive, the ones in the colonias are where you'll find the true heart of Oaxaca's Day of the Dead celebrations.
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Day of the Dead Altar: How to Make an Ofrenda
The Day of the Dead altar, or ofrenda, is a tabletop shrine that families and local businesses build during El Día de los Muertos as an offering to honor departed loved ones while blending elements of both pre-Hispanic and Catholic traditions. The altar is adorned with food, beverages, photographs, marigold flowers, and other offerings that pay tribute to the deceased. Usually made up of several levels, the altar symbolizes the connection between the spiritual and physical worlds, with each level decorated with objects that reflect the person's culture and other significant aspects of their life and memory.
This ofrenda is universally recognized as the centerpiece of Día de los Muertos. Even when other symbols like pan de muerto, flor de muerto, and calaveras are quintessential to Day of the Dead, the altar remains the most iconic and the heart of the celebration. Just as it wouldn't be Christmas without the pine tree, or Halloween without the jack-o'-lantern, it simply wouldn't be Day of the Dead without the altar.
As you create your own Day of the Dead altar, remember that it is a personal expression of love and heartfelt sentiment. No matter which configuration you choose — even the Lego one — the true essence of building an altar lies in the intention and remembrance it represents. Whether elaborate or modest, the act of honoring your loved ones who have crossed over and preserving their memory is at the heart of the ofrenda, serving as a lasting connection between the living and the departed, transcending both physical and geographical boundaries.
The Symbolism of the Altar Levels
It's important to remember that any configuration of a Día de los Muertos altar is a general guideline rather than a strict rule — though Mexican grandmas will disagree because they will say you must do things the way they should be done. Or don't do it at all. That said, you have the freedom to personalize your altar based on your economic resources, available space at home, and personal preferences. A framed photograph of your loved one alongside a single candle, or even the Lego Altar of the Dead, is a meaningful tribute and fully embraces the spirit of El Día de los Muertos. Because Day of the Dead is about intention, not approval. So while altars can vary in structure and symbolism, these are the three most commonly built:
Two-Tier Altars — Symbolize the division between heaven and earth, representing heavenly blessings and earthly harvests.
Three-Tier Altars — Represent heaven, earth, and the underworld. Influenced by European traditions associated with earth, purgatory, and heaven, reflecting the Catholic belief in the Holy Trinity.
Seven-Tier Altars — Represent the seven levels the soul must traverse to reach spiritual peace. Tied to pre-Hispanic cosmology and the soul's journey through Mictlán, the underworld, this symbolism is rooted in Aztec culture and linked to different destinies based on how a person passed away.
How to Build a Traditional Ofrenda
The beauty of a Day of the Dead altar is its flexibility. Whether your budget allows for something grand or a simple, heartfelt tribute, each altar is a unique expression of who you are and how you choose to remember your loved ones. Some altars focus on traditional foods and bread, while others, like the one my grandmother puts together, emphasize an abundance of marigold flowers, and fruit with an arch made of sugar cane to symbolize the portal to the netherworld. And while I can't tell you how YOU should assemble your own altar or even what you should decorate it with, I can recommend items that are universally accepted as essential elements of a Day of the Dead altar.
These items or ofrendas, are believed to allow the souls to enjoy the aromas of the food, savor the taste of the fruit, and behold the vibrant marigold flowers placed in their honor — acting as guiding lights, illuminating the path for the dead to return to this realm. Allowing the realms of the living and the dead to converge, creating a space where they coexist. Typically, the offerings are placed on a two-level altar symbolizing heaven and earth. A third level can be added to represent purgatory, while the most elaborate altars feature seven levels, symbolizing the seven steps toward eternal rest. And while there is no fixed formula for creating a Día de los Muertos ofrenda, you can include any combination of the following elements in your own altar at home.
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Archway — Found at the top of the altar, the arch symbolizes the gateway to the world of the dead. Often made from sugar cane and decorated with marigold flowers, candies, and fruit, it represents the passage between the earthly and spiritual worlds.
Beverages — Alcoholic drinks such as tequila, pulque, or rompope (a traditional Mexican eggnog) are sometimes placed on altars, especially if they were enjoyed by the deceased. Non-alcoholic beverages like hot chocolate, coffee, and soda are also common offerings.
Bread — Pan de muerto (Day of the Dead bread), a sweet bread placed on the altar, represents fraternity and nourishment for the spirits.
Candles — Representing fire, candles illuminate the path for the soul, with each candle symbolizing a deceased individual. Purple candles signify mourning, white represents purity, and candles arranged in the shape of a cross symbolize the four cardinal points guiding the soul's journey.
Confetti (Papel Picado) — Colorful paper cutouts featuring intricate designs, often associated with the work of José Guadalupe Posada, bring vibrant energy to the altar. Traditionally, purple represents mourning and faith, while yellow symbolizes life and the light of the sun.
Copal — Fragrant elements like rosemary, thyme, and marjoram, along with incense and copal resin, purify the environment and attract the spirits to the offerings.
Cempasúchil — Marigold flowers (flor de muerto), with their bright colors and distinct fragrance, guide the souls to the altar. Many believe their petals act as lights, illuminating the path for the dead to return to this realm. In some altars, other flowers like tulips and birds of paradise are also used.
Family Photographs — Photographs of deceased family members are placed on the altar to honor their memory. In some traditions, the photos are hidden behind a mirror, representing their spiritual presence.
Food — Traditional dishes such as mole, tamales, tacos, and Mexican fruits like tejocote and pumpkin are offered, as well as pan de muerto.
Itzcuintli — A toy representation of the Itzcuintli (or Xoloitzcuintli) dog, believed to help guide souls across the Chiconauhuapan River to the underworld.
Ornaments — Decorative figures, floral ornaments, and chains made of crepe paper in purple and yellow are added. Purple represents death, while yellow symbolizes life.
Petate — A woven palm mat or basket used to rest the souls. In some homes, it serves as the base of the altar for holding food and offerings.
Personal Belongings — Garments, toys, and objects associated with the deceased's life, profession, or hobbies are placed on the altar.
Religious Symbols — Crucifixes, often made from ash, salt, or marigold petals, are placed on the altar to represent the Catholic influence on the tradition.
Salt — Considered essential, salt symbolizes purification and helps preserve the body for its journey.
Seeds and Spices — Seeds, spices, and fruits represent the earth. Patterns made from cocoa or corn seeds are common, though colored sawdust is often used as well.
Sugar Skulls — Made of chocolate, amaranth, or sugar, these skulls represent death and add color and flavor to the altar.
Water — Glasses of water are placed on the altar to quench the spirits’ thirst after their long journey.
Whether you build an elaborate display or a simple setup, what matters most is the intention behind it. Every item on your altar serves a specific symbolic role, each representing one of the four elements — earth (food, seeds, pan de muerto), fire (candles), water (to quench the spirits' thirst), and air (papel picado) — while others, like salt, flowers, and photographs, help purify, guide, and honor the souls who return. Each item reminds us that Day of the Dead is a layered tradition where Aztec cosmology, Catholic faith, and personal memory all coexist. From the archway that marks the passage to the underworld, to the marigolds that light the path home, to the favorite foods and belongings that make the spirit feel welcome — each element carries meaning; nothing is random decoration. It is a carefully balanced world built from love, memory, and symbolism, where every item helps bridge the living with the dead.
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The History of Mexico's Pan de Muerto
Pan de muerto is a traditional orange and anise flavored sweet bread baked during El Día de los Muertos as a decoration for altars honoring deceased loved ones and as a treat to be enjoyed by the living throughout the season. El pan de muerto represents family unity and is an essential element of Day of the Dead, similar to the mooncake during the Lunar Festival in East Asia, the Italian pan dei morti, and the English soul cake. With my home state of Oaxaca offering eight regional varieties made with unique local ingredients reflecting the culinary traditions of its eight diverse communities.
But pan de muerto is more than a seasonal sugar covered sweet bread — it's a synthesis of indigenous and colonial histories, embodying the Mexican experience: the blending of indigenous and colonial worlds, survival through conquest, and remembrance through ritual. An ordinary bread to most, but to many, an idealistic and patriotic Mexican icon, a living cultural artifact. And to understand pan de muerto is to understand Mexico itself — layered, complex, and still evolving, from an ancient ritual to a modern symbol of resilience. The story of Mexico itself, baked into a simple loaf of bread.
Pan de Muerto in Contemporary Mexico
The first known depiction of pan de muerto appears in the 1860 painting El Bodegón de Panes con Naranja by José Agustín Arrieta. The first published recipe for pan de muerto can be found in Josefina Velázquez de León's Repostería Selecta, published in 1938. Today, Mexico is home to around 700 regional varieties of pan de muerto — a figure supported by the Comisión Nacional para el Conocimiento y Uso de la Biodiversidad and the Secretaría de Cultura — with the iconic turtle-shell design, decorated with crossbones known as a hojaldra, being the most popular and recognized variety in and outside of Mexico.
Before Bread: Offerings in Ancient Mexico
The proto version of pan de muerto looked nothing like the one we have today, since wheat was not introduced to Mexico until after 1525. In those days, they would prepare something similar to a tortilla or a tamal made from amaranth, dried and toasted corn, with agave honey, and a butterfly stamped onto the dough. It was called papalotlaxcalli, meaning butterfly tamal. According to the Durán Codex, it was an offering to the goddess Cihuapipiltin, who watched over women who had died during childbirth; the codex later describes it as an offering placed at the tzompantli, an altar of skulls honoring people who had been sacrificed in rituals to the gods.
Many theories connect the history of pan de muerto with human sacrifices carried out particularly by the Mexica. Some accounts mention a type of tamal made with amaranth and the blood of sacrificed people, which was buried alongside the belongings of the deceased. Other historians state that figurines were made of amaranth dough and covered in prickly-pear juice as offerings to their gods. These figurines represented those who had crossed into Mictlán, the Aztec underworld. However, the exact materials used in these offerings are heavily debated; some, like myself, speculate they may have included real human body parts and blood as well. Today, amaranth is used to make alegrías, a favorite of my mom's.
From Wheat to Pan de Ánimas in Colonial Mexico
While the introduction of wheat, bread, and bakeries to the New World is reluctantly credited to Hernán Cortés, who, like me, could not live without bread, sometime between 1521 and 1529, many agree it was in 1525, Cortés, as Marqués del Valle de Oaxaca, commissioned the first mill and bakery to be built on the outskirts of Oaxaca, in the Etla region, to ensure a steady supply of fresh bread. At the same time, historians hold the theory that our modern pan de muerto is derived from pan de ánimas, an anthropomorphic bread that was offered to deceased people on All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day in some parts of Spain, such as Castile, Portugal, Aragon, and Sicily, with the custom remaining in Mexico, where, in some places, these breads came to be known as animitas.
The Symbolism of the Hojaldra Pan de Muerto
The hojaldra is a piece of anthropology dusted with sugar, and every part of this pan de muerto variant tells a story. The round shape represents the cycle of life and death — a reminder that one cannot exist without the other. The bone-like strips across the top symbolize the limbs of the departed, while the small knob at the center represents the skull. Some say the crossed pieces echo the four cardinal points, each tied to pre-Hispanic beliefs of the four elements and the gods who ruled over them. The bread's orange blossom flavor is meant to honor the souls of the dead, as the scent of flor de azahar was traditionally used in offerings.
Clockwise from top: Pan de muerto from Ocotlán de Morelos; pan de muerto from Villa Sola de Vega; pan de yema from Oaxaca City; and pan de pulque from San Pedro Tidaá.
Pan de Muerto in Oaxaca: Eight Regional Varieties
The hojaldra is the most common variety of pan de muerto you'll find in most bakeries throughout Mexico and Mexican bakeries in America, but in Oaxaca, you'll find at least eight varieties, each representing one of eight distinct regions. The most popular of them is the pan de yema, believed to have originated in Santo Domingo Tomaltepec, near El Árbol del Tule. El pan de yema is available year-round, but during the Day of the Dead season, it features a flour-baked face known as an alfeñique, a sugar skull candy. I call this bread the Jesus Bread, a name coined by my white American now-ex-wife, who pointed it out at El Valle Oaxaqueño, a bakery on Venice & Vermont in Los Angeles after looking at the little faces on the bread.
And in the southern and coastal regions of Oaxaca, the bread is often shaped like a human figure, called an ánima, as a dedication to the deceased being honored. However, obtaining many of these regional varieties of pan de muerto in Oaxaca is a mission for two reasons. First, most artisan products are typically only available in their respective local communities. Second, these unique breads are baked within a very limited timeframe. So unless you have connections within rural communities who can provide advance notice of availability, they can be difficult to acquire in the second half of October, when they are baked and sold.
That said, each year my great-aunt painstakingly gathers an assortment of pan de muerto from various regions in Oaxaca and Mexico City. The sight of her altar, adorned with an incredible array of breads — each with its own shape, design, and flavor — is incredible to witness. She has everything from the traditional hojaldra to the lesser-known pan de pulque, a collection that beautifully showcases the rich diversity of both Mexican and Oaxacan pan de muerto — a true labor of love, preserving and honoring our cultural heritage.
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Flor de Muerto: The Symbolism of the Marigold Flower
The most iconic element of Day of the Dead is the marigold flower, cempasúchil (Tagetes erecta), from the Nahuatl language, meaning the twenty-petaled flower. Known locally as Flor de Muerto, marigolds adorn altars, window displays, doorways, and local businesses with their vibrant color and captivating scent, honoring the enduring love of the deceased. It is believed that their bright petals guide the spirits of the departed back to their families during the Day of the Dead festivities.
Beyond their symbolic role, marigolds are also valued for their medicinal properties, including their anti-inflammatory and antiseptic qualities. Harvested throughout October, the marigold has become a defining element of the ofrenda — an offering that connects the living with the dead. In Oaxaca, the season for planting Flor de Muerto begins on June 24, on the Feast Day of Saint John the Baptist, marking the start of the rainy season. But even though the marigold has become synonymous with Day of the Dead, the following obscure Aztec legend tells the story of the flower's origin in ancient Mexico.
The Legend of Xóchitl and Huitzilin: The First Aztec Marigold Flower
In the time of the Aztecs, two young lovers, Xóchitl and Huitzilin, shared a bond that began in childhood. They explored their village hand in hand, embarking on adventures and creating cherished memories together. Although delicate, Xóchitl bravely accompanied Huitzilin on many of their escapades. Over time, their friendship blossomed into a deep and enduring love.
One of their favorite activities was climbing a nearby mountain to offer flowers to the sun god, Tonatiuh. The god of the sun appeared to bless their offerings, smiling down upon them with his warm rays. On one such day, they made a vow to love each other for all eternity. But tragedy struck when war came, and Huitzilin was called to fight. Not long after, Xóchitl received the heartbreaking news of his death. Devastated, she climbed the mountain one final time, praying to the sun god for a miracle to reunite her with her beloved.
Moved by her plea, Tonatiuh cast a ray of sunlight that touched Xóchitl's cheek, transforming her into a beautiful marigold with fiery petals as radiant as the sun. At that moment, a hummingbird flew down to touch the flower's center — it was Huitzilin, reborn in the form of a hummingbird. As the flower unfurled its twenty petals, it released a magical fragrance, symbolizing the eternal bond between the lovers. From that day on, the presence of cempasúchil flowers and hummingbirds on Earth would forever remind us of their undying love.
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La Bruja and La Llorona of Oaxaca
Two songs synonymous with El Día de los Muertos are La Bruja and La Llorona, both originating in the Istmo region of Tehuantepec, Oaxaca. La Bruja is often considered a Veracruz song because the first recording of Jarocho music was made in 1954 by the Tierra Blanca group, with La Bruja as its featured song. It later gained mainstream recognition in 1982 through the album Veracruz Son y Huapango, recorded by Tlen Huicani and Lino Chávez. Personally, I prefer the Rosy Arango version.
But despite its association with Veracruz, La Bruja is technically a native Oaxacan song. It was originally composed by José Luis López Santiago, a native of Matías Romero, Tehuantepec, Oaxaca, who later moved to Tierra Blanca, Veracruz. The song was originally performed in the traditional Istmo musical style but was later adapted for harp and jarana, which helped give it the Jarocho identity it is often associated with today.
As for La Llorana, the song itself has no known author; rooted in folklore of the Istmo region of Tehuantepec, Oaxaca, where it emerged as part of the traditional sones istmeños. And because the song was passed down orally, it belongs to the public domain, with verses evolving over time as people added new lines and improvised lyrics to the rhythm of the music. The Oaxacan writer and poet Andrés Henestrosa helped compile and popularize some of its most famous verses beginning in 1941. Since then, La Llorona has been immortalized by generations of artists, including Chavela Vargas, Lila Downs, Beirut, and Ángela Aguilar, each bringing their own interpretation to one of Mexico's most enduring traditional songs. And according to local legend, this was the story behind the song…
The Legend of La Llorona of Tehuantepec, Oaxaca
A young man from Tehuantepec traveled to a neighboring community for a celebration called Titán. There, he met a beautiful young woman as she was leaving the church, dressed in the famous regional costume known as a huipil. Captivated by her beauty, he courted her and eventually gained her parents' blessing to marry her. But then the Revolution came to Oaxaca, and the men of the region were called upon to fight. Before leaving for war, the young man left his wife these words:
"I remember when we went to the river, and the flowers of the field seemed to cry with you. The clouds in the sky are nothing compared to your smile, which now calls to me because the peace of our country has been stolen. I will return to you and our future family. I will never stop loving you, in this life or in death."
At last, the day of his departure arrived. As they said goodbye, tears streamed down her face. He held her hands and gently wiped them away. Seeing that she could not stop crying, he called her Llorona, knowing she feared he might never return. He swore that he would come back to her, in life or in death, and she vowed to wait for him. The young man went off to war, but he never returned. Some time later, a friend came back to the town and told her, "Your husband was struck by bullets, and his wounds were so terrible that there was nothing anyone could do to save him. But as he lay dying, he asked me to tell you that he would always love you and hoped you would forgive him. He also gave me this letter for you."
She wept over the letter and never remarried, waiting to be reunited with her beloved in paradise. A week after receiving news of her husband's death, their son was born. And so, every October 30, they would dine together — wife and son in the land of the living, and the husband in the kingdom of the dead — until the great eagle finally reunited them. As time passed, their story became a local folk song, passed down through generations and surviving in the realm of the living to this day.
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La Catrina and La Calavera Oaxaqueña
La Catrina is the undisputed icon of El Día de los Muertos: an elegant, skeletal woman wearing a massive French-style hat adorned with feathers and flowers. She's found everywhere, from professional Catrina makeup tutorials to kitschy Party City napkins during the Day of the Dead season. But the reality is that La Catrina was never meant to be a holiday icon. She started out as political satire, and her story begins with the man who created her.
By 1892, in his Mexico City workshop, José Guadalupe Posada, a printmaker and political satirist from Aguascalientes, created broadsheets for the masses: cheap, accessible prints that criticized the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz, a native of Miahuatlán, Oaxaca. A former strategic general who defeated the French at the Battle of Puebla — the very reason Americans celebrate Cinco de Drinko… I mean, Cinco de Mayo today. And I'm of the camp that El Porfiriato was THE BEST thing that happened to Mexico, but most people aren't ready for that conversation yet.
Anyway, Posada's broadsheets were designed to be seen by everyone. They were inexpensive, easy to distribute, and often pasted in public places, using simple illustrations of calaveras to communicate complicated political and social ideas to a largely working-class audience. A favorite of mine is La Calavera Oaxaqueña, which you'll recognize as my own logo. In Posada's world, politicians, the elite, criminals, revolutionaries, and ordinary people could all become skeletons. Some skellies were playful, violent, or even sympathetic. But they all carried the same core truth: social status doesn't mean much when death comes for us all. Because no matter who we are in life, we eventually end up as a pile of bones.
La Calavera Garbancera
In 1910, Posada created an image he titled La Calavera Garbancera. The word garbancera, or chickpea lady, was a derogatory term for Indigenous or mestiza women who distanced themselves from their Indigenous identity by adopting European clothing and customs to pass themselves off as French or Spanish. Since garbanzos were a little more expensive than corn, many made off with a pretty profit, elevating themselves into a higher social status by purchasing these extravagant, gaudy, kitschy hats.
The original drawing featured only the skeletal head and the oversized French hat, with a simple intended message: You can cover yourself in expensive European fashion, but in the end, we are all just a pile of bones. A reminder that death is the true equalizer, and that pretending to be someone you're not is futile against the inevitable. Like most artists, however, Posada died in poverty, and his art went largely forgotten. Thankfully, decades later, muralist Diego Rivera rediscovered his work and included La Garbancera in his 1947 mural, Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Central Park, pulling Posada's skeletons out of obscurity and cementing their legacy in Mexican pop culture and the icons of El Día de los Muertos.
But Rivera didn't simply resurrect her. He transformed her, giving her a full body, dressing her in an elegant gown and feather boa, and renaming her La Catrina. Catrín is slang for a well-dressed, upper-class dandy, so La Catrina was essentially the female version: an elegant, Europeanized socialite. Rivera also layered her with new Mexican and Indigenous symbolism, transforming Posada's original satire into something that could represent Mexico's complicated relationship with its Indigenous past, European influence, revolution, life, death, and rebirth.
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The True Meaning of El Día de los Muertos
When you strip away all the iconic symbols, the true meaning of El Día de los Muertos is simple: remembering those who have passed away. Whether it's through an elaborate altar or by simply going through a box of photos. How you choose to remember them is up to you. This tradition reminds us that those closest to us are never truly gone and encourages us to appreciate those who are still here with us, because one day, they too will become part of the stories we carry forward. The history of El Día de los Muertos is complicated. Its traditions and beliefs vary. But the underlying act — remembering the people and pets you love — is remarkably simple and universal.
el camino a casa nunca se olvida
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A curated list of elegant historic haciendas in Guadalajara, Jalisco.