Mexico has got creative with ice cream flavors, as you might expect from a country with such a rich culinary history. (Michael Fousert/Unsplash)
Living in the Riviera Maya, I see a lot of ceviche. It’s everywhere. Even my neighbor’s son just started a ceviche business — along with the couple of hundred other places you can get ceviche in Cozumel.
So imagine my surprise when I was exploring the central highlands on a trip to Querétaro and Guanajuato and saw ceviche ice cream.
Yes, sorbets and ice creams may have meat and seafood flavours in Mexico. (Bel Woodhouse)
Whaaaaat?!! My brain tried to picture it. Citrusy, seafoody, cilantro-y ice cream? Nope, couldn’t picture it. But the lady next to me at the ice cream stand tried it and said it was “maravilloso” (marvelous). So it got me thinking.
Hmmm … am I missing out?
Along with other unique ice cream flavors like shrimp, michelada and mole, there were also the sweets like lavender, avocado, and angel’s kisses.
I’d never heard of this before and was fascinated. Guanajuato surprised me with its delicious and unique gastronomical delights. I say unique because I’ve never seen or had some of these things before. Which, being a bit of a foodie, is saying something.
I’m normally the first one with my hand up to try something new. And Guanajuato delighted not only my explorer’s heart, but my adventurous taste buds as well. So ceviche ice cream was just the start.
Guanajuato’s delightful foodie surprises
Venturing out on my first morning in Guanajuato, I was delighted by another foodie surprise. Homemade blueberry cheesecake by a local family. Their smiling daughter was in a local park and asked if I’d like “the best vegan cheesecake ever.” Now, I admit I was curious. And always up for something new, I grabbed a slice. After all, one of my dearest friends is gluten intolerant, so I’m always on the lookout for something that may be amazing for her.
And it was. It was very tasty indeed. Especially since I’d never actually had a sugar-free, lactose-free, gluten-free dessert before. But standing in that park, we giggled at my reaction to a very tasty treat that ended up being my breakfast.
She gave a big thumbs-up as we laughed when I told her this. I mean, if it’s gluten-free, lactose-free and sugar-free, it can’t be that bad, right?
Not like the three little pigs.
The little pigs
Not what you think. These little piggies, bollos preñaos, are adorable stuffed pastries. Shaped into cute little pig faces, it was love at first bite. Fantastic for my taste buds, bad for my waistline. They were my obsession the whole time I was in Guanajuato.
My father almost dropped the phone one night when I said, “Dad, I’ve been eating the cutest little piggies.” See, I’ve been a vegetarian for over a decade, so I swear he was in shock and stopped breathing until I explained what they were. Sorry, Dad!
Stuffed with savory or sweet fillings, I was eating these delicious little pigs every day! My favorite savory was the mushroom. My favorite sweets were … well … umm … all of them! I’m embarrassed to say it, but if I had to choose, it would either be the zarzamora con queso(blackberry and cheese) or the até de membrillo con queso crema (quince paste with cream cheese).
I know, I know: My waistline will never be the same, but in my defense, they were heaven. And rich. It is a very decadent thing, a blackberry cheese piggy. And quince paste with cream cheese is one of my all-time favorite things ever, so for my palate, they were irresistible.
And at US $1 each, I couldn’t resist!
Mexico Correspondent for International Living, Bel is an experienced writer, author, photographer and videographer with 500+ articles published both in print and across digital platforms. Living in the Mexican Caribbean for over 7 years now, she’s in love with Mexico and has no plans to go anywhere anytime soon.
WASHINGTON, D.C. — In yet another bold display of unconventional diplomacy, U.S. President Donald Trump announced Monday that he is “absolutely, one-hundred-percent open” to delivering holiday gifts directly to Mexican drug cartel leaders, insisting the initiative has nothing to do with intimidation and everything to do with spreading goodwill across borders.
“Would I launch strikes in Mexico? Sure, that’s OK with me,” Trump told reporters, pausing in the Oval Office to check off items on his holiday shopping list titled ‘Addresses of Mexico’s Most Wanted — For Festive Purposes Only.’ “People think I know all the cartels’ addresses because of national security, but really, I just want to know where to send Christmas gifts for the kids and flowers to their wives. It’s how you build ties, folks.”
With the holiday season almost here, President Trump has suggested he is open to delivering some Christmas cheer via UAV.
The president emphasized that his administration’s detailed knowledge of every drug lord’s residential coordinates is purely for “surprise holiday delivery purposes,” including luxury gift baskets and what he described as “really beautiful, top-quality poinsettias”.
Trump assured the public his administration’s knowledge of every drug lord’s home isn’t just about “knowing their front door for military reasons” — it’s so he can surprise their loved ones with luxurious fruit bouquets and copies of ‘The Art of the Deal’ signed in glitter pen.
He was also quick to note that much of the narcotics entering the U.S. “come through Mexico,” and that recently imposed tariffs on Mexican imports are simply his way of “encouraging better Secret Santa participation” across the border.
Mexico’s President Claudia Sheinbaum responded by publicly affirming that foreign gift-delivery services must coordinate with Mexican customs authorities, but did not rule out the possibility of “exchanging fruitcakes” at future diplomatic summits.
When pressed about whether the U.S. gift initiative would include wrapping paper, Trump reportedly replied, “Only the best wrapping paper. Gold. Very festive”.
Sara Yorke Stevenson was in Mexico City when the French army entered in 1863. (Public Domain)
Sara Yorke Stevenson would be many things during her life. Author, suffragette, journalist, museum curator, and most famously, a distinguished Egyptologist. From 1862 to 1867, she lived in Mexico City, where she witnessed both the arrival of Emperor Maximilian and the departure of French troops, the latter marking the end of French dreams for a Mexican Empire. While her book, “Maximilian in Mexico: A Woman’s Reminiscences of the French Intervention 1862-1867,” contributes little to the well-documented political history of these turbulent times, her account contains numerous unique and fascinating insights into life in Mexico City. C. M. Mayo credited her as writing “the most lucid, informed, and balanced … of all the English-language memoirs of the Second Empire/French Intervention,” and she would feature Sara and her mother in her successful novel, “The Last Prince of the American Empire.”
Sara came from a wealthy family that had investments in the southern U.S. cotton industry. In the early 1840s, her parents moved to Paris, and Sara was born there in 1847. When her parents relocated back to the U.S., ten-year-old Sara stayed in France, where she attended boarding school. She was placed under the guardianship of M. Achille Jubinal and his wife, from whom she gained her interest in antiques and archaeology. In 1862, her parents moved once again, this time settling in Mexico City. When her brother was killed by bandits, they decided it was time to reunite the family, and Sara was instructed to pack her bags and head for Mexico.
Sara Yorke Stevenson was 15 when she arrived in Mexico, but would not publish her account of time spent there until she was older and a prominent figure in Philadelphia society. (American Philosophical Society)
The Second French Intervention in Mexico
The previous year, France had landed a military force at Veracruz, in a heavy-handed attempt to force the new Liberal government into paying its outstanding foreign debts. There was great excitement in France at this event, believing they were witnessing the start of a golden period during which French expertise would open mines, expand the telegraph service and build railroads. This would all be to the benefit of the Mexicans and to the profit of Paris. Indeed, Sara’s journey to Mexico would be on the maiden voyage of a new steamship service, the first to directly link France with Mexico. Sara was a little chilled to find that two of the young passengers were surgeons, sent out to increase the staff at the military hospital. This was the first indication that the Mexican adventure was coming at a cost.
After stops in Cuba and Martinique, Sara had her first glimpse of Mexico on May 2, 1862. “A dark, broadening line upon the horizon, behind which soon loomed up in solitary dignity the snow-capped peak of Orizaba.” Like most visitors to Veracruz, she commented on the heat and the vultures. These large, black birds were the town’s only refuse collectors, and as such were protected. This had allowed their numbers to increase to the point where they covered the flat roofs and steeples of the town. While they waited for permission from the health officer to land, passengers received news that the military force of General Charles de Lorencez had been forced back at Puebla.
Her arrival in Mexico City
The defeat of a European army was a shock, and it meant that the road to Mexico City was now closed to foreigners. Travelers would have to risk the longer and bandit-infested route via Xalapa. This required employing an escort of bandits who, having taken the travelers into their care, could negotiate safe passage with any other ruffians the party might encounter. Sara and a small group of fellow travelers found a bandit captain recommended by friends, a man whose credentials included an impressive saber scar on his face.
Their guide proved trustworthy, and after nine days they reached the crest of a mountain, from which they looked down on the valley of Mexico and the capital. Sara described the view: “With its two hundred thousand souls, its picturesque buildings, and the lakes of Chalco and Tezcuco, while to one side the huge snow-capped volcanoes, the Iztaccihuatl and the Popocatépetl, like two gigantic sentries, seemed to watch over the sacredness of this classical spot of Mexican history.”
After the excitement of the journey, Mexico City seemed quite peaceful, and the new arrivals were wined and dined by the small expatriate community. Many upper-class Mexicans mixed freely with the foreigners, and Sara noted the happy mood of the Liberal supporters, as if victory at Puebla had ended the danger of French intervention. “Society danced and flirted, rode in the Paseo, and walked in the Alameda,” she later recalled. There were amateur bullfights in the Plaza de Toros, where rich young aristocrats put on a show with far more heraldry than the rather grabby professional circuses of the time.
There was also a dark side to Mexico in 1862. Bands of outlaws roamed the countryside, and the stage coaches that linked the capital with the provinces were regularly robbed. Neither was the city itself safe from violence. “No man, in those days, ventured out of an evening to pay a call without being well armed.” The secretary of the Prussian legation, a man who apparently had the knack of making enemies, had been badly injured in one attack. Kidnapping was common and particularly feared, the mistreatment of victims being legendary.
The French army takes Mexico City
Sara Yorke Stevenson’s time in Mexico coincided with the short-lived reign of Emperor Maximilian. (Public Domain)
As Sara settled into her new home, the French government set about avenging the defeat at Puebla, with the advance guard of General Forey’s army entering the capital on June 10, 1863. That morning, Sara went onto the balcony to see the unexpected sight of a group of senior officers in the street below. “As we appeared at the balcony, there was a perceptible flutter among them, and some of them began to ogle us as only Frenchmen could, whose eyes had not rested upon a white woman for several months.” The French administration returned the Conservatives to power, a move that pleased many people. Short of money, the Liberal government had been exhorting the rich for loans and seizing boys from the slums for the army ranks. After years of civil war, the French intervention seemed to promise stability and peace.
Sarah was aware that problems remained, noting that while the liberal forces might have been forced from Mexico City, they had not been defeated, and the countryside remained as lawless as ever. Stage coaches were regularly attacked, and in an incident that shocked the community, highwaymen tore up the rails of the Paso del Macho Railroad and kidnapped several of the passengers for ransom. When young officers offered to take Sara and her friends on a picnic by the ruins of an old Spanish aqueduct, it was deemed wise to take an additional guard of soldiers, this just 20 kilometers from the city.
Emperor Maximilian’s Mexico
Under French “guidance,” the new Conservative government accepted an Austrian archduke, Ferdinand Maximilian, as Emperor of the Second Mexican Empire. Sara witnessed the royal couple’s arrival in the city, a parade not equaled since the days of the Mexica. “Triumphal arches of verdure, draped with flags and patriotic devices, were raised along the principal avenues leading to the Plaza Mayor and to the palace. As far as the eye could reach, the festively decked windows, the streets, and the flat roofs of the houses were crowded with people eager to catch a glimpse of the new sovereigns.”
It was an optimistic time for some. The royal court glittered, trade boomed, customs duties increased, and loans were given freely. An Anglo-French company won the concession to build a railway linking Veracruz to Mexico City, a project they promised would be completed in five years. With the center of the country subdued by the French army, the Emperor started a tour of the provinces. Sara, however, was becoming less optimistic about the future. The abundance of money, she wrote, “dazzled the people, and a golden dust was thrown into the eyes of all, which for a brief period prevented them from seeing the true drift of political events.” Indeed, despite the young emperors’ good intentions, the imperial experiment would be short-lived and would end in bloodshed and disaster.
Final glimpses
By 1866, the French government was losing its appetite for a war that had dragged on for nearly five years. While not unexpected, the announcement in December that the French army would be called home sent shock waves through the foreign community. “One heard of little else than of the safest and most comfortable way of getting down to the coast,” Sara wrote. The Stevenson family was one of the first to leave, and Sara’s last night in Mexico City was spent taking supper at a friend’s house. Then, at 3 a.m., the family was escorted to the stagecoach. “The gloom of that early start in the darkness of the morning! The dreariness of everyone’s attempt at cheerfulness! And then the approaching noise of the mules.”
At least with the French army in retreat, the road was safer than usual, and after the first day of hard traveling, the stagecoach rested in the safety of a military camp. Here, Sara caught a glimpse of one of the great characters of this adventure, Princess Salm-Salm, “in her gray-and-silver uniform, sitting her horse like a female centaur — truly a picturesque figure, with her white couvre-nuque glistening under the tropical sun.” In Veracruz, it was life as normal, and Sara and her family were invited to breakfast by the commander and entertained on board the flagship of Admiral Cloue. All talk now was of the Emperor and whether, as everybody expected, he too would shortly flee the country.
Princess Salm-Salm, whom Sara Yorke Stevenson encountered in Mexico, would unsuccessfully plead for the life of Maximilian to be spared. (Public Domain)
From Mexico to Egyptology
And so the Stevenson family returned to the United States. Most of their money had been invested in Mexico, and her father, who was already ill, never recovered from the loss. He died soon afterwards. Sara, still only twenty, made a living as a music and dance teacher, married an attorney, and entered into Philadelphia’s social life. Building on the love of archaeology she had first acquired in Paris, she enjoyed a distinguished career as an Egyptologist. She would become the first woman to lecture at the Peabody Museum and the first woman to receive an honorary degree from the University of Pennsylvania. Her account of the Second Mexican Empire, “Maximilian in Mexico: A Woman’s Reminiscences of the French Intervention 1862-1867,” was published in 1899.
Bob Patemanis a Mexico-based historian, librarian and a life-term hasher. He is editor of On On Magazine, the international history magazine of hashing.
At the Open Water Parliament in Jalisco, citizens stressed that water must not be a private commodity. (Instagram)
Inside the colonial-style courtyard of the Jalisco State Congress, the voices of farmers, scientists, activists and lawmakers echoed through the arched porticos. They had gathered from the far corners of one of Mexico’s most sprawling, populous and economically powerful states — and beyond — to weigh in on Mexico’s new water policy.
The “Parlamento Abierto por el Agua” — Open Water Parliament — convened on Nov. 7, bringing together a diverse citizenry under the banner “Una sola agua, una sola ley” (One Water, One Law). Their message was clear: Water must no longer be treated as a private commodity.
Mexico’s new water laws
President Sheinbaum’s administration has proposed new water laws. (Gobierno de Mexico)
“The law they’re proposing is a simulation,” she said. “It keeps the old privatizing structure intact and treats water as a market, not a human right.”
A mandate ignored
In 2012, Mexico amended its Constitution to recognize the human right to water and sanitation, ordering Congress to enact a new General Water Law within 360 days. Thirteen years later, that law still doesn’t exist.
“In 2012, the human right to water and sanitation was recognized … and Congress was given 360 days to issue a new General Water Law,” González said in an interview. “It’s now 2025 — 13 years have passed — and this new law still hasn’t materialized.”
For González, the delay reflects the power of entrenched economic interests — what activists call “la hidromafia“ — the consortium of industrial, agricultural and political elites that have long profited from exclusive water concessions.
“In Mexico, a single concession can let a company control water for generations,” she said. “Families spend a large part of their income buying bottled water, because neither public nor private systems guarantee safe drinking water.”
The ‘finger of God’ and two laws
Some at the Open Water Parliament in Jalisco believe a new federally proposed water law violates the constitution. (Instagram)
At the Parliament’s legal forum, veteran water defender Elena Burns, co-founder of Agua para Tod@s, Agua para la Vida, warned that the federal government’s draft law violates both the Constitution and common sense.
“The finger of God points down and they come with two laws — perpetuating the old Salinista water law,” she said with characteristic irony. “They just stick a General Water Law to the side with a bit of chewing gum — a wish list with no means of enforcement.”
The draft now before Congress was prepared by CONAGUA, Mexico’s National Water Commission, the federal agency long criticized for favoring industrial and agribusiness interests. Its proposal would keep the 1992 National Water Law in place while creating a second “General Water Law” focused on broad policy goals.
“The CONAGUA initiative violates what the Constitution establishes,” Burns added. “By splitting the law in two, it keeps intact the old concession system — precisely what must change.”
‘One water, one law’ is no slogan
Constitutional scholar Rodrigo Gutiérrez Rivas of UNAM’s Institute for Legal Research called the federal plan “clearly unconstitutional.”
“‘One water, one law’ — more than a slogan, it’s an unequivocal constitutional mandate,” he said. “Congress was given 360 days to issue a General Water Law. As simple and straightforward as that.”
“One water, one law.” It’s a simple mandate, citizens say. (Instagram)
Miguel Ángel Montoya, a legislative adviser to the Citizen Water Law Initiative, reminded the audience that the clock has been running since 2012:
“Thirteen years later, that mandate is still being ignored.”
What privatization looks like
González pointed to everyday realities that expose Mexico’s water inequities. Industrial agribusiness and mining operations enjoy concessions lasting up to 30 years, renewable indefinitely. Municipal utilities in states such as Puebla and Coahuila have been privatized. And urban consumers, distrustful of tap water, spend billions annually on bottled brands — often owned by the same corporations extracting groundwater.
“Water has been turned into an economic asset,” she said. “This model deepens social inequality and environmental destruction. We need to shift from a water market to a water commons.”
A crisis made in Jalisco
In her home state, González added, the stakes are visible everywhere: “Jalisco is living a water crisis,” she said. “We have toxic contamination, degraded ecosystems and policies that still treat infrastructure as the solution.”
From the poisoned Santiago River to vanishing aquifers in Los Altos and megaprojects that channel water toward Guadalajara’s sprawl, citizens say the crisis mirrors a national pattern of extraction without accountability.
Mexico’s groundwater is heavily contaminated in parts of the country, with long-term exposure proving dangerous to health. (Crisanta Espinosa Aguilar/Cuartoscuro)
Mariana Casillas Guerrero, a federal deputy from Jalisco, told participants the new bill risks cementing that pattern.
“We must ask to what extent this reform truly breaks with the extractivist model of concessions and privileges for a few,” she said. “It still allows decades-long permits that loot nature and the peoples. Water is the memory of the peoples — the material foundation of any project of social justice.”
From the ground up
In a breakout session on acaparamiento (water hoarding), agronomist Martín Gómez García of the Network of Democratic Agronomists described how large avocado and berry plantations continue operating “without permits, depleting aquifers and displacing small farmers.”
Participants demanded publication of a full list of concession-holders delinquent on their fees and urged that new permits be conditioned on sustainable use. Others proposed regional water councils with citizen participation to monitor local supply, and mandatory rain-harvesting systems for public buildings to reduce pumping from Lake Chapala.
At the national scale, Agua para Tod@s and allied networks have documented more than 28,000 community-run water systems — from rural collectives to urban neighborhood committees — managing, purifying and distributing their own water.
“These are systems where neighbors manage, purify and distribute their own water,” González said. “They’re the heart of water democracy in Mexico.”
Many in Mexico must buy bottled water to have access to clean drinking water. (Agua.org)
Burns agreed that any real reform must recognize those systems. “They are already practicing what the law should protect,” she said during the forum. “That’s where the right to water truly lives.”
Toward a national reckoning
Across Mexico, similar citizen Parliaments are unfolding — in Puebla, Torreón, Oaxaca and the Valle de México — all demanding that Congress scrap the 1992 law and pass a single, enforceable framework guaranteeing equitable access.
In Jalisco, legislators pledged to do their part.
Federal deputies Claudia García Hernández and Mariana Casillas Guerrero vowed to take the Jalisco resolutions to the national Chamber of Deputies, while state deputies promised to pass a formal resolution urging their federal counterparts to consider them.
The debate that began in Jalisco continued in Mexico City last week, where the Chamber of Deputies held a series of public hearings on the proposed General Water Law. Lawmakers and civil society groups — including Agua para Tod@s and the Jalisco delegation — presented their positions, calling for a single, enforceable law to guarantee the human right to water.
Still, González warned, the political and economic pressures are enormous.
In arid Jaumave, Tamaulipas, competition for scarce water can be fierce. In 2022, ranchers here formed an armed self-defense group to prevent illegal extraction of water from the Guayalejo River by other local farmers without legal water rights to do so. (Cuartoscuro)
“It’s an unequal battle,” she said, “but one filled with hope — because people everywhere are organizing to put water for life, not for profit, at the center of our future.”
‘To defend water is to defend life itself’
For Deputy José Luis Sánchez González, who closed the Jalisco Parliament, the struggle over water is ultimately about moral choice.
“When we speak of something as vital as water, it’s worth asking who is truly willing to defend it,” he said. “Today we are speaking of defending life itself through a resource as vital as water.”
Tracy L. Barnett is a freelance writer based in Guadalajara. She is the founder of The Esperanza Project, a bilingual magazine covering social change movements in the Americas.
Mexico has a distinctive palette. (Unsplash/Mikka Luotio)
Years ago, I took a cable car tour above Iztapalapa. Beneath me was a patchwork of roofs covered in colorful murals. I had taken a similar tour in Medellín, Colombia, yet the visual pattern of the Mexican rooftops was highly distinct. Sure, there were paintings of Mexica warriors and jaguar heads, but the detail that really stood out was the color.
Mexico is a landscape of rosy pinks, bold blues, golden yellows and burnt reds. Could you say the same for Peru? Guatemala? Turkey? Yes. Still, it’s undeniable that certain shades just look Mexican. That’s because they are, and here’s why.
Vibrant colors can be found in any Mexican market, or indeed almost anywhere in the country. (Wikimedia Commons/Israel Magaña Velazquez)
The ancestral language of color
Long before ancient civilizations adopted the written word, people communicated through color. The Mexica defined cardinal directions using different hues — red for east, green for south, black for north and white for west. Moving eastward, the Maya linked colors to the cosmos, and yellow symbolized creation while blue meant rain or, depending on context, sacrifice. The means to collect these colors were purely agricultural: insects, plants and earth minerals were used for the unique pigments they carried. These stains could be found on murals and codices, as well as pottery and statues offered to the gods.
With the Spanish arrival came even more pigments and techniques to extract them, not to mention religious iconography that soon showcased a blend of indigenous and European shades. These tints illustrate Mexico’s essence, and while many are now achieved through commercial development, their symbolic meanings continue to live on through art, food, home design and fashion.
Cochineal red
Mural by painter Arturo García Bustos showing the cochineal harvest in Oaxaca. (Wikimedia Commons/ArbyBB)
If you’ve been to Oaxaca City, you’ve seen firsthand the wealth generated by a single color. Mexico’s southern colonial gem was once home to the second-richest export – nocheztli, also known as cochineal red. The color comes from crushed cochineal, parasitic insects that live on the nopal cactus. In pre-Hispanic Mexico, red was a sacred hue, representing life, death and renewal, often found on temples and burial sites, in textiles and clothing. From this particular red came varying shades of pinks, crimsons and even burgundies. When Mexico joined the global trade market, cochineal red spread throughout Europe, even coloring the famous “redcoats” worn by the British Army. Oaxaca Valley farmers began breeding the insects to support trade, generating millions in capital.
The process wasn’t quick — more than 70,000 female bugs and eggs are required to make one kilo of pigment — but the finished product was more brilliant than any red Europeans had ever seen. At its height, the pigment was more valuable than gold. The money that poured in funded the city’s expansion from military outpost to commercial hub, resulting in the construction of impressive stone mansions and gold-leafed cathedrals.
Maya blue
Members of the Dzán community assist in mixing the pre-Hispanic formula for Maya Blue. (Mark Viales)
Maya Blue is believed to have been first developed by the Maya around the 8th century CE. It is one of the earliest known examples of advanced organic-inorganic chemistry — a blend of natural indigo dye and clay, sourced from the Yucatán Peninsula. You’ve certainly seen the bold turquoise color on Mesoamerican murals, pottery and sculptures from Calakmul to Chichén Itzá. Generally, the color is associated with water, rebirth and the rain god, Chaac.
The most traditional craftspeople make Maya blue the same way today as thousands of years ago — leaves and stems from the añil plant are submerged in a vat of water for 12–24 hours to ferment. The liquid is then transferred to another vat and agitated for several hours. This speeds up the oxidation process, creating blue flecks that sink to the bottom. Sometimes, lime (stone) is added. The “mud” that forms at the bottom is drained and dried in the sun, resulting in what the Maya once called “blue gold”. The color can withstand remarkable natural threats, from humidity to acid, retaining its lustrous hue for centuries.
Mexican pink
Ramón Valdiosera, the fashion designer who gave rosa mexicano to the world. (Instagram)
Rosa mexicano is not a natural pigment, but as the shade is so definitive of Mexico, it would be impossible not to mention it. In 1949, Veracruzano fashion designer Ramón Valdiosera received government funding to present a clothing collection at New York’s Waldorf Astoria Hotel during “Mexico Week.” The garments he showcased were inspired by traditional huipiles, rebozos and pre-Hispanic design, but what stood out most was the striking pink color he had used. The shade, visually derived from Mexico’s landscapes and bougainvillea flowers, was quickly dubbed Mexican pink, and from that moment served as a symbol of Mexican pride.
The color is everywhere — the famous Luis Barragán Casa Giraldi in Mexico City’s San Miguel Chapultepec neighborhood is a prime example of rosa mexicano in action — and has been for hundreds of years, often achieved by mixing the aforementioned cochineal red with other dyes. In 2015, Mexico City rebranded its taxis to reflect the color, now associated with the country’s charisma and vibrance.
Mexican green
The quetzal bird’s feathers were revered by earlier cultures in Mexico. (Gobierno de Mexico)
Green was revered by the Mexica and earlier cultures as the color of life, fertility and hope. The feathers of the quetzal bird — vivid and green — were reserved for nobility and deity imagery, especially for the god Quetzalcoatl. Jade was another shade of sacred green, represented in its most notable form as a funerary mask for Pakal the Great of Palenque, the ancient Maya city in Chiapas. To these early inhabitants of what we now call Mexico, green symbolized eternal life and power.
Traditionally, pigments were derived from diverse plant and mineral sources. The muicle plant’s leaves were boiled for hours until a deep emerald liquid emerged. The barba de león (dodder plant) provided a different shade when combined with various lichens (symbiotic relationships between a fungus and algae), which resulted in the vibrant green details found on Chiapas huipiles. The earth itself also provided various pigments, and green clay deposits found near volcanic regions were ground into fine powders and mixed with plant-based binders for murals and architecture.
Mexican yellow
Mexican cempasúchil grown in Puebla state showcases one of the country’s most vibrant yellows. (Mireya Novo/Cuartoscuro)
Mexican yellow carries profound spiritual significance as the color from which humanity was born. In Maya mythology, the gods formed the first people from golden maize dough, making yellow the fundamental color of creation and marking every aspect of Mexican culture, including daily meals and religious ceremonies.
The extraction of yellow pigments was an art form — artisans knew to gather cempasúchil (marigold) petals at dawn because their color was most intense. They would grind the petals with volcanic stone mortars and mix the paste with mineral salts, creating a lasting golden dye. Sunflower petals were also used, but resulted in a different shade. Clay ochres were also used, carefully selected for their iron content and ground into powders that could withstand centuries of exposure.
Día de Muertos is perhaps the most iconic example of Mexican yellow, with marigold petals used as colorful pathways for souls returning from the afterlife. The color also shows up in Izamal, Yucatán’s famous yellow pueblo. Whether painted in the brilliant shade as a nod to the ancient Maya sun god Kinich Kakmó or for the 1993 arrival of Pope John Paul II, it remains a symbol of Mexico’s connection to the spiritual realm.
Mexican purple: the royal dye of the coast
The púrpura pansa snail secretes a color that changes from yellow to green to magical purple. (Gobierno de Mexico)
Purpura prehispánica is one of the rarest and most labor-intensive colors in world history. Indigenous Mixtec and other coastal peoples of Oaxaca started producing the legendary deep purple dye centuries ago. The hue is derived from ink secreted by the marine snail púrpura pansa. Because of the difficult extraction, the precious color was reserved exclusively for priests, rulers and sacred textiles.
The process starts with gentle stimulation to release a milky secretion that’s then applied to cotton yarn. Once the liquid is exposed to sunlight, it transforms from yellow to green to a permanent purple. It takes hundreds of snails and many hours to dye even a single skein of thread, making each purple garment extraordinarily valuable.
Too precious to fade
This rarity nearly led to the tradition’s near-extinction — foreign corporations began overharvesting in the 1980s when international interest in natural fabric dyes surged. Japan’s Imperial Purple Inc. hired non-Mixtec fishermen to collect snails year-round, disregarding sustainable practices long in place to protect the creatures from harm. By 1988, the Mexican government declared the purpura snail federally protected. Imperial Purple Inc. was expelled, and harvest rights were restricted only to licensed Mixtec dyers following traditional conservation cycles.
What makes Mexican colors so distinctive isn’t just their vibrancy, but the stories they carry. These pigments have survived conquest, transformation, and globalization, their symbolic power transcending the methods used to create them. In a world increasingly dominated by synthetic dyes and mass production, Mexico’s ancestral palette reminds us that some traditions are simply too precious to fade.
Bethany Platanella is a travel planner and lifestyle writer based in Mexico City. She lives for the dopamine hit that comes directly after booking a plane ticket, exploring local markets, practicing yoga and munching on fresh tortillas. Sign up to receive her Sunday Love Letters to your inbox, peruse her blog or follow her on Instagram.
Polarized and at times violent "Generation X" marches have taken place outside Mexico City's National Palace and in other major Mexican cities this month. The protests have been distinctly anti-Sheinbaum, and the president has in turn accused them of being co-opted by opposition parties. (Camila Ayala Benabib/Cuartoscuro)
Amigos, indulge me a confessional preamble: This is just my angle — that of one observer, close to the ground, a little haunted by the warning flare now flickering over Mexican politics.
My intent isn’t to convert skeptics or inspire unanimity but to inject another thread into the noisy tapestry of public debate — a mosaic that too often leaves out dissent and discomfort.
Sheinbaum is significantly more popular than her five most recent predecessors were at the completion of their first year in office. (Presidencia/Cuartoscuro)
A few months back, I admitted in print that I hadn’t voted for President Claudia Sheinbaum or her party, yet found myself — rather unexpectedly — moved by the promise of her early months in office. There was something genuinely hopeful in the way she handled Washington’s overtures, how she and federal Security Minister Omar Harfuch grappled with the crime organizations, how she made bold efforts to attract foreign investment and, not least, appointed a self-declared feminist cabinet.
I said then — and I say now — that the judicial reform, whose final steps into law she shepherded, was a dangerous regression. But still, hope was afoot. Even among my skeptical friends, that faint but palpable sense of possibility drifted through our conversations.
A Michoacán mayor’s murder and polarization
Yet, today, that hope has curdled. The murder of Carlos Manzo was the inflection point — not just for its brutality but also for the eerie sense of déjà vu it delivered.
He did, dutifully. In the end, the Mexican National Guard’s “protection” extended to just one man — not to a community gripped by real peril.
Uruapan Mayor Carlos Manzo holds up his young son shortly before he was felled by gunshots at a Day of the Dead event in his city’s central square. (X)
Protests erupted, first in Uruapan, then across Michoacán. The unrest found its face and symbol — the sombrero, a homegrown call to reclaim basic security. As former electoral councilor Luis Carlos Ugalde observed, these were perfect conditions for authentic mobilization: a fallen leader, a potent symbol, a crisis and an urgent call to action.
But let’s not mistake consequences for coincidence. According to reporting in the news magazine Wired, a group of young Mexicans — organizing on Discord, the online chat platform favored by gamers worldwide — were galvanized by the Nepal movement to denounce corruption and violence. Yet, almost instantly after Manzo’s killing, social media profiles surfaced for “Generación Z,” purportedly a leaderless and idealistic movement but quickly entangled with National Action Party (PAN) and Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) operatives.
Right from the outset, the movement showed signs of being co-opted, as Sheinbaum herself pointed out.
The choreography of blame and deflection
During her November 13 daily press conference, President Sheinbaum invited Miguel Ángel Elorza, head of Infodemia.mx — a Mexican website dedicated to exposing “fake news” — to disclose the faces, names and histories of protest organizers, as if these citizens had morphed overnight into public enemy number one.
In the presidential press conference that followed Manzo’s murder, Sheinbaum reverted to a familiar script: invoking “the opposition,” brandishing memories of Calderón’s drug war and deflecting blame onto the ghosts of administrations past.
Journalist Miguel Ángel Elorza is the head of Infodemia, a Mexican website that promotes itself as an impartial organization exposing “fake news” stories. The Latin American Center for Investigative Journalism, however, calls Infodemia “a sophisticated official propaganda apparatus” whose information favors the Morena Party. (Graciela López Herrera/Cuartoscuro)
Polarization, in Mexico, has become second nature — a convenient shield against reckoning with uncomfortable truths. PAN president Felipe Calderón’s crime-fighting policy of militarization was once denounced by Sheinbaum’s side; now, her policies — hardly distinguishable — are met with a choreography of blame and denial.
The absurdity is evident: No single leader, least of all Sheinbaum, created the cartels’ stranglehold on the country or Mexico’s perilous vulnerability. And what she inherited was a ticking time bomb.
Expectations that she could defuse this bomb before the World Cup beginsare the stuff of fantasy. Yet, what’s most disturbing isn’t the persistence of Mexico’s insecurity but the almost theatrical response from the National Palace: finger-pointing and spectacle, rather than reflection and reform.
Co-opted marches, manufactured consent
A block of riot police kept protesters from progressing along Reforma Avenue Thursday during the second of two “Generation X” protests in the nation’s capital. A Revolution Day parade was taking place on the same streets at the time. (Mario Jasso/Cuartoscuro)
As for marches — I don’t join them anymore. In a country where paid crowds are a matter of course, public protest often feels performative, stripped of its potency. Still, to even have the right to gather, to vent — even if only on paper — remains a privilege not to be scoffed at. But this fragile right is easily crushed. One hurled accusation — that your outrage is bought, your protest orchestrated by “la oposición” — can cheapen and silence dissent. Criticism these days is quickly tarred as betrayal.
I already can hear the response: “Here’s another bitter PAN supporter.” But after years in the media trenches, cynicism is nonpartisan; I mistrust all parties equally. If the president were PAN or PRI, you’d still be reading this exact argument.
I agree with the president on one point: In Mexico, social movements have long doubled as opportunistic platforms for politicians seeking electoral gain. It is, indeed, immoral that the PAN, PRI, and even business tycoons like Ricardo Salinas Pliego rush to capitalize on a tragedy. Profiting from violence and grief is indefensible.
Yet, with every protest, the government’s impulse isn’t to listen but to shame — to publicly expose those who organize marches, putting names and faces on screen as if organizing a protest had become an act of subversion, not a civic right.
Was this spectacle necessary? Was it ever justified? When the president mocks the existence of elderly marchers at a “Gen Z” march, even as intelligence briefings confirm real grievances driving them, does this reflect a government open to dissent — or just skilled at denial?
Doctors, farmers and parents getting lumped together with agitators and dismissed with a shrug — that’s not engagement, it’s erasure.
The manual of good governance — lost in translation
Media photos like these of a Generation X protest in Chilpancingo, Guerrero, prompted President Sheinbaum to claim that the “Generation X” protests were not genuine but co-opted by political opposition parties. The mayor of Chilpancingo was assassinated just over a year ago. (Dassaev Téllez Adame/Cuartoscuro)
The ancient Roman philosopher and statesman Cicero believed rulers should serve all people impartially. By this metric, Sheinbaum falters. A 25-year-old protest organizer gets a public drubbing while party insiders dogged by corruption accusations get a free pass. Justice in Mexico is doled out with a troubling selectivity.
Among friends and acquaintances, it’s less the ideology that alarms and more the sense projected by the government that even reasonable critique is suspect — a nation-state on the defensive, where questions equal subversion.
In this context, 37,000 Mexicans — mostly privileged, mostly employers — have chosen to rebuild their lives in Spain and Portugal, according to the financial magazine Forbes. If this many Mexicans are quietly weighing the option of leaving their homeland, it’s not a fluke; it’s a tremor.
The question we should all ask
If the president were listening, I’d ask: What happened to the hope that once united ordinary citizens — doctors, farmers, mothers — under a promise of something better? Perhaps the answer is this: A government that exposes and discredits dissenters leaves little room for loyalty, less still for hope.
To criticize is not to betray; it is to take citizenship seriously. The real “yellow light” of alarm is not to be found in the street protests rocking Mexican cities but in the highest office of the land — where forgetting that criticism is democracy’s lifeblood may be the gravest issue of all.
Maria Meléndez is an influencer with half a degree in journalism
President Sheinbaum said she intended to press charges and launch an anti-harassment campaign. She added that groping is classified as a crime in Mexico City, but not in every Mexican state. (Graciela López / Cuartoscuro.com)
“Geez,” my partner said one night as we were driving on a cobblestone road. “Does this lady not realize there are sidewalks?”
The young woman in question was indeed walking exactly in the middle of the street. “No, that’s smart,” I told him. “It’s harder for someone to jump out at you from some dark corner if you’re as much in the open as possible. Besides, if anyone tried, others would be more likely to see it happen.”
A woman walking in the middle of the street in Mexico. (Pexels/Gerardo Manzano)
I also told him about how most women, including me, walk with our keys poking out from our fists when walking alone at night. “If you go for the eyes, they’re less likely to be able to chase you.”
This is part of the wealth of knowledge shared among almost all women, especially urban dwellers.
Thankfully for me, it hasn’t happened in a while. Part of the reason, I think, is that I’m older and therefore not as conventionally attractive as I used to be (to random dudes, anyway — I think I’m super cute). I’m also often with my partner and kid. Finally, people pay less attention to others these days now that they can read WhatsApp messages or check Facebook while they’re locomoting. It’s the sunny side of us all being smartphone zombies: creeps sometimes being too distracted to ogle and harass women.
There was a time, though, when I’d get my butt grabbed by a strange man on the street at least once a year. Usually, they’d walk straight past with a smirk, though once I had a particularly scary incident in the early pre-dawn morning. He’d grabbed me under my skirt, no one around, then stared at me for a few seconds as if deciding where to go from there. (Thankfully, my yelling made him “decide” to run off.)
It’s part of the reason I have a marked preference for big, scary-looking dogs. “That’s right! Better cross the street, dude!”
President Sheinbaum’s assault occurred as she walked through downtown Mexico City on her way to a meeting, accompanied by a group of aides. (Video screenshot)
Even now, if there aren’t too many people around, I’ll stop and pretend to look at something on my phone or fidget with my keys until a strange man walking briskly behind me passes. It’s like the kind of response people who’ve been badly bitten by dogs feel when one starts barking. Pounding heart, panic growing: the response becomes physical and involuntary.
A sense of entitlement
The fact that this happened to the president of the freaking country does not surprise me at all. Why? Because I know from personal experience — and so do all women — that there are men out there who simply believe they have the right to do what they want with women’s bodies, the main obstacle being a reasonable chance of getting away with it.
It’s not the majority — thank goodness — but it’s enough for us all to have had experience with the gross shock of it. Multiple experiences, mostly.
As for the PRI politician who suggested it was set up as a distraction, I’d argue the accusation itself is a distraction. From what? The fact that opposition to (the very imperfect) Morena movement can’t get good enough proposals together to move people, that’s what.
And it was an ill-thought-out tactic, at that: accuse the woman in question of orchestrating it? Read the room, man.
Security for AMLO and President Sheinbaum
Mexico’s former president Andrés Manuel López Obrador famously avoided using bodyguards. (Government of Mexico)
AMLO, the father of the party that has since won a supermajority in Mexico, was famous for, among other things, eschewing bodyguards. He surrounded himself with “citizen helpers” (the “ayudantía,” in Spanish) instead. It’s a great political tactic, especially for a populist: “I don’t want to be separated from the people. I want to be with them.”
“You will have access to me if we’re in the same space” is a great way to convince people you don’t see yourself as above them.
La presidenta has continued this tradition, surrounding herself with a group of ayudantía of her own, and not necessarily with security training.
I love it for PR. I don’t necessarily love it for her actual security. In a country famous for itspolitical assassinationsandfemicidesandmachismo, I’d personally want at least one extra layer. Even if it were discrete, it seems some sort of subtle secret service detail would be a good idea.
Scrutiny for the justice system
In any case, that’s her decision. I’m glad she pressed charges, anyway. This gives the justice system a chance to be scrutinized, too: What are you going to do about it? (As of this writing, he’s being held in the sex crimes division of the FGJ after assaulting two other women. Lovely guy.)
Pressing charges was also a great signal to the women of the country: these things are worth making a big deal about. They’re not, as many argue, “part of the job.” If you ask me, that’s a big, important change from the last administration. I generally — mostly — liked AMLO. But one of my biggest complaints about him was that he didn’t seem to take women’s issues seriously enough. Rememberhis complaints about the women’s protests?
Sexual violence against women should not be normalized. (United Nations Sustainable Development Group)
Instituting gender parity in politics was a great move, but if we’re really to achieve equality, it’s got to be on all levels: the macro and the micro.
With Sheinbaum, I’m seeing his antidote: women’s issues are serious, and environmental issues are serious — exactly what we’d been missing.
President Sheinbaum isn’t going to solve the problem of sexual harassment in Mexico. But she is elevating it to the point that it gets the attention it deserves and is setting an important precedent. Through her actions, the message is clear: it’s not something to ignore and be embarrassed about. It’s a crime, and like all crimes, it begs for justice.
This vista at Esperanza, Auberge Resorts Collection, boasts some defining elements of Los Cabos style. (Esperanza)
The concept of genius loci comes from Ancient Rome, where it translated to the “spirit of the place.” As in, the guardian spirit who looked out for those who lived there. In modern times, however, the phrase has lost its mythological overtones and is now discussed primarily in terms of philosophy and aesthetics.
The premier exponent of this concept as it evolved in modernity was noted Norwegian architect and theorist Christian Norberg-Schulz, whose influential 1979 work, “Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture,” posited that the spirit of a place — any place — emerges from the confluence of several factors, such as geography, history, climate and available materials. From these, a definable style is born, one that is unique to each city or region.
The palo de arco pergola, Baja California Sur’s gift to the world. (Esperanza, Auberge Resorts Collection)
It’s an interesting idea, since almost anyone who has lived anywhere for any length of time begins to note certain architectural elements, interior design motifs and fashions that seem unique to that place, and in some intangible way, reflect its character and personality. Indeed, I’ve long been conscious of what might be called a distinctive Los Cabos style. I’d be hard-pressed to try to define it, but the core elements are unmistakable.
Signature architectural elements
The two most enduring elements of Los Cabos architecture are palo de arco and the palapa. The former style is most associated with rustic yet elegant pergolas, but it can be used to build virtually anything, from furniture to fences. Palo de arco refers to the way flexible yet sturdy branches from small Tecoma stans trees (aka palo de arco) are artfully arranged, without the need for nails to hold them together. The roots of this architectural style date back to the Indigenous cultures of Baja California Sur, and it has persisted through the Jesuit mission period and colonization into the luxury resorts of modern Los Cabos.
The palapa, a thatched-leaf roof made from palm fronds, seems more generic, since it can now be found in beachfront destinations around the country. Although actually, its origins aren’t Mexican at all. The word “palapa” comes from Tagalog, and the structures themselves originated in the Philippines and were shared with Mexico via the Manila Galleon Trade. This global trade route, which helped to connect Spain’s then far-flung colonies, was active from 1565 until 1815. Traditionally, only one or two ships per year would make the trip from Manila to Acapulco, laden with silk, spices, porcelain and other luxury goods from China and elsewhere in Asia that were purchased with Mexican silver.
Yes, Los Cabos was a frequent stop on this route. By the time the crew of these ships completed their months-long journey, they were generally sick from scurvy and running low or completely out of potable water. Thus, they would replenish themselves at the freshwater estuary in San José del Cabo and feast on local fare before sailing on to Acapulco.
These ships, known as the Nao de China in Mexico, would prove irresistible to English pirates, leading to several famous skirmishes in Cabo San Lucas Bay, where the pirates inevitably lay in wait due to the shielding cover provided by the Land’s End headland. The trade route also provided a historical basis for the use of palapas in Los Cabos, although these have only been commonly built here since the 1970s. Like palo de arco pergolas, palapas are now ubiquitous at local beaches and atop restaurants and swim-up bars at local luxury resorts.
It may seem odd that the latter properties would embrace such rustic architectural elements. Still, they contribute mightily to the inimitable style of laid-back luxury that is unique to Los Cabos. Doubtless, they even helped to inspire it. Norberg-Schulz would have certainly thought so, since he argued that these vernacular architectural elements are an integral part of what creates place identities.
Fashion and décor
Seamless transitions from indoor to outdoor spaces are a signature aspect of interior design in Los Cabos. (Four Seasons Resort and Residences at Cabo del Sol)
Geography and climate, two factors Norberg-Schulz noted as crucial in the establishment of a genius loci, have obviously influenced interior design in Los Cabos. The municipality’s 350 days of sunshine annually have made possible the seamless transition between indoor and outdoor spaces, aided by open floor plans and retractable walls and doors for breezy, uninterrupted flow. Palettes featuring earthy and cool colors also reflect the area’s unique geography, in which mountains and dramatic desert terrains are bounded by the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortés.
The coastline, specifically Los Cabos’ 125 miles of beautiful beaches, is the most notable factor when it comes to local fashion. Beach-friendly attire, for example, is a must-pack for vacationers or must-purchase upon arrival. But just as Los Cabos’ interior design often, as befits a Mexican destination, boasts trademark accents such as Talavera tiles and Mexican-sourced ceramics, textiles and furnishings, regional beach-style fashions among locals and long-time visitors also have an unmistakably Latin flavor.
The annual Los Cabos Fashion Week, for instance, is organized by the Fashion Designers of Latin America, and has been hosted by bastions of casually elegant resort wear like Esperanza, Solas and ME Cabo by Meliá. The latter’s pre-Hurricane Odile White Parties at Nikki Beach were perhaps the best expression of this style, a mix of breezy dresses and stylish guayaberas, poolside cover-ups and collared linen shirts, sunglasses and sandals.
But it’s not just design or fashion that defines the Los Cabos style. There’s a bit of attitude involved as well, the relaxed anything-goes embrace of life at Land’s End, the spirit of the place once captured by such Los Cabos-originated brands as No Bad Days and Die Trying. It’s hard to capture in words, but it would have been recognized by Norberg-Schulz as the genius loci that emerges when geography, climate and culture collide.
Chris Sands is the former Cabo San Lucas local expert for the USA Today travel website 10 Best and writer of Fodor’s Los Cabos travel guidebook. He’s also a contributor to numerous websites and publications, including Tasting Table, Marriott Bonvoy Traveler, Forbes Travel Guide, Porthole Cruise, Cabo Living and Mexico News Daily.
