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If while vacationing at Iberia’s great Mexico resorts in Cancun, on the Riviera Maya, or the island of Cozumel you find yourself in one of the Yucatan’s Maya villages or even just browsing in many gift shops, you’ll see huipiles (also called hipiles). They’re boxy ladies’ cotton tops, either white with colorful embroidery and stitching or in some of the more elaborate versions, complex designs; they can range from sleeveless blouses to tuniclike garments extending most of the way down the legs.

Often made by women with simple “backstrap” looms (a wood-and-cloth contraption tied to a wood post), huipiles can take weeks or even months to weave, depending on its complexity. The craft and designs go back centuries, and the motifs in the designs including not just the merely attractive and decorative (flowers, hummingbirds, butterflies) but reflect a variety of cultural symbolism and traditions. Some, for those who know how to read the language of huipil designs (and that of course includes almost none of us), also refer to the wearers’ village or region, language, marital status, and various other aspects of her life. In that sense it’s a deeply personalized possession, you might say it’s akin to a Mayan Facebook page in cloth (OK, well, I might say that).

As a gringo visitor, of course, the huipiles available to you for purchase will largely stick to the more generalized motifs of Mayan culture. But these are beautiful enough, and few are the souvenirs you could bring back from your Yucatan vacation that are more meaningful and attractive – or make more of a conversation piece – than a Mayan huipil.

Photo | Wikipedia

As I travel around the Caribbean (and to some extent this is true in Latin America, too), I find nearly every island has some kind of homegrown hooch (often rum-based) that purports to be “medicinal” (and sometimes certainly tastes the part), often  including revitalizing, curative, and even aphrodisiac qualities. And if you’re staying at one of the Iberostar resorts out in Punta Cana, up in Playa Dorada/Puerto Plata, or down in Bayahibe, you may well come across the Dominican variation on this type of esteemed elixir.

The name Mamajuana (Spanish for “Mama Jane”) is thought to derive from Dama Juana (Lady Jane), which referred to a traditional kind of large glass jar with a short, narrow neck. Although there is increasing commercial manufacture of mamajuana, it’s still mostly a homemade potion, and everyone has a different recipe.  Basically, though, it usually involves botanicals – sticks, leaves, bark, roots, herbs – essentially pickled in 40-proof rum and sometimes leavened with other flavors and sweeteners such as honey, cinnamon, molasses, vanilla, or red wine. And that’s not even counting the animal parts some people add – snails, octopus, and sea turtle penis, anyone?

And honestly, most of the time the resulting brew can look a bit, well, nasty. But most the the versions I’ve tasted actually come across a bit funky – a little hard to describe, actually, but ranging from not bad to downright appealing, and the commercial brands increasingly found on store shelves can be downright silky (one good one is called Kalembú). And while traditionally the drink is imbibed straight or on the rocks, in recent years it’s been finding its way into cocktail culture, either in versions of popular tipples like mojitos, bloody marys (bloody juanas?), and cosmos, but also new inventions like the motoconcho (mamajuana mixed with vodka and rum, garnished with a couple of cherries).

And that “medicinal” part?  Mamajuana is held to help with headaches, colds and flu, to help get pregnant or keep from getting pregnant – and of course the ol’ libido (some have taken to referring to it as “liquid Viagra”).  Honestly, on that last point I can’t say I noticed  much difference, but what the hey. For me it will always evoke warm memories of the Caribbean – particularly the beautiful corner of the Caribbean known as the Dominican Republic.

¡Salud!


Photo | Cristian Lazzari/iStock Photo

If you stay at one of the Iberostar resorts out in Punta Cana, up in Playa Dorada/Puerto Plata, or down in Bayahibe, don’t forget to try the best local rums and traditional drinks like the Mamajuana!

I have this kinda funny (as in funky, not ha-ha) tree growing right smack in the middle of my front yard in Miami. It’s admittedly not a particularly cuddly or friendly looking bit of botany, its trunk prickling all over as it is with conical thorns. But for me it’s all about the mystique, being as it is a ceiba (English names include “kapok,” “silk cotton,” and “silk floss”). This is a genus of tropical tree I’ve come across constantly on my travels through Latin America and the Caribbean – and so might you, if you’re staying at one of the Iberostar resorts in Mexico’s Yucatan, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, or Brazil (it’s the official tree of Puerto Rico and Guatemala, has a city in Honduras named after it, and found as far afield as Asia and Africa).  The one in my yard is still practically a sapling, still skinny and maybe 20 or so feet (6 meters) tall. But ceibas can grow to be giants, with heights of more than 200 feet (61 meters) and dramatically gnarled trunk bases nearly as wide as small houses.

Ceibas play a central role in the lore of Mexico’s and Central America’s Mayan cultures – in fact, they are depicted in Mayan mythology as the “world tree,” linking the underworld, the terrestrial world, and the heavens  (doesn’t get more central than that, right?), and you may come across representations of ceibas at Mayan archaeological sites and museums, especially in items like incense holders and burial urns.

But it wasn’t so much in Mexico that I first became aware of the cultural impact of the ceiba, but in Cuba, at a landmark called El Templete (pictured above). It’s a small neoclassical temple-type structure, built in 1828 on Havana’s oldest square, the Plaza de Armas, which I learned marks the site of where a ceiba once stood – a legendary tree under which the Catholic mass was celebrated to mark the founding of San Cristóbal de la Habana in 1519. That long-gone original tree is represented by a marble column, but another large one grows out in front, and it’s venerated particularly by the followers of the afro-Cuban religion santería (the ceiba is also held sacred in West Africa, where this religion has its roots). It’s the focus of an annual tradition on November 16, the date of the city’s founding, in which Cubans of all ages and beliefs make three circles around the tree and throw throw down coins before it while making three wishes.

Photo | Steven Colebourne

Wherever the ceiba grows, it seems, it has long cast a spell on the local peoples, providing them over the centuries not just with practical products like oils, stuffing for pillows and mattresses, and medicinal substances, but spiritual inspiration as well.  Next time you stay at an Iberostar resort in Mexico’s Yucatan, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, or Brazil you might see one!

If you find should yourself spending New Year’s Eve at an Iberostar resort in a Spanish-speaking country – say, Dominican Repubic, Cuba, Mexico, or Spain itself – you may notice that the locals have an interesting tradition of their own for this special night. As the big moment nears, participants will suspend clusters of grapes over their mouths (or have a loose handful of them) and eat one with each clock strike of midnight. These are “las doce uvas de la suerte” (the twelve grapes of fortune), which of course is what everyone wishes themselves and others for the coming year.

This colorful – and tasty – tradition dates back to the end of the 19th century in Spain. Personally, I would recommend they be seedless – makes it a little easier. And as you can also imagine, most people can’t get them all down by the last stroke of the clock, so you end up with everyone standing around with mouths stuffed full of grapes and trying not to laugh or choke. Here’s a fun video of how it was done one year at a party in Granada, Spain.

¡Feliz año nuevo!

Photo |  Ibán