HD Video. 5:39 min, stereo sound. Meet the young surfers of The Wahine Project, a girls-only, nonprofit educational program that also teaches ocean conservation, physical conditioning, and responsible citizenship. With new friends, open minds and a global outlook, these young women are developing their confidence riding the green and blue swells of Monterey Bay.
Photographed and recorded on location by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2014. All rights reserved.
HD Video. 4:20 min, stereo sound. Independent and fearless, young fixed-gear bicycle riders in Salinas, California test their physical limits with track bikes built for racing. Challenging conventional norms, these messenger-style bikes without brakes are as individual as their owners, who straddle a fine line between safety and speed.
Photographed and recorded on location by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
AUDIO SLIDESHOW. 3:22 min, stereo sound. In the only advocacy program of its kind in the country, inmates Ed Munis and “Doc” Piper at the Correctional Training Facility in Soledad, California run a successful veterans service office, which helps ensure that incarcerated vets receive the benefits to which they are entitled. Navigating a labyrinth of rules and regulations, the pair has brought in millions of dollars for imprisoned vets and their families through careful research and hard work.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
HD Video. 4:22 min, stereo sound. In their daily lives, members of the Yaocuauhtli "Eagle Warrior" family practice the respect their Aztec ancestors taught was central to a harmonious existence. Seen through the lens of ritual and dance over the course of a year, this is an intimate look at the role ancient traditions play in informing our cultural identity as Americans.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
The Alisal, a working-class community annexed to the city of Salinas, CA in 1963, often seems a world apart, with socioeconomic difficulties all its own - substandard housing, persistent poverty, and unsafe streets. Migrant farm workers, the engine of farming in the area, make up much of the population of east Salinas. They face unique challenges raising their families, yet are aided by an energetic coalition of civic organizations, non-profits, educators and volunteers determined that no one should go without food in the midst of California’s agricultural wealth.
Photographed and recorded on location by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
Check out how top flight techs from Team Oracle get down to nuts and bolts with aerobatic pilot Sean Tucker's bright red, 400 horsepower Challenger biplane, combining 21st century expertise and 1920's barnstorming style.
Photographed and recorded on location by Jay Dunn. Build photos by Brian Norris/Team Oracle.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
On Thursday, January 31st, 2013, Salinas city workers, county health officials and police conducted an early morning sweep of the Chinatown homeless population, removing encampments on the street and in lots between buildings all along Soledad Street. Although ample warning had been given by authorities, a number of homeless were displaced and have now scattered across the city. Residents of Tents by the Gardens, a well-organized homeless community with both sanitation and security, were evicted from the lot they occupied. Three weeks later, no alternatives have been developed, despite appeals by advocates and a high-profile City Hall protest. With no sanctioned place to live close to the social services that provide support, many of these people have nowhere to go.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
As part of ongoing efforts in the city of Salinas to address violence in the community, Second Chance Family and Youth Services was awarded a $500,000 Project Safe Neighborhoods grant from the US Department of Justice, one of 13 cities across the country and the only one from California to receive such funds. In a multifaceted strategy that involves everyone in the community, "violence interrupters" will work with individuals including gang members and families to prevent retaliation and mediate quarrels between groups before they escalate. Second Chance's community outreach includes counseling, drug education programs, parenting workshops and other assistance in service to at-risk youth.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
www.jaydunn.org Humanitarian Issues & Cultural Tradition Worldwide
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2013. All rights reserved.
A strong sense of community unites the Monterey Bay Harley Owners Group, bringing them together not only over the open road, but in caring for members like family and supporting local charities with enthusiasm.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn. Music by Arlo Guthrie. Bikers for Bikes photographed by Travis Geske.
A brief look at the land and people of Monterey County, California, inspiration for Nobel Prize-winning writer John Steinbeck, author of East of Eden, Cannery Row, Of Mice and Men, The Grapes of Wrath and more.
Sound and editing by Jay Dunn. Music by Woody Guthrie.
Based in the rough-and-tumble Hebbron neighborhood of this working-class California city of 150,000, Salinas police officers Jeffrey Lofton and Richard Lopez head up the Community Alliance for Safety and Peace, an ambitious program that aims to steer youth away from gang violence. The team’s approach encourages dialogue, cooperation and communication.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
Volunteers from the community drive a
First Methodist Church program in Salinas, California, which provides
meals, counseling resources and occasional shelter to many who have
nowhere else to go. Basic rules, a generous spirit and a firm hand
keep the program alive with minimal outside funding, creating real
alternatives for a visible population in need.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
Green Gate Fresh, a processor and shipper of leafy greens and salad mixes, joins many other Salinas-based agriculture concerns in moving its operations south for the winter growing season. Along with a core workforce, the company transports virtually every element of its assembly line to Yuma, Arizona for four to five months in a specialized industrial ballet that minimizes company downtime.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
In a yearly migration of the agriculture industry during the wet winter
months to warmer climes further south, Salinas resident Ramiro Ruiz
heads down to Yuma, Arizona for four months a year. A mechanic with Dole
Fresh Vegetables, Ruiz is in his eighth year of this transition. While
family and relatives are missed, especially during the winter holiday
season, Ruiz says work comes first.
Photographed and recorded by
Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
Drawing enthusiastic crowds from all over the state, Saturday and Sunday's California International Airshow Salinas featured state-of-the-art precision flying from the US Air Force Thunderbirds, Canada's CF-18 demonstration team and the civilian Patriots jet team. Both days of the show highlighted aerobatic routines from Sean Tucker, Jacquie Warda and Kent Pietsch, aerial tributes to flying legends Clay Lacy and Bob Hoover, and plenty of static aircraft displays for the whole family.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
Usually held in the mid-summer in Japan, "Obon" is the traditional time to honor one's departed family members. Across America, this deeply spiritual Buddhist tradition has evolved into an event that celebrates all things Japanese as well. The festival usually culminates in joyful "odori" dances, meant to commemorate the ancestor's release from suffering.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
The 102nd annnual California Rodeo, one of the largest in the country, opened to the public on Thursday night, July 19 for a four-day run. This is the culmination of "Big Week" in Salinas, when Western-wear is encouraged, and the whole town participates in traditional kick-off events like the 82nd annual “Kiddy Kapers” parade, with homemade floats and marching bands. The California Rodeo Association, a non-profit organization, is dedicated to preserving the traditions of rodeo, and annually contributes much of its revenue to the community.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
An interview with three-time
Olympic gold-medalist Kerri Walsh Jennings, who cut the ceremonial
ribbon opening a new beach volleyball court at North Salinas High
School. The court was funded by the Good Tidings Foundation, a Bay area
charity that builds athletic facilities for youth in underserved
communities. Jennings spent several hours with enthusiastic fans,
signing autographs, speaking to the public about motivating kids through
sport, and cheering on volleyball teams made up of local female
athletes.
Photographed and recorded by Jay Dunn.
Copyright The Salinas Californian/Gannett 2012. All rights reserved.
Listen to Ryan Wallace's interview with Kerri below.
At times, it feels like all Mexico is on the move, streaming toward the Basilica as if magnetised, disheveled, defiant, on knees bent and shoes scuffed from miles and miles of trudging along unforgiving concrete. For this will be a celebration, the “Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe,” patron saint of Mexico, and these are the true believers, the “peregrinos.”
They come for many different reasons, profound and personal, to find something, to forget something, or to fulfill their “manda,” solemn promises made in public or in private. One wish unifies them all, that they on this day can claim a place close to Guadalupe, who embodies at once the Christian Virgin Mary, the Aztec earth goddess Tonantzin, and everything else that is seen to be good and miraculous in this vast, complicated country.
From Puebla, from Hidalgo, from far-flung states or the outskirts of the Distrito Federal, from tiny towns and devout congregations, every year “peregrinos” save up to make this pilgrimage of faith, in groups, small or large, in trucks and buses and many on foot, in the traditional way.
They come alone, they come with friends - working men, teenagers, grandmothers, and householders with babies in tow, carrying the most remarkable things strapped to worn backpacks: huge portraits of the Virgin in green and gold, thirty-pound statues, rosaries and figurines, crosses of dark wood and shiny metal, elaborate altars in boxes made of glass.
But mostly they walk, steadily putting one foot in front of another, shuffling along with determination and pride in their faces, one and all with awkward bundles tied with string, filled with blankets, bandages, tortillas and tamales. As they approach their goal, some collapse with exhaustion and some, from a place deep inside, find renewed energy at the end.
For Miguel Benancio Cepeda, and his wife Maria, from San Miguel Canoa in Puebla, their third journey is to give thanks, and to ask that the baby Maria is carrying be blessed. After three days of walking from five in the morning till ten at night, they were within sight of the Basilica.
Fifty-one year old Jose Luis Gomez Pereira made a “manda secreta,” a secret promise to the Virgin, and when his friends didn't come with the horses, he came anyway, staying here in the city without any money. Thanks to local volunteers like Israel Aguilera, who works with twenty families to provide free food and drink for the pilgrims, Jose Luis and many others can show their devotion knowing help will always be there.
In 1531, the farmer Juan Diego's vision of a young woman atop a hill in Tepeyac gave birth to an enduring legend. To build the church she asked for, the Catholic bishop needed proof. Surely in the journey of millions to this huge square, which today encompasses the original sanctuary with its beautiful gardens and a sweeping new basilica, there is proof and more that faith in her existence was justified.
Both the city and the church provide ample support for these pilgrimages. There are medics, lost and found services, meeting places, and plenty of personnel for information and security. The center walkway of the “Calzada de Guadalupe,” a main route, is made smooth to assuage the knees, and near the Basilica, the vista widens, and the path turns to marble, shiny now in pain and pride.
But despite the crowds, the community of it, these are individual journeys, made of heart, soul, and something indefinable that links pilgrims of faith around the world. In the will to put one foot in front of another, day after day, every one of these people has to meet their measure and make it greater.
For forty-five year-old Norma Campo Trejo, on her fifth pilgrimage from Chalco, Estado de Mexico, it is a “manda” she has made for the health of her mother. On her knees, and blindfolded, she is within a few hundred yards of her goal. She does it this way so she cannot know where along the road she is, confident in her devotion and the strength that wells from within.
Jay Dunn, Mexico City, December 12th, 2011
A sincere thanks is given here to Andrea Fernandez, whose gracious help was essential to this story
The angel came early to number sixty-eight Calle Centlapatl, carried on a plain wood palanquin the way it would be during the first of the year's “Posadas,” by hand, from the church of San Martin de Tours a few blocks away. With a late afternoon's winter light slanting eastward over Azcapotzalco, this December 16th would be a special one, as the Marquez-Perez family had made great preparations to welcome their friends, neighbors and fellow parishioners in celebrating one of Mexico's sweetest traditions.
“Posada” means “inn” in Spanish, and on each of the nine days before Christmas, groups of devout parishioners like these will reenact Mary and Joseph's search for shelter during their Biblical journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. In the story, the pair were helped through the cold and dust by an otherworldly guide, and this guardian angel, too, in colorful plaster and paint, has made the trip from the church to be here on this humble street in Mexico City.
Our hostess has been busy – the tree inside is glowing with lights, gift bags of alternating red and silvery green are filled to the brim with peanuts, candy and snacks for the kids, flowers are everywhere, especially at the Virgen de Guadalupe's altar to the left of their living room entrance. There are not one, but three pinatas ready, to be won later in the evening at the right whack of a carefully taped broom handle.
As everyone gathers, the children take candles, the adults take sparklers for later. Two parishioners take up the heavy palanquin. The procession begins, their symbolic journey tonight a long and arduous one.
Pausing at a first, then a second doorway, the group outside the gates, the “peregrinos,” trade touching verses in song with the “hosteleros,” the innkeepers, inside:
“In the name of heaven, I ask for shelter, My beloved wife, She can walk no more,” answered by
“This is not an inn, I cannot open up, Go on ahead, Don't think me heartless.”
This is followed by: “Posada I ask for, Beloved Home, She will be a mother, the Queen of Heaven” and they are refused again “For if she is a queen, who asks, how is it that tonight, she is so lonely...”
But at the third gate, the innkeeper takes heart, and after some solemn silence, then, in the street, the gates open, and all that is inside welcomes the weary travelers.
For Father Francisco Mendieta Bueno, facing his own struggle with dialysis, these traditions kept alive by his parish are a lifeline of warmth and community. He offers some serious words for contemplation, and everyone joins in a “Padre Nuestro.” But then, the party begins, and there is food, drink, and pinata-breaking to look forward to. With so much going on, conversations flow, and children are everywhere. Everyone's door is open, and no one seems to notice the chilly breeze.
Many people in Mexico take two weeks off before the end of the year to wind down, and the general festive mood, with its resultant gridlock, meant holiday time was finally a reality. But this Friday night, some folks didn't seem to be in a hurry, and this working-class neighborhood feels frozen in time. Several times we had cars behind us, our modest group led by little girls with candles. No one honked or was impatient, and in the sweetness of the evening, most seemed to want to share the moment.
Jay Dunn, December 16th, 2011
Azcapotzalco, D.F., Mexico
A sincere thanks is given here to Andrea Fernandez, whose gracious help was essential to this story
True faith suffuses every aspect of Teotitlan del Valle's painstaking recreation of the last hours of Jesus, from Thursday's afternoon's Last Supper through to a night vigil at a jail cell after his arrest. Village elders play the parts of the twelve apostles, and the town's devout fill the church for mass and communion, for the ritual washing of the disciple's feet, and for multiple gatherings which mark the hours. Good Friday dawns with music, scripture, and a solemn procession of Christ, the Virgin Mary and the town's own radiant “Virgen Dolorosa” through the streets. Stereo sound recorded on location - just "start" the media player above....
On a moody Monday in southern Mexico, the Zapotec townspeople of Oaxaca's Teotitlan del Valle reenact all fourteen Stations of the Cross through this mountain community's winding cobblestone streets. From the first station, where Jesus is condemned to die, to the last, where he is laid in his tomb, somber processions accompanied by flowers, singers and a brass band stop at each refuge, adorned with “tapetes” created by master carpet weavers and blessed with food and drink for all. Stereo sound recorded on location - just "start" the media player above...
On the Sunday before Easter, Mexico's most important holiday, two very different congregations marked the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem with prayer and processions.The Templo de la Compania de Jesus welcomed Archbishop Jose Luis Chavez Botello for the “Blessing of the Palms” in central Oaxaca, while the small community of Santa Cruz de Xoxocotlan carried Jesus through rainy streets strewn with flowers.Stereo sound recorded on location - just "start" the media player above...
With both hands, high priest Ildelfonso Ake Cocom raises the gourd of sacred baalche mixture to the skies one last time, sweat beading his brow as he calls out a closing plea to the gods in the full, rounded phrases that characterize spoken Maya.
Perched on a stone platform below his uplifted arms is a table with the elements of the saka purification ceremony: a cloth painted with ideograms, candles in black, yellow, red, green, representing the Mayan world's four cardinal directions, a hand-made box of sacred herbs, four stout tobacco cigarettes, to smoke out bad spirits, deer antlers, bone rattles decorated with feathers.
Save for rhythmic taps on a hollowed-out wooden drum, little disturbs the silence of Mayapan, this great ruined city ringed by the low green forest of the Yucatecan plain. Using a whisk of siip-che leaves, and pure water, he blesses fellow priest Jorge Coronado Arceo, then all the participants, and with a mellifluous blast on the caracol, a rosy-pink conch shell from deep in the sea, the ritual is over, the sun glancing down hard as ever.
The last kings of this region were named Cocom, and shaman Ildefonso Ake Cocom is their direct descendant. For several hundred years, Mayapan, or “standard of the Maya” was Yucatan's cultural capital, and a proud one, with a large, vibrant population who claimed that Kukulcan himself (the Mayan name for demigod Quetzalcoatl) had founded their city.
In addition to being skilled astrologers, mathematicians, and engineers, the Maya were profoundly spiritual people, subscribers to a unique set of beliefs about the world. Describing their complex pantheon as religion or philosophy would be equally fair, as demons and angels, disasters and bounty all had their explanation tethered to a well-defined, sacred balance with Mother Earth.
Faith was an ordinary and an all-encompassing matter – a village priest was called simply jmen or “practitioner” - a king would have been chief arbiter but also an active priest, interpreting signs, representing the deities in rituals.
But the Maya were also fiercely territorial warriors, and listening to the hum of dragonflies in the slight breeze, it is easy to imagine the shock when, returning from a journey, a lone royal family member came upon the still-smoking city, devastated in a raid by a more powerful kingdom near Chichen-Itza. Vowing never to return, the survivors melted away into the countryside. By splitting up into small groups, the Cocom family ensured its bloodline, but ended, suddenly, the glory of what was clearly a kingdom of greatness.
Here in the heat of mid-day, with the brilliant yellow of the lluvia de oro (golden shower) trees all around, these stories don't seem like history. Though no one but the most learned scholars can read Maya, it is still spoken widely, and there is a feeling that in re-discovering the achievements of this culture, that there will always something more to the mystery of their collapse.
It is a common question to ask: what happened to the Maya? How could such an accomplished civilization just disappear?
But ask priest and musician Alfonso Ake Conte, though, who is leaning up against the cool rocks of a pyramid after the ceremony, and his answer is beautifully simple: “We never left...”
What makes a great city is not what it is, but who it is. More than the ghosts of its illustrious past, a great city must also be the real and ready smile of the present, and during this week of Bicentennial festivities, Mexico City was that and more, for all the world to see.
In eager, tri-color painted faces, frizzy wigs and flashing glasses, waving “banderas” of every description, Mexicans from all over the country filled the streets of the capital, flocking to the immense main square of the “zocalo” by the thousands, braving long but orderly security check lines with patience and good humor.
President Felipe Calderon was clearly looking to catalyze that elusive “mexicanidad,” a sense of cultural distinctiveness, when he sent a flag to every family in the country, and in a way, it worked. Not a state or a contingent was left out of the giant tapestry that is Mexico, and they came because they wanted to, college kids from Tijuana, friends and parents from Tlaxcala, grandmothers from Guanajuato, children and pets, couples and colleagues.
To unify a city of this size takes an extraordinary event, and what a show it was, without a single incident of the kind that has dominated recent negative coverage of Mexico, a tribute to the skills and persistence of thousands of organizers, officials, artists, soldiers and citizens.
With only three days in hand during the celebrations, we criss-crossed this vast metropolis in search of clues and color, of tastes, traditions, and a feel for this place where history is often right underfoot, from the “Plaza de las Tres Culturas” to the canals of Xochimilco.
There are the contrasts, of course, the old-world, cobblestone charm of Coyoacan against the gleaming steel of bank buildings along the Reforma, the sweet-spicy lime bite of a mango shaved-ice “raspada” against the flavors of this season’s patriotic dish, “chiles en nogada,” bright red pomegranate seeds, green poblano peppers, white walnut sauce.
But it is the people that make visiting this city memorable, the young skateboarder on the subway making sure I got off at the right stop, the father on his knees, carrying a newborn to the Tepeyac shrine of The Virgin of Guadalupe, at the zocalo, the burned woman in full traditional dress, knitting Bicentennial wool hats with her two prosthetic arms.
These are the “gente” of Mexico City now, from all walks of life, resisting definition. Whether Sect=they lived here or not, everyone had an opinion about the “Bicentenario,” most often expressed right on their brilliant red, green and white sleeves. Even though I hadn’t paid for a song, mariachi musician Victor Aranda was pleased to explain that business at the Plaza Garibaldi was great, “because people are in a good mood!”
When I asked what the commemoration meant to them, two university students at a bus stop answered, “It’s like they want us to have an identity, but we’re all so different.” Yet this is the strength and the endless possibility of the capital, and indeed of Mexico itself, that between the shopper's glitz of Polanco and the working-class grit of Ixtapalapa, between the poles of Cortez and Cuahtemoc, there lies the happy medium of today.
The small plane banked steeply for a second pass, morning sun briefly flashing through the cockpit as we leveled off, the view below impossibly green, then revealing black and granite through gossamer cloud, as if we were the first to discover the twisting river and sheer cliffs far below. “See, it is as I told you,” exclaimed Ismael Torres, our Cessna pilot, “like God has taken a great axe and cleaved the Earth.”
Spread out before us as in an eagle’s eye were the legendary “Barrancas de Sinforosa,” a vast series of rugged canyons and ravines up to 6,000 ft. deep, whose slopes are clad in pine, live oak, cactus and sagebrush. These beautiful and sometimes forbidding environs, part of Chihuahua’s Copper Canyon area, are home to many of Mexico’s Raramuri people, known as Tarahumara, the “people with light feet.”
We have only 24 hours, and have come to the town of Guachochi to see one of the most remarkable races imaginable – a 100 km ultra-marathon. Driving straight out to the “mirador,” Sinforosa’s main lookout, our pickup truck bumps along a red-earth road past farm after farm, interspersed with stretches of fragrant pine hemmed in by stone walls, the air fresh and cool at over a mile high.
Withdrawing from the advance of the Spanish “conquistadores” to the mountains that now bear their name, the Tarahumara dispersed their communities but managed to preserve much of their ancient culture. They are mystics, healers, craftsmen, and expert farmers, blessed with legendary endurance, but it is hard-won, a survival skill developed and adapted over time. In these remote places, running between distant villages is an essential communication and transportation necessity. Many Tarahumara will join this marathon, and often win it.
An international group of competitors begin at 5:00 AM and will, for the next 8 to 10 straight hours, run the course: 11 kilometers from town to the edge of the canyon, descend 1800 meters along a rough trail, run along the river, ascend 1800 meters by the punishing “z” switchbacks, 11 kilometers into town again, then run back to the finish line at the lookout point. From this spectacular vantage point of the “mirador,”, it takes the mind and eyes much longer than usual to make their essential calculations, to readjust, and coordinate perception - the ravines of Sinforosa are very deep indeed, and stretch in every direction as far as we can see.
Guachochi is not a big town, and there is a feeling everyone knows each other. Long, low houses of cinder block, a hard afternoon light through the scrub pines, people’s broad, smiling faces – these are reminiscent of other high-altitude communities one encounters, on a farm in Qinghai, or in an Alaskan village.
And here, on the one night we could enjoy Guachochi hospitality, there were fine steaks on the grill, a “quinceanera,” a wedding, and a graduation ceremony all at the same venue, Saturday night cruising up and down Main Street, and the odd knot of foreigners and Mexicans in shorts and day-glo sneakers, with their headlights and hydration gear not knowing what to do until morning.
A chill in the air, and an alarm that comes way too soon – by 4:45 AM, we’re ready. Credentials are checked, number placards signed for, pre-race photographs of excited friends flash by in the pitch-black. Only the Tarahumara are completely calm, in their distinctive red headbands and long, angular white shirts knotted with beautiful braided belts. This event’s “huaraches,” or tire-soled sandals, are the same as everyday footwear. There are many female competitors, who will run fully covered, in colorful print dresses. Within a few minutes, and not much fanfare, the pack is gone, raising a ghostly dust trail out of town, along a route that would not be light for some time.
At hour four of the race, we were aloft, our careful timing intended to balance light and shadow, and avoid the dangerous rising thermals that would buffet a small craft as the sun warmed the air. For a photographer in search of perspective for the big picture, and the detail that makes a written story, this was a precious piece of the puzzle, the sky clear as we skimmed the clouds by cliff's edge, an advancing fog both burning off and still throwing into relief the highest peaks.
We would see this early morning the hopefulness of the runner’s descent into these canyons, but by the time we made it down to a precipitous wire bridge to photograph along the trail, there was a different feel entirely - thirty or so grimly determined runners were already passing us on the way up, having climbed more than 4,000 ft. in an arduous combination of hiking and running.
Around the 70 km. mark, the bridge was built to safely cross what would be a substantial waterfall in the wet season. Support teams here checked runner’s numbers, gave out fruit and energy bars, and attended with some seriousness to an injured participant, for his own safety ruling him out of further competition with an eight-stitch head wound.
What is most remarkable about this race is not just that people finish it, but that they do so as a matter of course. Vicente Gonzales has a patrician’s grace, a red scarf wrapped vertically around his white hair Indonesia-style. At the bridge, he checked in with a smile, had a sip or two of a traditional barley drink, then without further word, disappeared up the 4 x 4 road behind us. He is eighty years old.
On the trail further down, a faraway flash of color quickly materializes. Maria Isidora Rodriguez, a stoic expression on her face, is fully wrappped in a bright yellow Tarahumara dress, and quickly making her way through the boulders that frame the path. She has company, a man and two young boys in baseball caps and jeans. They do not have race numbers. In less than a minute, Ms. Rodriguez and her supportive family are out of sight again, bounding for all the world like deer through the foliage.
Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, July 5th, 2010. Mexico’s crucial front-line in a war against domestic terrorism cheered today, not for the defeat of another greedy gang, but for a heartfelt victory of pride in cultural tradition at a particularly poignant time in Mexican history. Armed with little more than positive attitudes and leather “vaquero” clothing unchanged for centuries, over a hundred riders set off on horseback from this teeming northern city on a mission of good will, intent on vanquishing long stretches of the unforgiving desert with camaraderie, and an endurance beyond most imaginations.
This is the 15th annnual “Cabalgata Villista,” an epic horse trek started in 1996 by José Socorro Salcido Gómez, in memory of Mexican revolutionary general Pancho Villa, and the inspired nationalism he still brings to people today. Undaunted by blistering summer temperatures, the cavalcade wends its way southward through mesquite and chaparral, fording rivers and skirting brush, averaging 35-40 kilometers a day along paths known to very few. Pedro Pallares, guide and horseman extraordinaire, leads the march, astride a most patient mule he occasionally stands up on. The Mexican flag has pride of place, flying high at the front of a column three-abreast, as does Chicho Martinez, playing the part of Villa, sitting ramrod straight in the saddle hour after dusty hour.
Accompanied by a rag-tag army of horse trailers, dented pickups and powerful utility vehicles, suppport teams drive ahead along concrete roads shimmering in the heat, making their way slowly down through the crunch of gravel into towns too small to be on many maps, like El Charco, first stop after Chihuahua City. Tracks that lead nowhere are soon found out, and binoculars turn out to be useful tools. Water is rare, and in long stretches nonexistent. Camping every night, riders and their families pick up new participants (“jinetes”) along the way. One rises at dawn, military style, complete with bugle reveille. With each day, the cavalcade grows in size, bolstered by fresh horses and and a patriotic spirit. There is a palpable sense of community, with plenty of children riding, some masterfully, families all tenting together, and the work of saddlery and equine care shared by all.
Towns turn out their best, too - at almost every overnight stop, there is a “fiesta,” which no nationality throws as well as Mexico. The beer is cold, and tequila flows freely during the day as well as at night. In Satevo, a town of some size situated by a pretty river, everyone decamped right in the “zocalo,” the main square in town, shaded by trees with thick green foliage, and made truly complete by a recently restored colonial church gleaming minimalist white against Chihuahua’s startling blue desert sky.
On an arduous journey like this, when shade is an exception, a “sombrero” is required, and the sheer variety of these is fascinating, from the light, woven straw of a cowboy-style hat, to the massive three-foot curled brim of some of the Jalisco riders. Clothes are utilitarian, and necessarily so, with fine dust permeating everything, but bandanna colors abound, and protective leather chaps, boots and gauntlets sport gorgeous embossed designs and the individuality of their owners.
From El Faro, the trail leads down into a valley and then through cool hills, where mesquite’s proximity to water makes their sweet bean-like fruit appropriate for picking as one sways by. The only stop during the day is the dry riverbed crossing at the hamlet of El Velduque. With stony sand banks under the shade of tamarisk trees, it is a half-hour water stop for the horses only, some of whom, free from their saddles, wriggle about on their backs in the riverbed, tired but excited to be scratching at last. The difficulty of pulling off a cultural commemoration like this in the middle ofJuly is not to be underestimated – at this stop, one of the horses, seen to be oddly walking backward, died shortly thereafter of a heart attack, exhaustion the likely cause.
After a twelve-hour ride through some of the driest territory yet, and a brief attack by a swarm of Africanized bees, the procession is welcomed by the biggest party of all in Valle de Zaragoza, where the muddy waters of the Rio Conchos support farming for miles around. At the gates of the town, new “jinetes” awaited, curious onlookers lined the turn-off, and schoolchildren manned a charming hand-painted float swathed in flags and bandoliers, topped off by a life-size cardboard General Villa and accompanied the town’s beauty queen, radiant in a white dress.
Vehicles of every kind jam the fairgrounds by the river, and in the cool of late afternoon, a contentment sets in – the bands play, kids build sandcastles at the shore, and everyone settles down to the cabalgata’s well-deserved main feast, grilled river fish, chile con carne, tortillas, and ice –cold Tecate in cans by the thousand. Couples ride about two-on-a-horse, and everyone is here, because this is the place to be.
While it might seem counterintuitive to have a 577 kilometer march like this in the middle of summer, there is a historical reason for it, as the procession ends in the mountain landscape of Hidalgo de Parral on June 20th, the date General Villa was murdered in the town he loved. That this journalist’s hosts decided against documenting the reenactment says a lot – that there’s been enough killing in the news, for instance. For the positive spirit it takes to show this kind of pride in one’s heritage, and for the enthusiastic young men and women who’ll carry on the tradition of the “cabalgata,” there will never enough respect to go around.
Jay Dunn, July 20th, 2010
Hidalgo de Parral, Mexico
Photographs commissioned by the Chihuahua Department of Tourism.
Mexico Cultural Calendar is a unique, easy-to-use resource for cultural tourism to Mexico, which lets tourists and travel agents plan itineraries around the country’s hundreds of ceremonies, religious rites, and ethnic rituals yearly. Across Mexico, there are many traditions that are in danger of being neglected, not for want of interest, but through the slow atrophy of passing time and changing priorities. We believe that this valuable cultural heritage needs a home, to preserve its best elements for the future, to allow people to find out about it and experience it, and to funnel some conscientious tourism dollars into the communities that support it.
USA, IL, Chicago, March 28 - April 2, 2010. Salvador Zavala, a 33-year old Mexican carpenter, was chosen from among seven Catholic parishes to play Jesus in the annual “Via Crucis,” a faithful re-enactment of Christ’s last hours. Led by Jorge Nieto, who himself played Jesus in 1987, and his wife Carmen, the Way of the Cross Committee takes great pains to rehearse every step carefully, counting on the devotion and patience of its Chicago members to ensure the event’s success. Beginning at the Providence of God Parish with Pilate's condemnation of Christ, the three-hour Good Friday procession follows the "Stations of the Cross" along Pilsen’s 18th St, culminating in Christ's crucifixion and entombment, marked with a service at St. Adalbert's. Photographs by Jay Dunn.
In a unique collaboration between the Chicago Tribune’s “HOY” newspaper and photojournalist Jay Dunn, this new, weekly series of photo-essays highlights community-driven alternatives for students looking to stay out of trouble in their often underserved neighborhoods.
Friday, Jan 22, 2010- Part One:"Circus Galactica. At-risk students learn basic physics and enviable circus skills in this innovative community partnership between artists and educators.
In Chicago's rough-and-tumble Humboldt Park area, a multi-racial group of high school students make remembering people's names, working as a team, and partnership a priority.
This community-minded group runs a comprehensive program that fully integrates day school with "after-school," offering academic help and a full schedule of enrichment programs like culinary arts.
Among the many offerings at suburban Niles North High School, a model program teaches every aspect of theater, from acting to costume-making, set-building to production design.
U.S. Copyright Office - Copyright Law: Chapter 5 All photographs, text, and supporting material on this weblog are the intellectual property of Jay Dunn, photojournalist. Legal statement of authorship is hereby provided. Manipulation, storage, distribution, transmission, reproduction or publication in any form of this material without express written permission will be prosecuted to the full extent of domestic and international law.
Mexico Cultural Calendar
New Photo Anthology
"Agadez to Accra: from the deserts of Niger to the Gulf of Guinea" -- The spirit of great travel journalism is alive and well in this new large-format landscape book by National Geographic Traveler’s First Prize winner Jay Dunn. Over 130 striking photographs complement this collection of essays and observations on an African adventure, where the photographer’s search for the beauty of everyday life leads to memorable people and some extraordinary experiences.
The Pilgrims of Guadalupe In one of the largest pilgrimages in the world, millions of faithful come from all over Mexico to the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe in celebration of the country's patron saint.
"Posadas" in Azcapotzalco On each of the nine days before Christmas, groups of devout Catholic parishioners like these will reenact Mary and Joseph's search for shelter during their Biblical journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem.
Three Days in Jalisco From museums to mariachi, three days based in Guadalajara, Mexico's second-largest city, allows a taste of Jalisco's myriad cultural offerings.
Faith, Teotitlan, Oaxaca True faith suffuses every aspect of Teotitlan del Valle's painstaking recreation of the last hours of Jesus. Good Friday dawns with music, scripture, and a solemn procession of Christ, the Virgin Mary and the town's own radiant "Virgen Dolorosa" through the streets.
"Via Crucis," Oaxaca On a moody Monday in southern Mexico, the Zapotec townspeople of Oaxaca's Teotitlan del Valle reenact all fourteen Stations of the Cross through this mountain community's winding cobblestone streets.
Palm Sunday, Oaxaca On the Sunday before Easter, Mexico's most important holiday, two very different congregations marked the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem with prayer and processions.
"Cabalgata Villista," Chihuahua Undaunted by blistering desert temperatures, the annual "Cabalgata Villista," an epic 150 mile horse trek from Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua to Hacienda Canutillo in Durango re-enacts in enthusiastic detail the last ride of Pancho Villa.
The Axe of God, Chihuahua A truly remarkable 100 kilometer "ultra-marathon" is held each year in Chihuahua's rugged Tarahumara country, drawing hundreds of participants from all over the world to the scenic town of Guachochi.
"Todos Santos," Veracruz Making the souls of the dead feel welcome as they return for a yearly visit, Mexicans in this tropical state offer not only elaborate feasts and flower-filled altars, but raise-the-roof dancing and music until dawn.
"Xantolo," Veracruz "Xantolo," the Nahuatl word for "Santos," or holy, marks a week-long period during which the whole Huasteca region of northern Veracruz state prepares for "Dia de los Muertos," the Day of the Dead.
The Dances of Polo Garcia For the last twenty-five years, Chicago resident Polo Garcia, a former dance teacher turned folklorist-ethnographer, has gone in search of the cultural traditions of Hispanic America.
The Last Kings, Yucatan Mayan high priest Ildelfonso Ake Cocom conducts a "saka" purification ceremony on the grounds of Mayapan, a ruined Yucatecan capital city.
The Black Christ of Izamal Home to both Mayan ruins and Christian churches, Izamal, Yucatan is one of Mexico's designated "magical towns," which also celebrates a Black Christ with a legendary past.
"Sonrisas de Yucatan" Nothing says "bienvenido" more than a smile, and in these people of Yucatan, Campeche and Quintana Roo they seem to run through every aspect of life.
Viva Mexico! 2010 Bicentennial The 200th anniversary of Mexico's independence from Spain was celebrated with a tremendous country-wide effort, marked by careful planning and a generous spirit.
"Colores de D.F." Mexico City is renowned as one of the most important, and densely populated, cities in the world. But there are also many unexpected harbors of peace in which to rest.
A Faith Rewarded, Michoacan In the capital's working-class neighborhood of Mariano Escobedo, a group of neighbors builds a shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe right on the street.
"Ritual and Romance in Asia" signed first edition
"Ritual and Romance in Asia: a photographer's journey" -- Six years of documenting the essential human condition across Asia, “from the gods we hold high to the strengths and fragilities we all have in common.” A stunning collection of work from nine countries. Hard cover, linen binding, printed on coated paper.
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Jay Dunn “In the very humanity of a gesture, what I look for are the emotions we all share, the intimacy of friendship, or the pain of loss, an offering to the hungry, or hands clasped in prayer. To have stopped, when it was much easier to walk away, to have tried to make a difference, to have regarded the ways of others, and found lessons for my own life, these things alone keep open that elusive window, through which I hope, in my photographs, a moment of truth may still be seen.”
Cycles of the Sun, Burma
The following is an excerpt from "Life and Death in Burma," a photographic exhibition created in April, 2001. FULL TEXT can be found at www.jaydunn.com ----
"Beneath all that is political is our essential human truth, and nowhere I have been is it clearer to me that this spirit is alive than in Burma. One hot day in Thanlyin, as I was watching some children playing on the side of the road, an older man approached, and asked me, gently, and in perfect English, why I wanted to photograph poor people. And I told him, as best I could, that to me, there was nothing on earth as beautiful as the smile on that little girl's face, that in my search for a poetry of life, any moment might show itself in that brilliant, unpredictable way to be just what you remember forever. Sure, there were to be instances of dread, of doubt, and apprehension, the cold expectancy of trouble, the restaurant I sat down in that turned out to be full of soldiers, rifles propped casually against the wall, but for any time like that there were a hundred times as many experiences that cried out to be described, and for which there would be few words. ----- These are people who know how to do things, and for whom it seems the technology we take for granted means less and less the more they are denied access to it. Most of the toys I saw were handmade, tops made of wood, rope and a single well-placed nail, kites fashioned from bamboo strips and found plastic flown high, on cotton string wound round simple wooden reels. It is a heavy burden, for instance, that electricity here is neither reliable nor inexpensive. Those who can afford it have generators. The fuel, of course, comes at its own price, stolen from its rightful owners, resold for a profit by unsmiling generals. But how sweet becomes the sound, in a village tuned down to the cycles of the sun, of an acoustic guitar, strummed lightly, of actual conversation, of people singing, and I heard this everywhere, unaccompanied by music, singing loud and unabashed, their favorite songs. Perhaps I betray my romanticism by suggesting there is something good to this, but in all I saw in the Burmese there is resilience, and strength, and humor." ----
Truth, Pakistan
A selection from "Satya," an exhibition and essay conceived March 2004. ---- "The young Chitrali woman in the photograph for me has no name. She has come to represent in my memory at once sister and mother, a dream one sees only at night and a waking vision during the day. Pakistan is full of women, but one hardly sees them, especially in the north and in the countryside, where conservative is a rule and many wear burka so they are cannot be seen at all. I photographed women throughout the whole assignment, but never once was able to capture what is here, a long look, a dark well of our own expectations, a canvas on which we can write of youth and of age at the same time. She is young, and yet she will never know what we expect our youth to know in their early years. She is different." ----
Nomads of Tidene, Niger
A selection from "Letter from Agadez," published December 2007 in the photo anthology "Agadez to Accra: from the deserts of Niger to the Gulf of Guinea." ---- "Like visions from the Bible, a group of nomads will spend the greater part of a day watering their herd of goats, zebu and camels, using methods unchanged for a thousand years. A boy tightens the thick palm fiber straps hitched to an uncomplaining donkey, and fixes the guide ropes expertly to his saddle. Mounting his charge, he spurs it into action, pulling up a full goat-skin water bag as he heads away from the well. Working together, a young woman will do the same, waiting to raise the next container, now on its way down to fill up. All will take turns emptying the bloated skins into bigger jars for transport, and into a nearby trough for the milling herd. Goats crowd around the wetness, and are given their fill, but no more - donkeys will drink several times, for they are doing the hardest work. The biggest zebu can only approach one at a time, their elegant curving horns making sharing impossible. ---- Over the course of four or five hours, everyone in this group of twenty will labor at this vital routine. Not everyone would envy lives as hard as these, but I can’t help but feel that these hardy souls will be the ones that survive, should all our fragile technology crash down around us. Like many Africans eking out a living from the earth, they will always be able to live here at least, to wait out a change of fortune, a change of government, or to just make do, once again, with the patience, grace and pride of people who know themselves and the land they live on." ----
Social Service Work