Supporting indigenous tourism in New Mexico

A big part of visiting Taos Pueblo is supporting the local economy, which is centered around responsible tourism, artisan crafts and food. Vendors from all over New Mexico and the southwest are set up spanning one end of Taos Pueblo to the other. And they’re selling everything from pottery to jewelry, to metal work, to blankets.

We meet a woman named Yolanda selling hand crafted and painted Novajo pottery. She walks me through what each symbol means on the small clay buffalos she’s selling, so I can decide which one is right for me. I choose one with small feathers (meaning songs and stories) and deer hoof (meaning harmony) painted in black and blue across the buffalo’s smooth white surface.

Another woman, Jennifer, from Arizona sells beaded necklaces that are so intricate they look like woven blankets. My mom selects a necklace representing Chinle, where her uncle used to teach. I select one with a depiction of Kokopelli who, amongst other things, is a deity known for his storytelling skills and to be a little mischievous. My mom said it’s fitting… she’s probably right.

Randy makes his own jewelry by cutting the stones and shaping the metal himself. This is a skill possessed by many of the artisans we meet, often passed down for generations. I have conversations with several vendors about what stones they use and where they’re from. The earrings I choose are purple turquoise from Arizona.

Another kind of craftsmanship at Taos Pueblo is the food. By the time we cross the river to where all the food stalls are, my mom and I are practically floating following our noses like in a cartoon. There’s Frito pie (a New Mexico specialty involving chile and Frito chips, and my favorite since I was a kid), Indian tacos, lamb in red chile oil, Navajo piccadilly snowcones (something I can’t believe has been missing from my life for 33 years), fresh squeezed juices, blue corn pancakes and more.

By early evening our shopping is done and we’re full. So, we find our way back over to that 40-foot pole (I think, I’m not sure how tall it really is) in the center of the pueblo.

Earlier in the afternoon the crowds had been joined by koshare. There is no exact English word for koshare, but the closest translation is “sacred clown.” They represent ancestral spirits in some Puebloan ceremonies. The koshare are painted head to toe in horizontal black and white stripes, wearing a loin cloth and corn husks in their hair. They came out and entertained the crowd, danced with people and played with the kids in the river.

But now, the sun is starting to go down, the wind has picked up sending the dirt swirling around us, and the tone of the day has shifted. It’s subtle, but even those of us who aren’t completely sure what’s coming know something is about to happen.

First the koshare make their way to a cross covered in branches and yellow leaves that stands behind the pole. All day it’s been a shock of color amongst the earthy browns of the pueblo and dirt-covered ground. The koshare begin to strip the branches from the cross and throw them to the ground, where Puebloans, mostly women, have formed a circle. The women sing and dance and gather branches that they keep for themselves and bring to their kids. While I’m not completely sure of the significance, my mom and I both immediately see some similarities with the Catholic tradition of Palm Sunday.

Next, the koshare gather around the pole and loosen the massive ropes around it. Speaking exclusively in Tiwa (the language of the Puebloan people), they have a jump rope competition with a few of the older boys in the community and dance. And then they prepare to climb.

The goal is to reach the top, where a recently butchered sheep, fry bread, and other offerings are tied. According to a Navajo woman we met a few days before in Santa Fe, the koshare who reaches the top of the pole gets all of the things tied to it, and good blessings for them and their family for the next year.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen anyone climb a pole hand over hand, using nothing but a rope, but I have. It’s one of the most exciting and terrifying things I’ve ever seen. And the support of the crowd and their fellow koshare is nearly deafening. But after reaching the top they’re not done. For nearly an hour, the koshare sits on a cross bar, gripping the pole with their legs as they lean to the side and create pullies out of the ropes to lower everything to the ground. The amount of strength it took, both mentally and physically, is truly extraordinary.

After he’s done, the koshare perches on top of the pole and gives a speech, in Tiwa, to the community. There are cheers, whoops and tears as he speaks and begins his climb back down. Beneath him stand his fellow koshare, arms outstretched, ready to embrace him the moment he’s close enough.

When the koshare’s feet hit the gound, my heart finally slows to a normal rate and I can feel my mom relax beside me. The wind whips as the pueblo comes even more alive. Their celebrations will continue into the night, but it’s time for us to leave and take this memory with us.