I Ate Like a Mexican Pilgrim on the Delicious Road to Worshipping a Saint

Tonight, the road to the Virgin of Guadalupe's Basilica—just north of Mexico City—smells like firecracker powder left by the worshipers arriving to the temple. The scents of freshly brewed coffee, tamales with salsa verde, mole, burnt fat from street tacos, freshly pressed orange juice, chocolate atole and pan dulce, are along this road, too.

Since tonight is December 11th, I am walking along the road with the thousands of pilgrims heading towards Guadalupe Basilica to pay tribute to the Virgin de Guadalupe. And at every road we find ourselves, thousands of families pour out into the streets to offer something to eat to the devout and faithful travelers that arrive from all over Mexico. Some come by foot while others travel by bike. They want to get to the temple's altar a few minutes before midnight to celebrates the "Queen of Mexico," and offer her a thankful prayer and then throw some blankets on the ground near the Basilica to spend the night and get some rest after a long journey.

"Would you like an atole, a tamal?" Doña Sofía asks me as I walk by. She's wearing a thic, red wool sweater that keeps her warm on this cold night. She confused me with a worshiper even after I explain that I'm just here to watch, but she insists that I take something to eat on the road. This is how it's going to be on my way up there. You have to take what people offer you, and especially those that come to you with a container full of chicharron tacos with salsa verde and fried rice. If you don't accept, you will get a disappointed look. You really don't want to offend a do-gooder. It's understandable, since most of them spend all day cooking to feed the pilgrims on the last leg of their journey, who have been walking for days without eating a single thing. And most of them have spent around 6,000 pesos on their good deeds.

"I brought 300 tamales, 30 liters of chocolate atole, sodas, and candy for the kids," she tells me as his grandson serves atole to the crowd. The travelers have the luxury of choosing whether they want to accept the treats or not. "Yes, you spend time and money, but people have faith and that's what moves me. A little tamal will help them get to the Basilica. They are coming from far away without eating for days. Can you imagine that? Besides, I've done well and there's nothing bad with sharing a little. I don't do it because of a promise. I just feel like doing it. I'm moved by my faith."

Laura got up at 7 AM and left her house in Tepito—one of the poorest, most dangerous neighborhoods in Mexico City—to go to the Lagunilla market. There, she bought tomatoes, onions, chili peppers, disposable plates, napkins, and spoons with around $1,000 pesos. After cleaning her house, she cooked for herself and her family first. Around 5 PM, she started cooking the tortillas and making the salsa. By 9 PM, she took a folding table and placed it on Reforma Avenue, approximately 8 kilometers from the Basilica. She placed two huge ceramic pots with enough chilaquiles to serve 300 people, ready to serve them with a bit of cream and grated cheese on top.

"I would have prepared more, but I was assaulted yesterday," Laura tells me with a disappointed smile. "Can you believe it? I went to La Merced market and they took all my money, so I had to buy everything around my neighborhood today. I wanted to prepare food for 500 people, but then that happened to me so I couldn't. But at the end, you can conquer everything with faith."

Her sister and daughters help her with her labor as her brother yells to the crowd: "Come over and enjoy some chilaquiles!" The pilgrims start to make a beeline for her table. In less than 20 minutes, the first batch is gone.

"This is the first time that I've come out to do this. Well, we have given food away before but not from my own pocket. I used to come out to help friends. I made a promise to the virgin because my two little grandchildren were dying and then they were saved. Here is the youngest one, and the other one is over there." She points out to a girl not over 16-years-old with a three-month-old baby and another girl, another teenager with an eight-month-old. It's hard to picture her as a 39-year-old grandma.

"This is my mom's recipe. Try some, I've been told they are delicious." Laura tells me and then shares a fit of laughter with her family. "Maybe they're just saying that."

The salsa gives out a sweet aroma and cream is added to tame the spice. The tortillas weren't soaked in the salsa for too long since I still notice their crunchiness. Laura is just being modest, because her chilaquiles are both an incredible way to start this gastronomical show and a great source of carbs for the pilgrims' last stretch.

Further down the road, a woman and her grandchildren are giving away bags of naranjada, and has been giving away beverages to the pilgrims for the last 18 years. The first time she did it was because of a promise she made to the virgin. Her, along with other family were camping illegally on the Reforma Avenue. They were asking the government for a place to live. Today she gives away naranjadas outside her building, which is located right across the street from the emblematic Tlatelolco towers.

"We have milanesa sandwiches!" an eleven-year-old yells, holding the food in his hands. His friend is the working competition: "I have cubana sandwiches!" The worshipers come over and the kids give away all their sandwiches. One traveller takes out the food from the bag to discover that it contains ham, mayo, refried beans, white cheese, and pickled chili peppers. He shows a look of disappointment, but takes a bite and keeps walking.

Although the cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe has existed for 484 years, the conglomeration of people around the Tepeyac hill for her celebration—where it is said that she made her first appearance—started around 1929. Today, approximately 5 million people visit her temple on December 11th every year. No one knows where the tradition of providing refreshments to pilgrims came from, but offering food is barter of faith.

"Last year, I got an infection on my foot," a man named Carmelo tells me, while he gives away coffee from the inside of his red truck. "It got complicated, and the infection spread to the rest of my body. That's why I made a promise to the virgin to come here and help the pilgrims."

And now, his foot is completely healed. That's why he brought 60 liters of coffee and sandwiches for the weary.

After walking around for an hour and a half, my backpack is full of packaged food: three ham sandwiches, five bottles of soda, two oranges, some popcorn, fritters, two panes dulces, and a big bottle of water. But the faithful travelers' route wouldn't be complete without room for dessert. There's bags of cookies for the kids, and strawberries, yogurt, Jello, and homemade arroz con leche are ready for the adults.

The closer we get to the Basilica, the harder it is to walk. The enormous crowd has invaded everywhere: the streets, sidewalks, toilets at the gas station, hotels, and restaurants. The road has turned into a landfill.