When most peopleoutside Mexico think of Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead—theypicture colorful face paint, bright orange marigolds, and smiling skeletonsbrought to life by the film Coco. It’s a beautiful image, and in manyways, that Pixar masterpiece helped share Mexico’s heart with the world. Yetwhat it shows is just one glimpse of a celebration that runs much deeper andchanges meaning from one corner of the country to another.
For expats living inMexico, Día de los Muertos is one of those moments that offers a windowinto the Mexican soul—joyful, reflective, and beautifully complex. What makesthis celebration so extraordinary is how it turns grief into color andremembrance into ritual. But there’s far more to it than meets the eye.
While officially theDay of the Dead is marked on November 1 and 2, in many regions the preparationbegins weeks in advance. Families clean and decorate cemeteries, gather photos,and start building their ofrendas—home altars honoring loved ones whohave passed. In some parts of southern Mexico, the festivities extend well pastNovember 2, filling the air with music, incense, and the scent of pan demuerto long into the first week of November.
The altarsthemselves are perhaps the most recognizable image of the season, but they’refar more than decoration. Each item on an ofrenda is intentional—candlesto light the way for the returning souls, water to refresh them after the longjourney, salt for purification, and favorite foods or drinks to remind them ofhome. A well-made altar isn’t a shrine to loss; it’s a warm invitation toreturn. Many families even scatter marigold petals—the flor de muerto,or “flower of the dead”—from the door to the altar, creating a golden pathbelieved to guide spirits from the world of the dead back to the living.
Those marigolds, or cempasúchil,have a scent so strong it’s said to call the souls of the departed. In thesmall town of Mixquic, near Mexico City, you can still see locals laying outtrails of petals from the cemetery gates to their homes, an act as moving as itis beautiful. For expats experiencing the celebration for the first time, it’sa powerful reminder that this isn’t about mourning—it’s about reunion.
And while pan demuerto is widely known, few realize how much it changes from region toregion. In Mexico City, it’s round and dusted with sugar, with bone-shapedridges on top. In Oaxaca, it’s pan de yema, braided and glossy. In theYucatán, it might carry notes of anise and come adorned with bright colors.Like so much in Mexico, the bread tells a story of local flavor and familytradition.
The atmosphere alsovaries greatly across the country. In cities like Mexico City and Guadalajara,the celebration has become a cultural spectacle—public altars, enormous skullinstallations, and parades that fill the streets. These events are stunning, butin smaller towns like Pátzcuaro, Oaxaca, or Janitzio, the experience feelsentirely different: intimate, spiritual, and community-led. Families gather atgravesites, sometimes spending the entire night beside their loved ones,surrounded by candlelight, food, and soft music. To an outsider, it might seemunusual, even festive, but to those who live it, it’s an act of love—one thatbridges worlds.
Another little-knownaspect is that Día de los Muertos isn’t one single day, but two distinctobservances. November 1 is Día de los Angelitos, dedicated to childrenwho have passed, while November 2 honors adults. On the first day, altars arefilled with toys, sweets, and small sugar skulls; on the second, you’ll seetequila, mole, and cigarettes replace them. The tone shifts gently from tenderto joyful, but both share the same essence—connection.
For those living inMexico, the Day of the Dead offers a lesson in perspective. Death here isn’thidden away or feared—it’s acknowledged, embraced, even welcomed. It’s areminder that love transcends absence, and that those we’ve lost are nevertruly gone as long as we keep their memory alive.
If you’re an expatexperiencing Día de los Muertos for the first time, don’t just watch theparades or photograph the altars. Ask questions. Visit a local market for cempasúchilflowers. Try the regional bread. Light a candle and think of someone you’veloved and lost. Participate—not as a spectator, but as someone willing to learnfrom one of Mexico’s most heartfelt traditions.
Because beyond themarigolds, the sugar skulls, and even the songs from Coco, Día de losMuertos carries a message the world could use more of: that love, memory,and family never end.
