Pompones and Pox

The Chiapaneco highlands hold traditions as tightly wound as the Pompones that decorate festival clothing. We headed to Tenajapa to meet Feliciano, a master artisan whose work has traveled as far as Japan, though he’s never left these mountains.

His specialty is Pompones, decorative spheres of tightly wound thread that adorn traditional Chiapaneco clothing and festival attire. They look almost impossible. They’re perfectly spherical, so seamlessly constructed they appear carved from wood rather than wound from thread. Each one takes hours of patient labor, building layer upon layer until the form emerges. In Feliciano’s hands, the process looked effortless.

He and his wife welcomed us into their home. They showed us the patience you’d reserve for students you know will struggle. Our first attempts produced lopsided, loose versions of the real thing. Luckily, we had the master artisan on with us to give us a hand!

Lunch came straight from their kitchen. We ate a home-cooked chicken stew, a Chiapaneco meal that tastes better because you’re eating it with the people who made it for you.

By afternoon, we’d traded craft for ceremony. In Chamula, at a rustic distillery off the side of the road, David introduced us to pox (pronounced “posh”). This corn-based spirit belongs to the Tzotzil and Tzeltal Maya. Unlike mezcal or tequila, most pox stays outside industrial production. Communities still use it in rituals and still carries the flavor of the land it comes from.

We stood among bubbling fermentation vats and earthen jars and tasted it together. The spirit was clean and earthy, slightly sweet. It had none of the harshness you’d expect from something this unrefined. But the context struck us more, how David explained its role in ceremonies (like his wedding coming up in November!), how it functions as both drink and offering, how certain traditions stay protected simply by staying local.

Our final stop was Romerillo, a pine-covered cemetery perched on a hill between San Cristóbal and Tenejapa. Towering crosses painted in turquoise, teal, and blue mark this Maya burial site, each cross representing one of the 22 communities allowed to bury their dead here.

Crosses are often adorned with pine branches (juncia) and marigolds, while cement and concrete are forbidden, wood is chosen to symbolize that in death, everyone is equal. Walking among the graves, we saw simple wooden boards placed atop burial mounds. During Día de Muertos, those boards are removed to “open the door” for spirits to return to visit loved ones.

We’d spent the day with people who make pompoms for collectors worldwide, distill spirits for ceremonies, and maintain burial traditions that blend two belief systems. None of it felt like performance. It was just Tuesday in the Chiapas highlands, where tradition moves forward because people keep practicing it.