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      <div class="header reader-header reader-show-element"> <a
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href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/05/travel/mexico-peyote-pilgrimage.html">nytimes.com</a>
        <h1 class="reader-title">Inside a Peyote Pilgrimage</h1>
        <div class="credits reader-credits">Matt Reichel, Robyn Huang</div>
        <div class="meta-data">
          <div class="reader-estimated-time" dir="ltr">6-8 minutes</div>
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                          96dpi)"><img alt="The Chihuahuan Desert in the
                          Mexican state of San Luis Potosí. The
                          Wixáritari, an Indigenous group, return here
                          every year to collect peyote."
src="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2021/07/05/travel/05travel-mexico1/merlin_188868666_f9e654b8-2046-4492-9e36-9ef32f24ea89-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale"
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                    <p>The World Through a Lens</p>
                    <p>Drug tourists, mining companies and farming
                      encroachment are threatening the Wixárika people’s
                      annual hunt for the psychedelic plant in the
                      Mexican desert.</p>
                  </div>
                </header>
                <p><span>The Chihuahuan Desert in the Mexican state of
                    San Luis Potosí. The Wixáritari, an Indigenous
                    group, return here every year to collect peyote.</span><span><span>Credit...</span><span><span></span></span></span></p>
                <div>
                  <div>
                    <p><span itemprop="name">Matt Reichel</span></p>
                    <p><span>Text by </span><span itemprop="name">Robyn
                        Huang</span></p>
                  </div>
                  <ul>
                    <li><time datetime="2021-07-07T12:10:45-04:00"><span>Published
                          July 5, 2021</span><span>Updated July 7, 2021</span></time></li>
                  </ul>
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                  <p>Mario Bautista was digging relentlessly at the
                    ground. Deep in the vast and unforgiving Chihuahuan
                    Desert, in northeastern Mexico, he had spent nearly
                    eight hours wading through a seemingly endless patch
                    of thorny brush. Surrounding him were 25 members of
                    his community, including his wife and children.</p>
                  <p>Everyone in the group was searching for one thing:
                    the psychedelic plant known as peyote, or hikuri — a
                    small, squishy cactus camouflaged underneath the
                    shrubbery.</p>
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                      <p><span>Image</span></p>
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                        1),(max-width: 599px) and (min-resolution:
                        1dppx),(max-width: 599px) and (min-resolution:
                        96dpi)"><img alt="K’kame, at left, an elder
                        among the Wixárika, takes part in a ritual in
                        central San Luis Potosí, near a naturally
                        bubbling spring. Here, the pilgrims use brushes
                        and candles to collectively baptize one
                        another."
src="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2021/07/05/travel/05travel-mexico2/merlin_188868153_08018040-2400-4bb0-93ca-bcaf27861dd3-articleLarge.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp&disable=upscale"
                        width="600" height="400"></div>
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                  <p>Mario and those alongside him are members of the
                    Mexican Huichol, or Wixárika, people, and hikuri is
                    their lifeline. Whatever they found would be brought
                    back to their village for use in their daily
                    religious rituals.</p>
                </div>
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                  <p>Spread across the rugged Sierra Madre Occidental
                    range, the Wixárika are an Indigenous people with an
                    estimated population of 45,000. Within their
                    culture, peyote is far more than just a
                    hallucinogenic cactus. The Wixárika believe that the
                    plant allows them to connect with their ancestors
                    and regenerates their souls.</p>
                  <p>Every year, Wixárika communities make a
                    several-hundred-mile pilgrimage to a sacred place
                    called Wirikuta, near the northeastern city of
                    Matehuala. Groups travel — these days by car, trucks
                    and buses — under the direction of a leading shaman,
                    or maraka’ame.</p>
                  <p>Under Mexican law, only Indigenous groups are
                    authorized to harvest and ingest peyote. But in part
                    because of its <a
href="https://www.vice.com/en/article/bn5k3m/i-dug-up-peyote-in-the-mexican-desert-456"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">increasing
                      popularity as a recreational drug</a>, the plant
                    has become harder to find. If their holy lands
                    continue to be threatened — <a
href="https://www.vice.com/en/article/bn5k3m/i-dug-up-peyote-in-the-mexican-desert-456"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">by
                      drug tourists</a>, <a
href="https://www.vice.com/en/article/xgz55a/inside-a-massive-peyote-ceremony-during-mexicos-covid-lockdown"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">mining
                      companies</a> and <a
                      href="https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=14064806"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">farming
                      encroachment</a> — then a core aspect of the
                    Wixárika’s identity will be in danger.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>This past March, the photographer Matt Reichel and
                    I were invited to join Mario and his family on their
                    pilgrimage — as guests of his community, and to
                    learn about and document their traditions.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>Pilgrims are divided into groups based on their
                    ancestral family lands, and each group can only
                    access a particular area within Wirikuta. They must
                    also receive an initial blessing in their homeland
                    before setting out on the journey; for Mario’s
                    family, the blessing took place in Rancho La
                    Tristeza, near the village of La Cebolleta, in the
                    Mexican state of Nayarit.</p>
                  <p>The next day, the group embarked on the pilgrimage
                    adorned in their traditional dress. The women wore
                    vibrant colored, hand-sewn dresses. Scarves
                    protected their hair from the sun.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>The men wore white shirts and pants, with
                    embroidered depictions of deer, peyote and other
                    symbols. They also wore wide-brimmed hats with
                    plumed feathers. One particular man, K’kame, the
                    guardian of the community’s ancestral pavilion, was
                    a visual splendor: His hat held more plumed feathers
                    than those of other pilgrims, and he was chaotically
                    energetic during all the rituals.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>On the first night, the group settled into a sacred
                    site off the side of a highway. The evening’s first
                    ritual was a name-changing ceremony: The desert
                    became the ocean; peyote became chayote squash. Name
                    changing helps the pilgrims envision entering a new
                    world.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>The pilgrims also underwent a public confession
                    around midnight, during which each person listed all
                    their past and present sexual relationships. The
                    names were then publicly read around the bonfire;
                    the intention was to let go of the past.</p>
                  <p>Each of the relationships was tied as a knot on
                    individual palm branches. The branches were then
                    burned in the fire.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>Throughout the trek, pilgrims made offerings at
                    sacred sites — areas where their ancestors had found
                    water during previous pilgrimages. Water was key to
                    the offerings; pilgrims used feathers and candles to
                    sprinkle water over the offerings, which included
                    corn tortillas and coins.</p>
                  <p>Families congregated by the watering hole, where
                    they chanted, sang and blessed one another. A
                    fiddler played a joyful tune in the background.</p>
                  <p>After traveling overland for a week, we finally
                    reached our area, known as Bernalejos.</p>
                  <p>“It is the largest church in the world,” Mario
                    proclaimed as we stepped into the desert.</p>
                  <p>The families rested for a while, but there was no
                    time to sleep. Instead, the pilgrims stayed up to
                    sing and dance for a good harvest.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>The morning of the harvest, families painted their
                    faces with single yellow dots on both cheeks.
                    Mariana, Mario’s wife, explained that the paintings
                    symbolized the sun.</p>
                  <p>In a beautiful formation, the community marched
                    into the morning sunlight with machetes and baskets.
                    Everyone stayed together at first, but gradually the
                    families spread apart.</p>
                  <p>The harvest took hours and became increasingly
                    difficult as the sun grew less forgiving. The
                    largest peyote patches sat beneath shrubs covered in
                    thorns; reaching them was treacherous, particularly
                    in the heat of the day, when the colors seemed to
                    blend together.</p>
                  <p>Still, the hunt continued. Mario explained that
                    they were collecting peyote not only for themselves,
                    but also for family members who could not make the
                    journey. During the forage, each family had gathered
                    up to 150 crowns, after which the plants were dried
                    and blessed.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>Around sunset, we walked up a hill to make one
                    final offering. Mario asked us to hold out our
                    hands. He tapped our faces, and we ingested small
                    pieces of the peyote. The plant was incredibly
                    bitter. The families only ate a little, about the
                    amount for a microdose, which was meant to
                    facilitate calm reflection. That night, the group
                    collapsed into a peaceful sleep, as if a spell had
                    been cast over our camp.</p>
                </div>
                <div>
                  <p>Well rested from the night before, we all
                    collectively packed-up camp to leave the next day.
                    As he took a look at the pile of his family’s crowns
                    on the ground next to the smoldering embers of the
                    campfire, Mario smiled at us. “We have been given a
                    sacred gift from Mother Earth,” he said, “and now we
                    have to return it home.”</p>
                  <p><a href="https://mattreichel.com/" title=""
                      rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><em>Matt
                        Reichel</em></a><em> is a Canadian photographer
                      currently based in the Democratic Republic of
                      Congo. You can follow his work on </em><a
                      href="https://www.instagram.com/matthew.reichel/"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><em>Instagram</em></a><em>
                      and </em><a
                      href="https://twitter.com/MattCReichel" title=""
                      rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><em>Twitter</em></a><em>.</em></p>
                  <p><a href="https://www.robynhuang.com/" title=""
                      rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><em>Robyn
                        Huang</em></a><em> is a Canadian writer and
                      photographer based in Guadalajara, Mexico. You can
                      follow her work on </em><a
                      href="https://www.instagram.com/ror0roror0ro/"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><em>Instagram</em></a><em>
                      and </em><a href="https://twitter.com/huangrobyn"
                      title="" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><em>Twitter</em></a><em>.</em></p>
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