Day 4, Part 2: The Alebrijes Parade Arrives (Eventually)

Neighborhood: Paseo de la Reforma, Ciudad de México

After surviving the sea of blue PAN marchers earlier in the day, we decided to stay put. Our chosen curb became home base as we waited for what we’d actually come to see — the Desfile de Alebrijes, one of Mexico City’s most colorful traditions.

A woman standing beside us smiled and said, “Esto es México, nada empieza a tiempo.” (“This is Mexico — nothing starts on time.”) She wasn’t wrong. The sky turned gray, a light drizzle began to fall, and the crowd started sharing umbrellas, tamales, and laughter as if they’d all come to the same family reunion.

Then, finally, the music began.

Down Reforma came the first of the alebrijes — giant, fantastical creatures of paper mâché and paint, part dragon, part jaguar, part imagination. They rolled past on blue metal carts, each one a burst of neon feathers, wings, claws, and teeth. A rainbow serpent twisted through the mist, followed by a winged jaguar roaring in pink and green. There was a two-headed rooster with octopus tentacles, a glittering sea dragon with flaming orange fins, and a kaleidoscopic creature that looked equal parts butterfly and nightmare.

Between the creatures came waves of dancers — women in bright folklórico dresses swirling lime green, hot pink, and orange; painted Catrinas smiling through sugar-skull makeup; and traditional performers in feathered headdresses, beating drums and carrying the Virgin of Guadalupe high above the crowd. Every few blocks, a devil appeared grinning through a red mask, waving his trident at the children who squealed with delight.

And just when we thought the parade had hit peak fantasy, along came a giant alebrije dog painted with portraits of Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Rufino Tamayo — Mexico’s artistic spirits literally riding on the back of myth.

This parade began in 2007, created by the Museo de Arte Popular to keep the traditional alebrijes craft alive. Artists from all over Mexico spend months designing and building these enormous creatures, blending folklore and modern fantasy. After the parade, the alebrijes line Reforma like a temporary open-air gallery until the rains and time reclaim them.

We stood there, damp but grinning, snapping photos until our phones were nearly full — more than a hundred pictures of color, chaos, and creativity. Somewhere between the protest chants and the parade drums, Mexico reminded us that beauty often follows the noise.

“Donde hay música, no puede haber cosa mala.” — Miguel de Cervantes

“Where there is music, nothing bad can happen.” 🎶🐾