Mate: The legend of the Mate Tree

Mate is drunk as a refreshing invigorating tea in Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay and Brazil. It is now sold in different forms in Europe, however, nothing is as nice as sharing it directly from the gourd. This legend of the Mate tree comes from the Guarani Indians.

The legend of the tree of the moon
One evening, two Guarani people were coming back from hunting when they heard some cries coming from the inside of the rainforest. _ It must be Ñacurutú the crying owl- said one of them. The other man said nothing, but signaled to his friend that he was going into the forest to find out. The rain forest was dense with vegetation covering most of the paths, walking was therefore very difficult. The man was walking very slowly, carefully... listening attentively to the crying sounds that we coming closer and closer. Suddenly, Yasi, the LadyMoon, showed her light from between the branches of the trees, and with a magic white finger, pointed to a place in the bushes. There, barely illuminated by the rays of the moon was a little child.

The man picked up the child and took him back to his village. There, the women welcomed the baby and fed him, and took care of him as though he were one of their own. Eventually, the child grew up, learned to walk, talk and had friends. He was called "Moroti" which means "white" in guarani. Everyone loved Moroti. He was a restless child; he would run here and there always investigating things, and helping out. you could see him scampering towards the fishermen and helping them unload the barges with fish; he would also bring wood from the forest to help feed the fires; he was often at the potters' shed where he loved to sink in his little fingers in the clay.

The Search for the LadyMoon.
However, when the Moon would shine, Moroti would sink into the ground, and spend a lot of time silently gazing at the moon. The village would be all asleep, resting comfortably in their hammocs, even the dogs would stop barking as they fell asleep, but Morotí would not sleep. He wouls spend the whole night looking at the moon.

One night, Morotí disappeared. The children, the women, the hunters, everyone looked and looked for him everywhere in the rainforest and they could not find him. However, at the break of daylight, Morotí came back, tired, and with water dribbling from his head.

-Morotí, where were you? -asked everyone.
-I was swimming in the river -he answered. -The Moon was floating in the water, and I wanted to catch her. She was always running away from me no matter how fast I swam and swam. The people from the village just shook their heads and smiled.

Time passed. Morotí became a young hunter who could navigate his canoe even through storms and rapids, and was the best of the hunters with his bow and arrow. When his time came, he built his own hut. When the hut was finished, he stood by the entrance to the hut to wait. Night arrived.

Yasí, the LadyMoon, showed her beautiful face on the sky and slowly, very very slowly, let her light beam down unto the village and found the new hut, Moroti's hut. The light trembled and entered only through the openings of the roof made of twigs. Slowly, slowly, more of the moonlight entered the hut. Morotí could not believe his eyes, he quietly laughed all by himself. He had succeeded. He had finally captured Yasi and would keep her forever in his hut! he ran to close the door of his hut and as he did so....the hut was plunged into darkness.. the moonlight had escaped....

Morotí ran out of the hut and desperately went up the river in search of a path to take him to Yasí, the LadyMoon. Moroti walked an walked. Many days passed, and he continued walking, however, despite his best efforts, no river, nor mountain, nor path was long enough and steep enough to reach the sky. Sometimes, his hopes were high, when he was following a path up a mountain that seemed to get lost into the sky, but as he reached the mountain top, he would see that Yasi, was still very far away. He soon grew exhausted and cold and lonely. He had left the rain forest and was in a foreign land. He wanted to be amongst his friends in the village, and slowly, with a lot of effort, he retraced his steps and returned home.

When he came back to the village people were happy to welcome him back but he was no longer the Moroti of olden times. He had lost his lust for life and just sat inside his hut... everyone in the village, noticed the changed, but said nothing, in respect for his sadness.


Yasi and Arai

One night, Morotí saw the reflection of the moon, hitting some blades of grass. It was the footprint of Yasí. Morotí followed the footprints in the darkness. The footprints glowed in the dark like dewdrops of light. Suddenly, Morotí saw her again, standing at the top of a mountain. There she was, the Moon, transformed into a beautiful girl; holding hands with another girl, Araí, the cloud.

Morotí followed them crouching and hiding behind the widest trees and the tallest of bushes. But Yaguaret, the tiger, soon found him out. In the darkness, Moroti and the tiger, fought. Yaguareté was hungry but the boy still had some strength and cunning left from his days as a warrior, and was able with difficulty to kill the tiger.


The light from the moon brightened the forest, just as Moroti stepped out from the river cleaning himself after the battle. -Take me he said. The Moon, took his hand, and soon Morotí was floating in the sky. He was careful not to step on the tiny stars, and not to kick at the clouds with his feet. Everything was so beautiful that in the height of the night, time stood still, and Morotí forgot his village and his people. However, as a waft of wind brought the smell of the forest and the river, Morotí remembered and he was lonely again and was longer happy.

Yasí, the Moon, told him: -Go back to your people, Morotí I will never forget you and I promise you that I will always be with you. The Moon turned Morotí into a tree, the Ca-á tree, the tree of the mate leaves. The leaves of the Ca-á are almost magical: they give strength and happiness. Moroti's village, and all the other tribes of the regions began to use the leaves as a wonderous drink to strengthen and restore them.

Hidden inside the tree, the spirit of Moroti is still alive, and every night, the white fingers of Yasi, fondle the Moroti's head, as the light of the moon bathes the Ca-a tree-tops.


Credits
The picture of the Guarani Child was taken by CARFE The picture of the man drinking mate was taken by Maplemusketeer.The moonscape photo was taken by Graham Hodgson. The picture of the moonlinght in the forest was taken by Kiri-D.The picture of the moon and the clouds was taken by Iratxo. The picture of the moon over the tree tops was taken by jzakariya

Legend of the Vanilla

Vainilla in Spanish, Vanilla in English. The name is evocative of smells, flavours, and humid heat. Nothing makes me more nostalgic than remembering myself as a 12 year old girl coming home from school and being greeted by my mom with a glass of cool yoghourt and water flavoured with a dark syrupy substance called "vainilla". The substance did not come from the supermarket, but was bought regularly by my father when he traveled to Veracruz, particularly to the city of Papantla. Later on, as a young woman, I traveled myself to Papantla with my 1 year old son. It was a wonderful experience to wander through the markets and see the ways in which Mexican artists would weave the vanilla leaves in insect shapes. Magic fingers would give life to scorpions, spiders, butterflies or tiny baskets, or little crosses to scent your linen cabinets. It was a truly wonderful and intoxicating experience....so, my fascination with vanilla, grew and grew... Enjoy the story.

The legend tells us that Xanath, the eldest daughter of a family of Totonac noblemen, was a girl of incredible beauty who lived in a palace close to the ceremonial centre of Tajin. One day, Xanath was going to deposit an offering on the statue of Chac-Mool (the divine messenger), when she noticed a lovely tune coming from behind an inner courtyard in the ceremonial centre. She peered through the door and saw a young man, whistling to himself. It was a handsome and strong young fellow called Tzarahuin. Xanath loved music, and soon they were exchanging tunes, and songs and laughter. Love at first flourished between them. The young lovers tried to meet as often as possible.

... And their love matured and grew.
Their love grew and matured although Xanath was a noblewoman, and Tzarahuin was not. He was not a warrior, not a prince, not a priest nor a wealthy merchant; he was an only an artist. But, what an artist! He played music, particularly wind conches, the magical instruments with which to summon people to the ceremonies. He was also a painter. He did decorations for the temple. He had been sent as a young lad to the school in the temple, where the teachers soon discovered his ability for the arts and soon he was allowed to be part of a troupe of artist craftsmen who painted an decorated the hundreds of niches in the ceremonial centre. His family were farmers and when he was free from his duties in he temple, he helped them tend their orchard. He was often very busy working in the upkeep of the temple, but always liked to help his family specially during the harvest season. When he met Xanath, he was coming back from helping his family sell their produce at the market.


The fat god of Happiness.

One day, as Xanath was rushing to meet Tzarahuin, the fat god of Happiness cast his eye on the young girl. His eyes followed her as she ran through the ceremonial centre. He admired the fragility of her frame, and the agility of her movements. She combined both frailty and innocence, with strength and determination. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted her. His eyes followed her everywhere, all the time. Twice, he approached her and tried to speak to her, but she ran away, frightened that the god of Happiness would wish to speak to a humble Totonac girl. The god however, was not to be dissuaded easily and tried one third time to approach Xanath. This time, the girl stayed and listened to what the god had to tell her.

Xanath listened carefully and after the god of Happiness confessed his love for her, she sadly told him that she could not marry him, because her heart already belonged to another one. The god of Happiness was angry that a simple Totonac girl would refuse him and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He went to visit the girl's father. He shared with the him secrets that were only known to the gods, and the wealth and prestige of Xanath's father increased greatly. Soon, after this, Xanath was ordered by her father to marry the god of Happiness. However, Xanath, full of inner strength defied both her father and the god of Happiness. She refused to leave Tzarahuin. In total rage, the god of Happiness transformed Xanath into a feeble, delicate plant, with lovely white flowers and an intoxicating smell. When Tzarahuin found out what had happened to Xanath, he took his own life, at the foot of the plant.


The legend tells us however, that he comes back every spring in the form of a humble melipona bee and spends hours tenderly circling around the petals of the vanilla flower, making love to his Xanath.

Credits
The image of the market was taken by Quitepeculiar from a mural by Diego Rivera.
The wonderful image of the vanilla flower was taken by EternalImages. The image of the couple kissing was taken by Zen. The image of the bee busy pollinating was taken by JeanM1. The image of the vanilla pod was taken by Simon Goldenberg.

I also found another story of the creation of the vanilla. This one is rather more gruesome....read on if you like and compare...