Three for three.

Mexico city was a blur of buildings, people, crickets on guacamole, and color. But the most memorable day (out of many) was when we took a brightly painted gondola for a two hour canal trip to the island of the dolls. That's right, my sister's version of hell, Derek's and my version of photo heaven, an island populated by the spirit of a dead girl and hundreds of rotting, decaying humanoid toys. It's a place that can only exist in a country as spiritual and superstitious as Mexico, and a journey worth going on for anyone visiting Mexico City (the boat ride alone is its own adventure). For those of you who haven't seen Destination Truth, Julián Santana Barrera was a farmer who found a dead girl in the canal near the island where he farmed and lived. To placate her spirit, he collected discarded dolls and hung them everywhere. This worked for about 15 years, until he died (his nephew, Anastasio, claims in the very same place her body was found). We only ended up having a manic five minutes on the island, so it was hard to wrap my head around all the potential photo opportunities, but I knew I had to get a portrait of Anastasio, because anyone who runs an island full of haunted dolls is photo worthy.

A man takes a nap, his sleep undisturbed by the creepy dolls hanging all around him.

Some of the dolls (or various body parts) are strung on wires, others nailed to fences, and a few were just put up as heads on sticks. The variety of dolls, their various stages of decay, and the clever way in which they are strewn everywhere induced a spine tingling chill and feeling of awe despite the relatively small size of the island. I have so many more pictures of Mexico City that are blog worthy, but in an effort not to bore, I'll leave it at this, for now.