Something shifts at this time of year. Can you feel it? 

Candles burn slower. Dusk deceives us, casting silhouettes of illusion and ink. The air feels thinner—as if you could almost reach out and peel back the veil separating the living and the lost. 

And in some corners of the world, that’s precisely what they do. 

From the highlands of Madagascar to the cemeteries of Port-au-Prince, the living draw back the curtain a little wider, welcoming those who linger just beyond…

Famadihana in Madagascar

CC image by Hery Zo Rakotondramanana on flickr

“One by one, the dead were brought out of the tomb. The band kept playing, people dancing around them. First, I climbed on top of the tomb to get a bird’s eye view of the scene. Below, a colorful crowd circled the tomb, carrying the dead on top, wrapped in straw mats, before placing them in the sun. I didn’t want to intrude, to get too close to where the dead were lying.” - The Crowded Planet

In Madagascar, the turning of the bones, known as Famadihana, only happens every few years during the dry winter months. The Malagasy believe that so long as the body remains, the spirit does too. It starts when the deceased appears to an elder in a dream, proclaiming that they are cold and need new garments. Then a traditional astrologer, known as an Ombiasy, consults the stars for an auspicious day to open and close the tomb. 

Loved ones and guests often travel days on foot across the highlands to reach their ancestral crypt. And for two days the ceremony commences. Graves are exhumed, bodies are cleaned and wrapped with silk and straw, and they are danced down the streets. 

Relatives tell their troubles to their loved ones and ask for guidance and blessings. Just before the sun sets, the bodies are returned to their resting place but placed upside down. The crypt then closes for the next 5–7 years. 

Fiesta de Santa Marta de Ribarteme, As Nieves, Spain

“One corpse smiles and waves. Another fans herself. They regularly re-hydrate. This is not your average funeral. ”It is 33 degrees in the Spanish shade, but much hotter inside a Spanish coffin.” - Kevin Pilley, The Irish Times

CC image by Jose-Maria Moreno Garcia on flickr

Few international tourists venture off the Camino, into the lush interior of Spain’s northwest, Galicia. But those who do might find themselves among a horde of Spaniards clambering into coffins, eager to be carried by their families through the single-street hamlet of As Nieves every summer. 

Those that willingly curl up in the comfort of a satin casket (sans lid) have had a brush with death and are here to give thanks to Santa Marta for sparing their lives. And if you’re one of the unlucky souls that lacks a family, lugging your coffin down the road comes with a weight that’s both literal and painfully metaphorical.

After the parade, the real fiesta begins with lively brass ensembles and patrons dishing out local delicacies like fresh octopus, white wine, and mountains of barbecued meat. By nightfall, the coffins and wine bottles are empty, and As Neves lives on.

Día de las Ñatitas, La Paz, Bolivia

“Everyone has a personality, and in some cases it might not be a good fit between a person and a skull,” Koudounaris says. “People will say, ‘I got this skull from my cousin who didn’t get along with it, but I’m getting along with it very well. I remember a couple of years ago all the skulls were given ham sandwiches. It was a bizarre touch.”  - Rachel Nuwer, The Smithsonian

Drifting to La Paz, every year the living and the dead share cigarettes, flowers, and — occasionally — the odd sandwich or two. Long before Christianity, the Aymara believed that human skulls called ñatitas (translation: little pug-nosed) hold protective powers, acting as messengers between our world and the next. Families keep skulls in their homes, believing they have special powers. 

Curiously, the collection of craniums are not often family members but heirlooms or obtained through questionable means from archeological sites, medical schools, and cemeteries. And once a year on November 8th, they’re taken to La Paz’s General Cemetery in glass boxes, adorned with sunglasses, flower crowns, cigarettes, and coca leaves to be blessed by a priest. Once the sun sets, parties known as prestas spill into the city’s streets.

Fèt Gede, Haiti

CC image by kaoruokamura on flickr

“As a family, the honored Ghede of Death and Sexuality ARE the very life of the party! They cuss, they swear, they drink hard liquor, dance provocatively, play fight and romp, smoke cheap cigars they possess and they have the ability to cross over the crossroads between life and death because of this quality thus don’t follow traditional rules of the living. They are the manifestations of death and present as having a life without the boundaries of social norms.” - Ziona

Crossing over to Haiti, Fèt Gede is one of the most important celebrations in the Voodoo calendar, and each year the country explodes with color and rhythm to welcome back the dead.  

Often misunderstood, Vodou is about connection between the living and the dead. It’s not the dark magic stereotype often imagined, but a complex spiritual system rooted deep in West African ancestral tradition. It holds the belief that the world is inhabited by powerful spirits known as Iwa that govern different aspects of life like fertility, death, the afterlife. The gede are spirits of the dead that have walked the earth. And on November 1st and 2nd, practitioners known as Vodouwizan allow the gede to borrow their bodies and to speak and dance through them. Possession isn’t considered frightening but sacred.

Those possessed are instantly recognizable. Their faces powdered white or purple ash and talc, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. In one hand, a walking stick, and in the other, a bottle of raw rum steeped with scalding goat peppers -  a favorite of the gede. Many splash the peppered rum over their skin in a frenzy to embody the gede’s wild and defiant energy.

The drumming intensifies as the Vodouwizan and their relatives make their way to the cemeteries to dance with the spirits into the night.

Pchum Ben, Cambodia

“We walked around the temple three times and then out from the temple compound and across the road to the river where we deposited all the food offerings. As I stood there, I thought about those people in my life who are no longer here in body and hoped that their spirits were there with me in Cambodia in that early morning light along the river.” - wired2theworld

In Cambodia, families prepare for Pchum Ben, a fifteen-day festival devoted to the restless dead. It begins on the first day of the lunar month of Photrobot and usually falls between late September and mid-October depending on the calendar. It’s said that during this time, the gates of hell open, and hungry spirits, those forgotten by their living ancestors, are released to roam the earth.

The wandering souls, known as preta or hungry ghosts, suffer great hunger and thirst, and it’s the duty of the living to ease their pain.

Before dawn, families visit pagodas bearing offerings of bay ben (small balls of sticky rice mixed with sesame and honey) which are thrown into the air or placed on the ground for the spirits. And monks recite protective sutras throughout the night. 

Though rooted in Buddhist teachings on karma and rebirth, Pchum Ben carries the weight of history too. For many Cambodians, it’s a time to honor not only distant ancestors but also those lost during the Khmer Rouge - souls believed to still wander, unclaimed.

Hanal Pixan, Yucatán, Mexico

“Reflecting on the Day of the Dead/Hanal Pixan in Mexico is to talk about this present moment torn between war, institutional impunity, and the tireless activism of women and native communities. They resist the dispossession of territories that endanger environmental security and cultural ties.” - María-Inés-Canto

You’ve heard of Mexico’s famous celebration of the Day of the Dead, but in the thick jungles of the Yucatan Peninsula, it takes another form: Hanal Pixán.

And while Día de Muertos is celebrated across Mexico as a fusion of Indigenous and Catholic traditions, Hanal Pixán remains distinctly Maya. It’s more intimate, solemn, and rooted in the earth, predating Día de Muertos by about 1,500 years. 

The festival lasts three days: October 31 (Hanal Palal) welcomes the souls of the children, November 1 (Hanal Nucuch Uinicoob) welcomes the souls of adults, and November 2 (Hanal Pixano’ob) brings all souls together.

The central ritual here is the preparation of mucbipollo, a giant tamale filled with chicken or pork and spices, wrapped in banana leaves, and cooked in an underground oven called a pib. The act symbolizes returning food to the earth so that the spirits may feed. 

Altars here in Yucatán are simpler and more symbolic: candles, gourds of water, maize, local flowers, salt, and incense. Flickering candlelight leads the way to all-night vigils held anywhere from city streets to cenotes. Offerings are made to both the ancestors and the spirit protectors of the household, known as yumil or aluxo’ob.

Most towns across the peninsula hold a parade known as “paseo de las ánimas” (processions of souls), where people walk from the cemetery to the city center carrying candles and photographs. 

When the scent of earth and wood smoke rises from the pib, the Maya say the souls have found their way back home, if only for a little while.

From hungry ghosts to a parade of cows, there are so many more ways we celebrate our dead around the world. Each one reveals a uniquely colorful and somber glimpse into a culture's connection with those who have passed.

Hanal Pixán in particular hits a little more personally for us at Jack's Flight Club this year, having lost our dear colleague Ana a couple of months ago. We at Jack's are sending all our love to Ana's family and friends in Mérida, and we hope she finds her way back home.