Podcast Summary:
This podcast blends tales (today about Pulque), fiction, and real-world exploration. Here’s the rundown:
Epic Rippers: Stories that f*&k. Raw, adventure travel stories. These non-fiction audio journals offer life lessons and stirring thoughts.
Sips and Shorts: Stories and interviews about drinks from around the world that have shaped culture and society.
The Library: Dive into “The Coin Chronicles,” an exclusive fantasy audiobook series. Each episode reveals a chapter of this epic saga of Gods, humans, and the coin that rules them.
Episode 49 Notes: Pulque
In a blood-drenched jungle, a priest’s faltering blade sends a bad omen into the world and seals his people’s fate. A mysterious virus ravages the land as silver-clad invaders crave gold and Maya, the goddess of Pulque. Pulque is one of the first types of Tequila. Maya’s intoxicating essence seduces priests and conquerors alike. But she has other plans beyond seduction. As empires crumble and fevers burn, Maya reveals herself – a love’s betrayal repaid in sores, death, and a divine reckoning. paired a drink (Kava root) with an anxiety inducing sport (bungee jumping.) Both would go on to become popular in the rest of the world. Kava root would ease the minds of the constantly anxious. Bungee Jumping would let daredevils get the rush they needed.
Transcript of Podcast:
*Note – This is the full episode and containers spoilers. You can always listen to the podcast above.
Pulque – The First Tequila
The first slice across his neck didn’t kill the boy. The child gagged and choked on his own blood, the blood turning pink and foamy where the deep gash was. His eyes widened in terror, and he didn’t understand the searing pain in his throat. He looked at the priest, choking, his eyes begging for help.
The priest looked down at the boy, seeing the fear. The knife swipe had opened the child’s throat. The high priest wanted to look away, repulsed by the loose skin vibrating with each shocked breath. The priest’s and the boy’s senses were dull. That was the only good thing. Hopefully, he didn’t feel much pain. The priest plunged his knife into the sacrifice’s heart. With a final twitch, the boy stopped moving. He prayed to the woman he loved, Maya, that the boy did not feel pain, despite his foolish mistake. He smelled her sweetness on the wind and hoped that everything would be okay.
Blood drained down the altar. It dripped into the trench, which wound around the pyramid and then into the heart of it. He rose and prayed. Those below chanted in response. It was a hot day, and the boy’s blood stuck to his hand and the hilt of the blade. He tried not to think about it.
The sacrifice was an omen. They were deciding what to do about the invaders. Should they befriend them or fight? Atl wanted to fight. He beat his chest. The rocks and shells around his neck rattled as he watched the sacrifice bleed out on the altar above him. The way the blood pooled would determine what they’d do. The gods would send a message.
The high priest stood and spoke to Atl and the rest of those gathered. They would befriend the new people who wore silver on their bodies. They would load up treasure chests with gold and greet their guests as friends.
The other priests stood at the altar off to the side, behind the high priest. They saw his mistake. The ambitious would use his flaw as leverage. He could almost see the end. The gods would punish him. They were ruthless. They were also loving.
But none loved the way Maya loved. He thought of Maya everywhere he went. She surrounded him. It was an unhealthy love for a priest. It was his secret. In the hot jungle, when the air clung thick and wet to his skin, he dreamed of being in Maya’s arms. So he went to her and lay with her. He told her his secrets and whispered his heart into her ear. She listened and held him, taking away worry and pain.
Maya did this for many men. She did this for Atl, even though he was in love with someone else. Maya did this for Pedro too. Maya greeted them with open arms and wrapped her lovers up in delicate hands and a sweet, mind buzzing embrace.
Maya took them all. Each one of them. From the high priests to the Spaniards. She spread her love because long ago love had betrayed her. Love shattered her into hundreds of tiny pieces. The bits of her could never go together again. They were scattered throughout the jungle. Part of her was near the temple. Part of her was in the gardens in the village. Part of her was in wild, remote regions that no one would ever explore. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
She’d lost herself to love, which is why she gave it up so freely. It meant nothing to her anymore. Yet, love meant everything to them. So, she wielded it like a weapon.
Pedro lusted after her with such intensity that he couldn’t concentrate today. He could taste her on his lips, that sweet, mind numbing Maya. Their commander was talking about meeting the locals. He was distracted by the buzzing flies sticking to his sweating skin. It was irritating, and he yearned for Maya’s touch to help him forget. Pedro came a long way to be here. He left the place he was born, a little city on a hill. His house was sunbaked and small. He lived there with his parents and three siblings. Waking up brought freedom from that cramped space.
In the morning, he could look over the fortified walls and see the river far below. Mist rose from it. The stony landscape rolled for miles around him. Wool and leather traders pulled rickety wooden carts into the city. They brought news of the region. They spoke of wealthy cities where even the poor wore colorful, soft clothes. People did not herd their pigs through the muddy dirt streets, like they did here.
People lived in the shadows of cathedrals. Philosophers strolled the streets in front of the university, wearing open-toed leather sandals. They spoke of problems that only the wealthy could afford to think about. Such things as finding purpose in life. Making meaning. God and the role of some in society. In a city like that, it was easy to forget how the rest of the world lived, and that what was uncommon for them wasn’t the standard for all.
They extrapolated their lives as ideals for all to live by. They thought they were the apex predators of society. But having money doesn’t make your ideals better. Wealth made their hands and minds as soft as the dates they bought from Persian traders.
The Aztecs and Spaniards Meet
Well, today Pedro would get to know what it was like to be a trader. He was handpicked to meet an approaching convoy of locals. Pedro and the others walked up the beach from their boats. They left behind the tents they had pitched on the sand and met the locals at the edge of the jungle.
They were half naked and wore necklaces of rocks and shells. They spoke in a language Pedro did not understand. Mules pulled a large cart laden down with chests. Inside the chests was gold.
Alt didn’t like the arrivals. They had large, pointed things at their waists, and the silver they wore looked to be armor. The group gathered in front of them now did not wear helmets. They were here to say hello. When they brought out the gold, he saw the lust in their eyes. It was the same lust that appeared when they passed around Maya.
Alt didn’t like one of the arrivals in particular. He had an arrogant look about him, and he was always lusting after Maya. Alt shoved him in anger, and the man they called Pedro drew that piece of thin metal at his side and cut Alt’s arm.
It bled fast and clean and terrified Alt. These visitors had weapons made of things that they could not fight against. The boy Pedro was sent away for his actions. He looked over his shoulder at Alt when he left, rage burning in his eyes. They both wanted Maya. Only one could have her.
Maya reveled in the fight. She wanted them stupid and hurting each other for her sake. It brought her peace. It completed her. They had stood by when her mother mutilated her. They left the 400 bits of her where they lay, and it was her lover who gave her a second life. Had it not been for him, she never would have spread across the jungle floor. These people, the visitors and her people, would pay.
It was a week later before Alt had a fever, and by that point, he couldn’t remember who had gotten sick first. The fever turned into chills, despite the jungle heat. They brought such intense aches that he couldn’t get out of bed.
He went to the high priest, who looked on through dazed eyes, confused with what he saw. He threw prayers into the wind. Alt saw brown clay bottles in the priest’s pack and thought of Maya’s dark skin. It felt like only she could save him. He yearned for her.
The high priest was yearning too. Had he misread the omen? Would he need to make another sacrifice and see what the gods said? For the first time in a long time, the high priest didn’t know what to do. All he wanted was Maya. When times were bad she was there, his lips and her skin meeting. He needed that now more than ever.
After Alt’s fever came little red dots that swelled, filling with fluid. The pustules covered his body. They itched in an agonizing way. Others got the mysterious disease. By the time Alt’s pustules popped, his entire family had it. He vowed to survive, despite the discomfort. His love for Maya kept him going.
The city filled with the sick and dying, and Pedro didn’t want to get close. Smallpox had overwhelmed them. But they were laying siege to the city in search of more gold. All Pedro wanted during this time was Maya. It was the only thing that made life here tolerable. The city was a cesspool. People died faster than they could bury them. Their infected corpses clogged waterways and drainage systems. The visitors had brought an unknown enemy with them and benefited.
The high priest prayed for the sick and dying but it seemed to do know good. Whatever decimated them came from the gods as a curse. Had he loved Maya too much? Had he brought this on his people by failing to kill the boy with the first strike? It didn’t matter anymore. People were dying and the only one he could rely on through the horrid visions of puss popping pustules and throats seizing shut with infections, was Maya.
The Spaniards Conquer The Aztecs
Pedro finally marched into the city months later with the rest of the Spanish army. They lusted after gold. They dreamed of a life much different from the poor Spanish city on the hill they had come from. The killing was easy. Those the disease didn’t claim were demoralized. Pedro had permission to kill or enslave all. He enslaved many. He decided to kill the boy who had fought him at the first meeting. The one they called Alt. They let the priests live.
The high priest should have known that failing to kill the boy with his first strike was a bad omen. But his love for Maya clouded his judgment. When the Spaniards came in heavy silver armor, carrying sharp metal swords and slicing people apart with them, he thought of Maya. He prayed to Maya to spare him. The Spaniards spared him. Maya did not.
Maya, the unfortunate goddess who faced the wrath of her lover. She fell in love with someone her mother did not approve of. After pursuing the love in secret, her mother punished her by butchering her into 400 pieces. Distraught by her death, the lover spread her remains through the jungle so she could live again.
Maya did live again. She lived through a plant that the Aztecs lusted after. The maguey plant took 12 years to mature. When it reached that point, the Aztecs would cut it open and bleed the heart of 600 liters of sap.
Not only had humans failed to hide her when she chased after true love, but they stood by during her murder. Now they cut her heart open and bled her of her essence. But their mistake was thinking she gave the sap of her heart as a gift. They thought this liquid was gold. It fueled their priests. It built their cities and spread through all during ceremonies.
In reality, Maya gave the sap as a trap, and she had almost won.
The sap, once harvested, is fermented in vats for 7 to 14 days. It reaches an ABV of 2% to 7%. This mild intoxicant became an addiction for the Aztecs and strict rules cropped up to protect the drink and ensure an ample supply fell into the right hands. Hands like the high priest. Hands like their concubines and royalty. And hands like the hands of the Spaniards when given to them as a gift upon their arrival in this new, strange land.
What is Pulque?
The drink was called pulque and it tasted sweet on all the men’s lips. Many think the Spaniards came for gold, but there was another form of gold they sought. It was liquid gold. Pulque. And who is alive to say the addiction of Maya didn’t drive men to fight and kill for her?
After the decimation of Tenochtitlan, in search of this gold, they built bars, pulquerias throughout South America. After the conquest of his city, the high priest spent his days here, consuming Maya, consuming Pulque until it killed him. The Spanish saw that this liquid gold could make them lots of money. They saw the appeal. They saw how addicting it was.
But Maya was a cruel goddess. She wanted the Aztecs to pay. She wanted to wipe them from the planet for failing to defend the greatest thing in the world—love. In her mind, creatures incapable of protecting the best within humans didn’t deserve to live. Her gift of pulque was bound to that region only.
The sap ferments and spoils fast. It doesn’t last more than a few days. Transporting it to other parts of the world is impossible. It was a drink made by an angry goddess to enact revenge on people who gave up on love.
So, after her excruciating death at the hands of her mother, for giving in to the signs of her heart, Maya took her anger out on humans. She turned them against each other. She made them kill for her. She converted them into drunks, all while pretending to be a gift.
And isn’t that the way of things? Some of the worst curses come wrapped as beautiful gifts.
Pulquerias eventually fell out of favor. They were associated with drunkenness and criminality. The drink died with the Aztecs, replaced by a stronger, more shelf stable drink that didn’t ferment as fast.
Maya finally got her rest. Until today, anyway. Where those interested in the 2,000 year old drink make pulque in small batches. These are boutique operations. But, who knows, perhaps if the world turns far enough away from love once more, Maya will return.