Indigenous people have been
harvesting salt by hand
in this part of Mexico for over 2,000 years.
But today, half of these salt pools are abandoned.
Unlike table salt, this artisanal variety
is unrefined and made in small batches.
But the work pays little,
and many producers can't afford to carry on the tradition.
Those who do remain often work alone
in a last effort to save this piece of their heritage.
We visited Zapotitlán Salinas to see how
one salt producer's business is still standing.
Juan Diego Hernández Cortés works on his land
seven days a week, all by himself.
The mountains here were once under a sea,
so they're full of salt deposits.
When it rains, water carries that salt
down to these natural wells.
Then Juan collects it.
Juan carries about 40 pounds of saltwater
over the rocky hills — barefoot for better traction.
He fills one of the man-made pools
and cleans another to prepare for the filtration process.
Then he pushes all the water into the cleaned pool.
Little by little, he transfers the water
back into the empty pool through a mesh bag.
The liquid sits for at least five days,
evaporating under the sun.
A new layer crystallizes each day.
Once there are enough,
Juan shovels the crystals into a mound.
He uses his feet to break down the big pieces,
which aren't too sharp when they're wet.
Then he piles the salt into a basket,
which works like a colander, draining out all the moisture.
It stays out in the sun to dry for four or five days.
After it's cleaned and packaged,
it sells to locals for around 10 pesos a liter, or 50 cents.
He sells higher quality salt to restaurants
and tourists for 30 pesos a liter,
or a little more than a dollar.
Artisanal salt like this is sought after
for its unique flavor and natural properties.
You can't find that in industrialized salt,
which is often mined from underground deposits
and processed to remove other minerals
and add preservatives.
Juan makes salt for cattle to eat, too.
It's drier and more bitter than human salt.
It also requires extra mixing and grinding
using a stick made from an agave plant.
It can take two months to get the cattle salt to this stage.
But for all the salt Juan makes,
consistent weather is crucial.
That's why he only harvests during the dry season.
Between cattle salt and human salt,
Juan sells about three tons every six weeks,
bringing in around 2,500 pesos, or $116 per week.
Juan learned the trade from his father,
who learned it from his father.
He's been spending long days here
since he was just about 6 years old.
Zapotitlán is located in Puebla,
and it was engulfed in a sea 50 million years ago.
That sea left behind salt deposits that Indigenous people
started harvesting at least 2,000 years ago
by heating saltwater in clay pots.
By the 16th century, solar evaporation became
the more efficient and widely used approach.
Salt production boomed, along with Zapotitlán's economy,
toward the end of the 19th century,
when travelers would pass through town
along part of the historic trail El Camino Real.
But after the Mexican Revolution in the early 1900s,
the Indigenous people of Zapotitlán lost half of their land.
Plus, many young workers who went to fight never returned.
Today, around 60 salt producers are left.
And at 41 years old, Juan is one of the youngest.
He says nowadays, Zapotitlán salt is underappreciated.
Many property owners can't afford to maintain the salt pools
and local Indigenous laws prevent them
from selling to anyone outside the community.
So half the land sits unused.
Many in the community have left to look for other work.
But Juan plans to stay and build towards a better future.
He's banding together with 25 other producers
to form a brand, which will help them
sell the salt at a higher price.
They've also learned how to deliver their products
during the pandemic.
Juan remains hopeful that the artisanal salt industry
in Zapotitlán will be revived.