#1 VERNACULAR VOICES - Noélie Michal

Workshop "Arquitectura Maya", Becal, Mexico - August 2025

Welcome to the inaugural edition of "Vernacular Voices."

Beyond the stones and the structures, Taller&Patrimoine is a story of people. This series was born from a desire to put a face to our mission: to amplify the voices of the families we support, the volunteers who give their time, and the professionals who share their expertise. These are the humans who, day after day, bring our values to life on the ground.

For this first edition, we sat down with Noélie Michal, a sustainable building engineer currently practicing at a French architecture firm. From her early days in participatory construction in France to her deep immersion in the Workshop Arquitectura Maya, Noélie shares a generous and insightful perspective. Her journey explores the resilience of bio-sourced materials and demonstrates how ancestral knowledge, specifically earth construction, is shaping the future of modern engineering.

Noélie cutting the Huano

"I discovered Taller y Patrimonio through the Rempart network, at a time when I was looking to deepen my knowledge of vernacular architecture and to have an international experience, ideally in Latin America. For several years, I had been interested in traditional know-how and in the way ancient constructions respond intelligently to the climate, the available resources, and the lifestyle of local populations. When I learned about this project in the heart of Maya culture, the idea of taking part in it came naturally. Discovering ancestral techniques, used for centuries and still functional today, resonated with my own concerns about sustainable building and the preservation of intangible heritage.

Before this project, I had already taken part in several experiences involving earthen construction, notably on workshops in France, as well as volunteer work in the Bolivian Andes for the construction of an autonomous and bioclimatic school. These experiences had deeply shaped my vision of my work as an engineer. Yet I felt I was missing a stronger cultural immersion, a more direct exchange with communities whose knowledge is passed down from generation to generation. The workshop organized by Taller y Patrimonio represented for me the ideal opportunity to understand from within what it means to practice an ancient craft in a context where it is still alive, meaningful, and deeply rooted in the identity of the inhabitants.

From the moment I arrived in the village of Bécal, I was struck by the authenticity of the place. Everything evoked a sense of simplicity and serenity that contrasted with the faster rhythms of life I am used to. The team of volunteers, made up of young French and Mexican architects, immediately created a dynamic and welcoming atmosphere. We all came from different backgrounds, but were united by the same desire: to learn, to help, and to understand a way of building that carries an entire worldview within it.

The first visit to the houses we were going to restore was a powerful moment. Their architecture, both modest and highly intelligent in its construction, immediately challenges our habits and Western standards. These homes, made from natural and local materials, seem to breathe with the climate. They protect from heat, resist humidity, and integrate perfectly into their environment. By meeting the families who have lived there for generations, I understood how this heritage was not only material: it was also social, symbolic, and deeply tied to identity. Some families shared memories linked to their homes, stories passed down from parents or grandparents, which moved me greatly.

Among the remarkable people I met, Pedillo particularly left an impression on me. He is considered the last knowledge-keeper of the village, the only one still able to fully restore a Maya house using traditional techniques. His agility and precision when handling the huanos (the palm leaves used for roofing) were impressive. He possessed that calm and confident way of working that only those who have learned through lifelong experience and observation can have. Watching him cut the huanos, select the usable ones, explain their characteristics or how to position them, was a true lesson in humility. I felt how precious, fragile, and threatened this knowledge is.

The project itself was divided into several stages. First, we went to cut the huano leaves directly in a field belonging to a local resident. This step, which may seem simple in theory, actually requires a great deal of experience: one must know how to choose mature palms and handle the machete carefully. Once the leaves were cut, we prepared them to be installed on the roof: sorting them, aligning them, removing unusable parts, and organizing them into stacks.

When we began removing the old huanos burned by the sun, I realized how much the weather affects the lifespan of these materials. Extreme heat, tropical rain, and wind quickly leave their mark. Installing the new huanos was one of the most physically demanding tasks of the workshop. Working at height, under intense heat, and interweaving the leaves so that the rain would not seep through made the work particularly challenging. Yet it was also the most rewarding part: watching the roof gradually rebuild, layer by layer, gave a strong sense of progress and beauty. From inside the house, the interlacing of the leaves creates a very artistic pattern.

At the same time, we also learned the bahareque technique, a construction method using earth by filling a wooden lath framework. Although I had already practiced earthen construction, this technique was new to me. It shows that earth, an accessible and humble material, can become very strong when used appropriately. Working with our hands, feeling the texture of the earth, mixing it, applying it in handfuls to the existing wall, and smoothing it out was particularly enjoyable.

The group dynamic played a key role in the success of the project. We had a great distribution of tasks, each person contributing their skills and energy. When a job became too tiring, someone else took over. Sometimes music accompanied our efforts and gave us motivation. We laughed a lot despite the physical strain.

Outside of the work itself, community life created memorable moments. Evenings in the house we shared were filled with fascinating discussions about architecture, the environment, gastronomy, and Mexican and French traditions. The moments of dancing also strengthened our bonds, I will long remember the improvised “chenille” in the house and the “paquito,” moments where cultural barriers disappeared completely in laughter and light-heartedness. Despite our different cultures, we quickly formed a small family, which made the separation at the end particularly difficult.

Integration within the village was also made easier by the locals themselves. The juice-stand lady, the basket weavers, the church priest: all welcomed us with unexpected warmth. The meals we shared with the families whose houses we were restoring were also incredibly enriching and delicious!

Josseline, who coordinated our stay, played an essential role in creating bridges between us and local actors. We participated in activities that were meaningful, that contributed something to the village, and that allowed us to go beyond the simple role of foreign volunteers passing through. We exchanged with artisans, took part in workshops on Maya culture, listened to testimonies… so many opportunities to understand how important heritage is to the inhabitants.

This experience strengthened my commitment as a volunteer. I was already sensitive to heritage and vernacular architecture, but this workshop allowed me to go much further in my reflection. It pushed me to question our lifestyles, our ways of building, and above all, the way some societies associate vernacular architecture with poverty. In Mexico, these traditional houses are sometimes seen as symbols of a past that should be erased in favor of modern industrial materials. Yet they represent ingenious, resilient, sustainable, and culturally rich know-how.

Since this experience, I have continued to take part in other volunteer projects in Mexico, always linked to heritage and vernacular architecture. As a sustainable building engineer, this immersion made me want to train further in architectural heritage conservation. I now wish to orient my career towards projects that value these techniques and know-how, while integrating an awareness of environmental issues. I would like to work in an organization or company that allows me to align my values, my commitment, and my technical skills.

Of course, I recommend this workshop to anyone wishing to discover not only traditional construction techniques but also a way of living, thinking, and building that is deeply connected to Maya culture. Beyond the technical learning, it is an exceptional human experience, an exchange with local inhabitants, and a unique way to discover Mexico from a perspective far removed from touristic clichés. For me, this experience will remain a turning point: it strengthened my convictions, broadened my understanding of heritage, and rekindled my desire to actively contribute to its preservation."

Noélie’s story serves as a powerful reminder that innovation does not always stem from technological complexity, but often from a humble and expert reinterpretation of local resources. Her experience spanning France and Mexico perfectly illustrates the bridge we strive to build: a dialogue between tradition and modernity, and between technical engineering and artisanal craftsmanship.

A heartfelt thank you to Noélie for this inspiring exchange and for her unwavering commitment to an architecture that is both more human and more respectful of its environment.