The story of vino de cocos is, at its core, the story of human ingenuity sculpted into daily ritual—of men climbing perilous heights, of tools fashioned from wood and rope, of a cultural rhythm rooted in centuries of continuity. This second installment in our five-part series on Paulina Machuca’s Vino de Cocos, the Pilgrim Beverage explores one of the most essential chapters of this transpacific history: the technique of extracting tuba, the fermented sap that would eventually be distilled into the beverage known in New Spain as vino de cocos. By focusing on the Philippine context—the place where this knowledge was refined and transmitted across the ocean—we uncover the profound cultural, technological, and symbolic foundations that made the transference of this beverage possible.
What emerges from Machuca’s meticulous archival and ethnographic analysis is a vivid portrait of a practice that stands at the crossroads of technology, ecology, and community life. Far from being a simple step in a production chain, the extraction of tuba was—and remains—a deeply embodied practice, one requiring specialized knowledge, physical strength, ritual preparation, and collective memory. Before vino de cocos ever reached the coast of Colima, this elaborate system was already centuries old. Understanding it allows us to appreciate the magnitude of what crossed the Pacific during the Manila Galleon era: not merely a drink, but a sophisticated technological tradition carried by human hands and minds.
1. Climbing Toward the Sky: The Dangerous Labor of the Tuberos
Machuca’s study situates the tuberos (also known in Visayan regions as manananggot or mananguete) at the heart of the story. These men were responsible for climbing tall coconut palms—many exceeding 20 to 25 meters in height—to obtain the sap that would become tuba. Colonial chroniclers and travelers frequently commented on the astonishing dexterity required for this work.
As one seventeenth-century observer recorded, the tuberos began by carving a series of steps directly into the trunk of the palm, usually in the shape of an “A.” These notches had to be precisely measured: shallow enough to avoid harming the tree but deep enough to support the entire weight of a man. If the cuts were miscalculated or spaced too narrowly, the tubero risked slipping—a fall that, from such great heights, could easily be fatal. Machuca notes that many tuberos reduced this risk by tying a rope around their waists and anchoring it to the tree, providing a fragile but meaningful degree of stability.
The perils, however, did not end with the ascent. Because each tubero was responsible for extracting sap from numerous palms, entire networks of wooden or bamboo bridges were constructed high above the ground to link the trees. These aerial walkways allowed tuberos to move from palm to palm without descending each time, but they introduced new dangers: swaying structures, uneven planks, and the constant threat of collapse under the tropical winds.
The Franciscan chronicler Francisco Ignacio Alzina, writing in the second half of the seventeenth century, was mesmerized by the agility of the Visayan Indians who performed this task daily. He described men climbing with tubes full of sap “with a nonchalance that causes admiration among those who [observe them].” More than a century later, the botanist Manuel Blanco echoed similar sentiments in his Flora de Filipinas, noting that despite their dexterity, “terrible falls” were common.
Such accounts reveal that tuba extraction was more than mere labor: it was a vocation requiring skill, endurance, and courage. It was, quite literally, a job performed between earth and sky.
2. A Ritual Act: Offerings to Mankukutod
Danger of this magnitude often produces ritual, and Machuca highlights one of the most fascinating spiritual dimensions of the practice: before beginning their ascent, tuberos traditionally made offerings to Mankukutod, the guardian spirit of the coconut palms. This ritual, still remembered in parts of the Philippines, served both as a form of protection and as a recognition of the palm’s centrality in daily life.
The invocation to Mankukutod underscores how deeply integrated coconut cultivation was within the cultural and symbolic landscape of the archipelago. The coconut palm—sometimes called the “tree of life”—offered food, fiber, oil, shelter, and, importantly, drink. Its generosity demanded respect. The dangers faced by the tuberos reinforced this need for a reciprocal relationship with the environment: one where skill and ritual worked together to secure survival.
This cultural background traveled implicitly with the indios chinos who would later carry their knowledge of tuba extraction to New Spain. Even when rituals did not cross the ocean intact, the worldview that gave rise to them—one that valued precision, respect for the tree, and intimate knowledge of the palm—shaped the techniques that took root in American soil.
3. Tuba as Daily Life: Fermentation, Flavor, and Social Meaning
Machuca’s ethnographic approach illuminates not only the physical process of extraction but also the vibrant life of tuba as a beverage. In the Philippines, tuba was—and remains—consumed fresh as a refreshing drink with medicinal associations. Within hours of collection, natural fermentation begins, producing an alcohol content of 2–4%. By adding specific mangrove bark—tungog or tangal—producers could both dye the liquid red and increase the alcohol content, creating a beer-like drink widely consumed across the Visayas.
Photographs by Paulina Machuca. (Machuca, 2025: 90)
One of the most striking features described in Machuca’s sources is the extensive social role of tuba. Colonial chroniclers such as Antonio de Morga noted that weddings, communal feasts, funerals, and even cockfights were occasions for prolonged drinking sessions. Yet they also emphasized that this abundant consumption did not typically lead to disorder. Rather, it was woven into the rhythms of communal life, reinforcing bonds and marking shared moments of joy or mourning.
Tuba was also deeply linked to local identities. In Aklan, Western Visayas, a traditional song—quoted by Machuca—celebrates the children of the tuberos who live happily «though we are poor.” The pride of producing this beverage, even under precarious conditions, reflects how deeply the craft was embedded in society.
This integration of labor, agriculture, ritual, and communal life created a holistic cultural system—one that would become the foundation of vino de cocos production in the Pacific world.
4. From Sap to Spirit: The Birth of Vino de Cocos
While tuba was consumed fresh or lightly fermented, its transformation into vino de cocos required distillation, a process Filipinos had mastered long before Spanish arrival. Machuca demonstrates that the distillation of palm sap into stronger spirits was known across Southeast Asia and the Indian Ocean basin, forming part of a broader region of interconnected techniques and material culture.
By the time Iberian chroniclers encountered the practice, palm-based distillates such as nipa wine and lambanog were already integral to local cuisines, social rituals, and trade networks. Distillation was not merely a technical step but an art that demanded detailed knowledge of the behavior of fermenting sap, the proper construction of stills, and the identification of suitable materials—often bamboo, clay, and metal—based on regional traditions.
This technology would play a pivotal role in New Spain. Only because Filipino migrants—known at the time as indios chinos—brought both the knowledge of extracting tuba and the skills to distill it could vino de cocos emerge as a new beverage in the Americas. As Machuca notes, regions of New Spain where coconut palms existed but Filipinos did not (such as the Gulf of Mexico) never developed vino de cocos production. The botanical and human factors were inseparable.
5. Transpacific Knowledge: The Crossing to New Spain
The late sixteenth century marked the beginning of a profound transformation. Coconut palms had reached the coasts of New Spain earlier, but it was not until the arrival of Filipino sailors, laborers, artisans, and migrants—many transported aboard the Manila Galleon—that vino de cocos production truly began. Machuca identifies the 1590s as the earliest decade with documented evidence of its existence in Colima, where coconut palm cultivation expanded rapidly from seeds introduced from the Solomon Islands.
Friar Alonso Ponce, who visited Colima in 1586, described the impressive number of coconut palms flourishing in the region. But it was only later, with the presence of Filipino expertise, that distillation techniques took root. By 1598, references to aguardiente made from palm sap began to appear in official records. In the decades that followed, the industry expanded across the Pacific coast, giving birth to a unique American variant of a Philippine tradition.
This process—one of the best-documented cases of Filipino technological transfer in the early modern world—is a central thesis of Machuca’s work. It demonstrates that vino de cocos was not a spontaneous discovery nor a Spanish innovation. It was the direct result of intercultural encounter, migration, and the embodied knowledge of skilled tuberos and vinateros whose expertise shaped an entire coastal economy in New Spain.
6. A Cultural Technology in Motion
What makes Machuca’s contribution so significant is her ability to weave together the threads of anthropology, history, and material culture. The story of tuba extraction is not a mere prelude to the appearance of vino de cocos in New Spain—it is the heart of the matter. The technique, the tools, the ritual, the dangers, and the cultural meanings embedded in the act of climbing a palm tree all traveled across the ocean.
Understanding this foundation allows us to appreciate the true scale of the transpacific world: a space where plants, people, knowledge, and daily practices circulated in complex and unexpected ways. Vino de cocos, the product that eventually took shape in Colima, Motines, Zacatula, and Acapulco, cannot be understood without returning to the palm groves of Visayas, Luzon, and the numerous islands where tuberos risked their lives each day.
7. Invitation to Continue the Journey
This article has explored just one aspect of the rich tapestry that Paulina Machuca unfolds in her remarkable book. The extraction of tuba, with all its technical sophistication and cultural symbolism, is merely the beginning of a much larger narrative—one that follows the beverage’s transformation into vino de cocos, its regulation under colonial rule, its role in regional economies, and its enduring legacy on both sides of the Pacific.
To delve deeper into this transpacific world—to discover the archival testimonies, the maps, the trials of early vinateros, and the full cultural history of vino de cocos—we invite you to acquire the book Vino de Cocos, the Pilgrim Beverage by Paulina Machuca, available through Amazon in all countries where the platform operates.
Anabasis Project
Paulina Machuca is a research professor at El Colegio de Michoacán (Mexico) and a specialist in biocultural exchanges between Mexico and the Philippines during the era of the Manila Galleon. In 2011, she received the “Women in the Humanities” Prize from the Mexican Government and the National Council for Science and Technology (CONACYT), recognizing her contributions to historical scholarship.
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Keywords: Tuba extraction, tuberos, coconut palm, Visayan rituals, Mankukutod, palm sap fermentation, vino de cocos, Filipino distillation techniques, palm bridges, communal drinking practices, material culture, palm groves, Manila Galleon migrants, transpacific knowledge transfer, colonial archives, early modern beverages, lambanog, nipa palm, cultural technology, Colima coast, maritime networks, Southeast Asian traditions.