Semana Santa in Antigua

Easter Week: The biggest celebration in Guatemala.  In a way that many Westerners can't relate to, Christianity - in various strains - still powerfully guides life in Central America, especially among the indigenous.  Religion here is far more evangelical and almost fundamentalist, though fortunately, it doesn't appear to spark quite the same level of violence as in other parts of the world.  Devotion, however, is a living thing.

In San Marcos, one of its obvious elements is the daily sermons and psalms sung over the loud speakers from the two big churches every day (sometimes all day for days on end . . .)

With the arrival of Semana Santa, the entire country is mobilized into ritual, devotion, and creative acts of tribute to the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  The epicenter is Antigua - so that's where I went to experience it.  (Turns out the second biggest and similarly interesting festivities are right on the lake where I've been living, over in Santiago - but I didn't find that out until I got back).

Antigua: The celebration is at least a week long. It starts the Sunday before Easter and grows each day, in exponential proportions as Good Friday approaches.  I arrived by chicken bus on Tuesday afternoon, and as I crossed through town to find where I would be staying, I could see that the streets were already beginning to fill with tourists, vendors, alfombras and processions.  Alfombras are the incredibly beautiful tapestry carpets created on the roads that the processions then walk over.  It's an incredible process to witness and contemplate.  It was these carpets that really became the focus of my week. 

My beautiful friend Leigh, Bless her, had rented an apartment for the week, and generously offered to let me stay with her.  Among other things, Semana Santa means that accommodation in Antigua is incredibly hard to come by, and double the price of any other time of year.  Leigh's generosity made this experience possible for me.  (Muchas Gracias Chica!!!) This apartment became our base camp from which we went on excursions in search of food, processions, alfombras, stories and pictures.  We found copious amounts of each.

It's hard to remember the sequencing of the week - between the colours, sounds, energy and lack of sleep . . . it's all a bit of a blur. We were warned early that sleep would be at a premium, as the processions and the parties were pretty much continuous, going right through the night, from Wednesday through Saturday morning  This was no understatement, and it became clear quickly that there was no way to do and see everything, and that sufficient sleep was unlikely.  It didn't Leigh and I long to find a favourite coffee shop to start each day at. Overlooking Parc Central, it provided an ideal launch point for the day, and a beautiful place for people watching and taking pictures of the festivities.

The Processions:

Each day was marked by processions.  Early in the week saw one or two each day, by Friday there were four full processions, starting at 4am and continuing through to 2am Sat. morning. (If not later . . . )  Each procession demarcated a pivotal part of the crucifixion story - from the betrayal right to the crucifixion itself on Friday - this being the most graphic set of floats and most intense devotion by those in the procession.  
The floats themselves were awe-inspiring.  Full-size floats with large tableaus of Jesus and whichever other characters were relevant to the particular story of that procession.  These floats, unlike those we might be used to in the Western world, are carried by men in purple robes - not on truck-beds, even though they are likely about the same size & weight.  Watching the procession, you can see the strain on the faces of the men literally shouldering these burdens.  Some floats, featuring the Virgin Mother, or another important female figure, were carried by women - these floats generally appeared to be smaller and lighter.

Each procession started in one of the many churches in the city, and culminated at one of them - sometimes the same one sometimes a different one, following a prescribed route and timetable.  Although the focus/story of each procession was slightly different, the basic elements were consistent:  Young boys/men in purple robes with big hanging censors smudged the path, including the carpets with incense (copal, I think).  They were followed by a roman gladiator-style band - horns, drums . . . something to announce the coming procession; then the gladiators, on foot, on horse, and/or with chariots, then more people wearing robes, carrying portraits, banners and signs, followed finally by the men bearing the floats.  Behind the floats trailed another band - this one in black suits, looking more like an orchestra.  Behind the procession trailed the children and other folks seeking to collect some of the debris from the trampled alfombras.

One evening we got to watch a procession go directly under our window - some of the photos form that are incredible.  Frankly, I have literally hundreds of incredible photos from that week.  At least half of them are of the alfombras.

The alfombras:

Stunning, intricate, time-intensive, creative works-of-love.  There are two basic types of alfombras: Wood chip stencil style and those created out of grass, straw, flowers, corn-husks, fruit, vegetables, carvings, and other assorted ingredients.  Regardless of the type or the level of intricacy, they are incredibly time intensive, and clearly works of love and devotion.  Even the simplest grass and straw alfombras take remarkable time and work to create.   People locate them, in front of their home or business, based on the prescribed route maps so that they are ready a few hours before the procession will arrive at that location.  Often this means that folks are out on the street at 1, 2, 3 in the morning creating them for processions that will start at 4am. 

On Thursday night, Leigh and I went to bed early and set our alarm for 2 am so that we could wander the streets watching them be built.  Just as the intensity grows exponentially over the week, so does the intricacy and beauty of the alfombras.  We witnessed some of the most stunning pieces of artwork early that morning, wandering the darkened and quiet - but vibrantly alive streets.  We watched the procession start at 4am, wandering ahead of it to catch photos before they walked over the carpets, obliterating them.  I can't help but think that these carpets are not just acts of devotion, but an incredible exercise in detachment for their creators- knowing they will exist for but a few hours (sometimes for less time than they spent creating them) before being trod over the procession. 

The food: 

Our constant search for alfombras was trumped only by our daily search for the food vendors - who moved their obscenely large fair each day to correspond with where the most important processions culminated. To get an idea, picture your favourite fall fair- and all of the food vendors there, then double the number of vendors, triple the number of people . . . and of course, make the food Guatemalan.  Tortillas heaped with meat, sauce and salads; Papusas (tortillas filled with gooey melted cheese), tostadas piled with guacamole, frijoles, beet salad and coleslaw; sandwiches aplenty, cotton candy, fried plantains, yucca, potatoes, etc.; candy apples, pineapple empanadas (like a calzone, but sweet), mangoes on a stick, coated in ground Pepita; pineapple juice, orchata (a sweet rice milk), chucitos, tamales . . . and of course, lots of soda and agua pura.  And all of it CHEAP.  Dinner for 25Q (about $3) meant eating til we hurt.

To provide some variety, we visited a couple of restaurants, in between our vendor hunts.  One is my favourite from my first time in Antigua, when I first arrived here. The food was as fabulous as I remembered - a banquet of traditional Guatemalan stews, salads, and other sides to choose from.  The prices were steeper than I remembered.  It's remarkable how different my perspective on money and price is after four months here, and especially after working in a restaurant.  Leigh had been craving Thai food for a few days, so we decided to give that a try one night also. Sadly, we both left still craving Thai food - as their version, while interesting, was definitively not Thai.  And because we're both foodees, and cheap, we also made a few meals at the apartment - generally tortillas (we bought those - 5 for 1Q) and Guacamole (I made that). I think my belly is still recovering from all the food.

The People:

People watching at any large festive event is always interesting.  This one didn't let me down.  Because of the importance and scope of this celebration, it attracts thousands of people from across Guatemala and around the world.  Because it's a religious celebration, it is family friendly, and it was quite amazing to watch the hundreds of processants in purple walk by - and realize that many of them were children, and some infants-in-arms . . .in purple!  In the park, children ran around with noise-makers, balls, and glow-sticks - some playing, some selling them.  Much like my first trip to Antigua, I was humbled by how young the children selling to tourists are - whether it's jewelery, cloth or services.  My last trip, I discovered that the shoe-shine boys start as young as 5 or 6.

The Guatemalan chant - pan de banane, pan de coco, pan de chocolate???? which I hear every day in San Marcos had many refrains in Antigua over Semana Santa as women chanted out the contents of their food baskets - be it fruit, breads, sweet corn, etc. 

The tourists were also incredibly interesting.  My favourites were the Israelis that I found myself standing next to watching the Crucifixion process on Good Friday.  Not that they particularly stood out visually, although their Hebrew speech made it obvious to me  where they were from.  But I found myself quite amused at the irony of so many jews hanging out watching the deeply religious Easter celebration in all its glory.  I didn't get their full story - but it seemed they were a good-sized group. Certainly gave me a smile for the morning.

There are so many details and so much more about this rich week that I can't even begin to put into words.  I know that I would love to do it again, and see more of the processions themselves, and have more time to hang on either end of the week so that I could better stretch myself without sleep for the good parts. I know that for everything I saw, there were at least 5 amazing things that I didn't . . . and in a phrase appropriate for the parallel Jewish holiday that same week: Daiaynu.  It was enough.

*End note: In looking up the correct spelling for "alfombras", I found this website which describes fairly accurately and concisely some of what I've subjectively described above - check it out if you're curious:  http://www.questconnect.org/guat_semana_santa.htm#Carpets

Mayan Wedding on the Sacred Hill

Early into my stay in San Marcos, I had the privilege of attending a Mayan ritual up on a sacred hill over looking the lake.  I don´t remember anymore how I found out about it, but I was told it would be a ritual to heal the lake and that it was open, so my friend (and fellow Cortesian) Barbara and I wandered up. 

It was definitely an interesting day.  The Sacred spot is up a steep hill, behind a hostel called Xamanek (pronounced Shamanek).  The climb to Xamenek alone is a good one . . . challenging enough for one as not-so-fleet footed as me . . . the hill beyond was work.  When Barbara and I wandered up, we didn´t really know where we were aiming for . .. we just knew it was up the hill somewhere.  When we got up to the hostel there was no sign of any ceremony and no people around . . . and the one woman working at the hostel was less than forthcoming or helpful  (I think she was having a rough day).  Stymied, we hung around for a little while . .. explored a little around the hostel and then decided to head back down, surrendering that we weren´t meant to go.

So we got about a third of the way back down the hill when we had to move aside for three men carrying a marimba up the hill.  Yes - a full size marimba up a steep foot path, I kid you not.  The marimba was preceded by a man I instinctively knew was the Mayan Shaman . . . .not certain how I knew, but I did.  Barbara and I stared at each other for a moment, contemplated the climb back up and decided that if they could schlep the marimba, we could manage to follow them.  It was shortly thereafter we discovered the even steeper (mountain goat) path behind the hostel, making us wonder aloud several times how these men could climb it with a marimba . . . and yet they did.

The ceremony was slated to start at 10 . .. it was about 20 after when the set up really began.  It started with creating the fire pit.  The circle of rocks are a permanent fixture on the hill.  What they dress it with for the sacred fire is astounding.  The Shaman started by drawing a + in the circle, with white sugar, making it into a mandala.  Then each of the corners was filled in with little circle things made, I think, from peat.  These were followed by groups of taper candles, honey, . . . and so many other things, I´m sorry I can´t recall.  What was most astonishing for me was the incredible number of candles that went in.  While some were put in standing up so that their wicks could be lit in the normal way, there were also just clumps of small and large tapers positioned into the fire pit.

Once the fire was started, it built into quite a blaze . . . often billowing black smoke as the paraffin candles were consumed, whole, by the flames.  I´ve never seen anything quite like it.


As it turned out, although it had been originally slated to be a ceremony for the lake, a couple´s yearning to be married by a Mayan Shaman had taken precedence and so we had the privilege of witnessing that. The ceremony went for well over 4 hours . . . although Barbara and I left after about 3 or so.  We hadn´t prepared sufficiently for the conditions - intense sun, intense heat . . . . sitting / standing for that long.  We just didn´t know. 

What we saw was beautiful and intense.  Much of it was translated into English, though with the marimba playing behind me I had trouble hearing much of it.  Prayers, invocations and gratitude spoken by the Shaman or one of the other circle leaders (not sure - assistants, other shamans . . . . apprentices???) alternated with ceremonial tossing of things into the fire.  Corn, rice, more candles . . . etc.  Generally whatever was being offered to the flame was passed around first to all of us so that we could put our own blessings / intentions into the items and then everyone had a turn offering their items to the fire. 

Again, while I missed much of the verbiage, there were a few things that stood out for me.  One was that the Shaman explained that before they had even been allowed to come up to the hill to be married in the ceremony, the Shaman had spent an entire day with the couple grilling them on their hopes, dreams, expectations and commitments for this marriage. During the ceremony itself they were also asked WHY they had opted for a Mayan ceremony - what it meant to them - and what their commitment was to this marriage, this process . . .etc.  They were then expected to answer in front of the circle of witnesses.  These were not rhetorical questions. 

The other thing that stood out for me was the level of devotion, passion, spirit that was brought to the ritual by those participating / facilitating.  I didn´t need to hear or understand the words being spoken to feel the love, the reverence, the beauty of what was being created and celebrated. I couldn´t hear the words of commitment spoken by the couple, but I could see it in their faces and feel it from their hearts.  Truly it was beautiful.

When Barbara and I decided to leave, I found I felt really ok to go.  While it would have been lovely to witness the remainder of the ceremony, I felt like I had been gifted already with all that I had experienced, and I knew that my body needed shade and lots more water.  It was truly a privilege to have witnessed as much as I had . . . and I trust there will be other ceremonies here if/when I am moved to attend again.  It´s that kind of sacred place here.