MAYA-HO! _{Guatemala, Easter 2003}

Good Friday, 18 April 2003

Good Friday - well, not so good, although not so bad as the last one - but I digress. We arose in our lovely Antiguan penthouse, strolled down to the balcony to view a procession, then hit the street and went next door (to Fernando's Kaffee, best coffee in town sez LONELY PLANET) for a typico breakfast. In between the two doors, my pocket was picked. Not much cash, but I'll miss my wallet and card collection and buffalo nickle and postoffice box keys.

So the morning got rescheduled with a few chores:

* Cancel some credit cards - luckily VISA has a toll-free number here;

* Obtain some more cash - not easy when all the banks are closed for a week;

* Cruise the Mercado for a more secure pack for me - easily done, and El Mercado felt comfortably like certain flea markets back in the Bay Area.

Hot and tired already and not even noon yet, we stomped back to our posada, plopped down in the lobby to cool off, and pored through piles of fabulous huipiles and other village weavings offered by Maya friends of the proprietress. We purchased a stupendous collection for a pathetically small amount of money -- well, more than we had in cash, but we worked it out.

We rested slightly, then went for lunch at the fabulous FRIDA'S (great nachos, loud music videos, windows into Nim Po't) followed by a walk-through of Nim Po't, the world's largest showroom-collective of Mayan artifacts. OK, so we looked at their prices and gloated of the good deal we'd just struch - is gloating a crime?

Good Friday - afternoon

I dimly recall wandering the hot Antigua streets a bit more - oh yeah, just down 5a Avenida from Nim Po't under La Arca (the Arch, a most famous Antiguan landmark) is Las Catalinas (next to the huge ruined convent of the same name), another gorgeous restored courtyard, with shops and restaurant and internet cafe (from which I posted a prior message). A nice place to hang out for an hour...

As the shadows lengthened we strolled back posada-ward through the extended street party that is Antigua before Easter, watching the workers and families and partyers and thieves and off-duty processionaries. Up hot narrow 7a Avenida various folks were building the next batch of alfombras. Out front of Posada La Merced we snapped images of our inkeeper building her latest, and mugging with her huipil-selling friend Dominga (yup, the same). We climbed the Escher-esque stairways and hit the shower, hard.

Good Friday - evening

We went back out after dark and found orderly chaos. YET ANOTHER PROCESSION (Y.A.P.) filled the avenue so we rounded the nearest corner and found ourselves at the La Merced Church, which foreyard hosted a carnival of state-fair funzone proportions.

For sale: foods and drinks and candies; inflated balloons of Jesus and bunnies and Spiderman and ninja turtles and rockets and dinosaurs; posters of Jesus (in various tortured postures) and Mary (emoting verious emotions) and praying kids and cute dogs and Darth Vader and Che Guevara and Tweetie Pie and Christine Aguiliera and various clowns, etc.

We managed to push through the crowds without being crushed or robbed, but gave up before we got to La Arca; we bailed out, ducked into the wonderful CAFE GAIA whose personable Mediterranean? (nationality obscure) proprietor fed us beautifully. We'll be back.

We wandered down to the Plaza, couldn't get into the Cathedral. The entirety of central Antigua was filled with throbbing crowds - patient penitents, staggering drunks, stoic stair-sitters, phalanxes of Tourist Police, families curled up on themselves along curbs, the usual armies of vendors. The whole city is exploding. Some streets are carnivals, some are parking lots; some, near-riots; some, pedestrian malls; some, block-parties of carpet-builders; very few, nearly deserted.

Posada La Merced again

I lay here on the comfortable bed in our Posada room. This place is much cheaper than our last 'luxury' abode but has better air and light, better pillows, softer sheets and towels and toilet paper, better service, and a more central location,

And unlike Real Plaza, Posada La Merced isn't located along a bus- and truck-route. Just now, wafting through the window are meaty smells and the sounds of bells and light traffic and drums. This busy holy night, voices float in form all directions, chatter and laughter and hawking, but no singing.

I should also mention that the Posada's staff is incredibly helpful, informative, cheery and tireless, and nobody paid me to write this.

Holy Saturday, 19 April 2003

Early morning, city sounds are floating around - the 7AM church bells, distant traffic and horns and car alarms and many birds and a whining dog.

(Note: In Antigua one hears many car alarms but few sirens, and many of the sirens are on tow trucks - and many of the car alarms are on cars being towed. Few screaming patrol cars, no high-speed chases, the occasional ambulance and fire truck, but very few sirens....)

The morning mist is light for a change, Fuente Volcano looms large outside our window overloking the rusty tin rooftops and stone cupolas and TV antennas and brickwork and trees.

Will today be quiet and peaceful as the partyers sleep off the nonstop activity of the last few days? Or will today be more of the same, but without all the processions? And will tomorrow, Easter, be the grand blow-out of the year? We shall see. Meanwhile, some notes:

Holy Saturday - morning

Saturday I rose early, walked around the west side, had a typico breakfast best left undescribed and unattributed. When Maureen was ready to go we headed for La Arca and poked slowly through Nim Po't (see the description above). We bought some nice back-loom straps and I snapped some good images of the Maximon shrine (which was actually being used) but most of the huge collection of artifacts there are over-valued in comparison to what's available outside downtown Antigua.

We'd thought that today would be propitious to see several museums and ruins near and beyond the Plaza, but most of them are close for a couple more days. We did get into the huge ruined portions of the Cathedral, once the grandest building in the Americas until repeatedly smashed by earthquakes.

Still awesome are the towering walls, scores of fragmented cupolas and domes, statuary and carvings and massive blocks strewn about by the playful whims of poltergeist deity. The still-intact barrel-vault catacombs were sufficiently musty; the aboveground cyclopean remnants baked in the sun. No chants escaped the remaining cathedral which "occupies the narthex of the original edifice."

We were snagged by a kindly but misleading old 'guide,' revealed as a shill when he led us to an adjacent jade shop and factory. (Funny thing: no 'guides' seem to attach themselves to locals, only to well-dressed westerners. Hmmm...) There at La CASA del JADE we indeed saw much beautiful and pricy jade. Yawn.

Then we escaped the old scoundrel and ducked into the CENTRO De ARTE POPULAR GALERIA where, escorted by the delightful self-described 'bookworm' Jolanda, we pored over many fine folk paintings depicting villagers and village life from new and old viewpoints. We're likely to bring some of these canvases home.

Holy Saturday - midday

We went back to the beautiful La Fuente courtyard and lunched most satisfactorially at its eatery - well worth another return visit. Across the street at La Antigua Galeria de Arte we again gazed on the almost oriental painting of Zunil by Genero Xiap, still considering whether to acquire THAT beauty too. Decisions, decisions...

We wended slowly eastward on 4a Calle, to the crusty ruins of Iglesia Conception, then through a quiet prosperous neighborhood with more alfombras (floral street carpets, remember?) and up into the beautifully restored MONASTERO SANTO DOMINGO (now a five-star ***** hotel where the ATMs are always full), wandering around its sumptuous gardens.

We changed direction, headed south past Convento Santa Clara (closed today) and a run-into of today's sweaty procession, the Sorrowful Virgin, carried by women both virginal and otherwise. Only one other procession is scheduled today - a very slow day, march-wise.

Down at the east end of Union Plaza stand the seven classical arches and pool dedicated to Friar Landívar, the greatest poet of the 17th century - he was kicked out of Guatemala. The dirt plaza is bissected by an angled path lined with BBQ stands and surrounded by picnickers. Many folks sit on the low walls at the west end. This is not a prosperous neighborhood.

Across 3a Avenida stands the church-hospital of Brother Pedro who established health services here many centuries ago - he was also kicked out, and holy medicine is now dispensed in this baroque fortress by an order of Charismatics. More on them later.

Holy Saturday - evening

By now we're hot and tired and hungry again - many hours and footsteps are packed into the above descriptions. After a bit of dithering we enter the STEAKHOUSE ANTIGUA RESTAURANTE and enjoy a fine budget dinner. Their fixed-price offerings (which despite the name include vegan-vegetarian entrees) are delicious, the atmosphere congenial.

We stagger back to our Posada (only briefly impeded by the day's second procession) and then I stagger the night streets alone, seeking more urban vibes, and avoiding the thieves - the girl who wants to buy me beer; the slow-moving small groups; the hard-eyes; the guys yelling, "Hey, bro!"

Returned, showered, refreshed but exhausted, we spied that last brightly-lit procession from our window, then fell into full-moon sleep as the night honked and rand and popped and barked and buzzed. Feliz Pascua, y'all.

Easter Sunday, 20 April 2003

Many firecrackers during the night, but nothing visible from our window. Some of the last brightly-lit procession a block away, that's all. This morning Antigua seems to be awakening at about the same pace as yesterday, which offered fewer processions to impede our expeditions. We thus enjoyed a slower pace.

So now it's later midmorning Easter Sunday, I'm fortified by coffee and bagel and melon nectar, ready to drag Maureen to a local brunch - but I hear chanting outside, what's going on? Ah, just a flock of rock'n'roll EVANGELICALS (see description above) kickin' papist butt. But bells are ringing clangorously at odd intervals. Wham.

It's too early for the scheduled brunch, so we stroll past Iglesia La Merced and La Arca towards the Plaza, watching commercial Antigua awaken. Nice tall walls on 5a Avenida provide comfortable shade as we peer into shops of greater and lesser quality, and dodge the pesky hat-sellers. No, I DON'T want your focking sombrero, it DOESN'T FIT my fat head!

Up at the JARDÍN BAVARIA the brunch buffet doesn't look so appealing but the menu is cheap and substantial. We order potato pancakes and... THEY'RE OUT OF POTATOES! The Danish waiter helps us with a creative improvisation (RÖSTI MIT HOTCAKES) and fills us with the usual excellent Antigua coffee. We lounge in the framework-covered garden which is filled with Mayan masks and hanging greens, the surrounding walls lined with classic European prints, as gospel and pop music drift in...

And I'm thinking that Antigua is just about the most INTERNATIONAL city I've ever seen. Not that I've seen that many, yet. But Antigua seems nearly as cosmopolitan as San Francisco, which has 20 times the population - hey, there's more people in the Bay Area than in all of Guatemala. Yet Antigua is such a world magnet. This is really a special place.

Easter Sunday - later

We essentially spent the rest of the day wandering around the northwest quarter, nosing into shops and courtyards, acquiring a huipil and those folk-art paintings (drop by our house in a couple months to see them), encountering a Charismatic procession (see the notes below), admiring but not buying any jade, taking it slow and easy. But we did have some notable experiences:

We got to Iglesia La Merced just as Easter Mass ended and the church was emptying, so we missed that blast - nothing to compare the the Amalfi Easter mass. But we went to La Merced's ruined Convento (actually a monastary) which contains the largest fountain in old Spanish America. The pool is 80 feet across and its fount features a dozen or so squirty-titted nymphs, who entertained the monks between meditations, no doubt. The tits have been carefully massaged for centuries. Just look for the obvious.

La Merced Church, much-restored and recently repainted externally in yellow and white, is a veritable birthday cake on the outside, and a death-worshipping sour cherry on the inside. But that's just MY evaluation, eh?

We later wandered into the Don Rodrigo hotel-restaurant, a vast hostelry encompassing two big patios covered with greens and flowers; we sipped soda-lemonade while the marimba band played. Marimba is the Guatemalan national instrument - invented here, so they say, along with guacamole and hot chocolate and the evil saint Maximón.

We saw more of the lush Santo Domingo grounds and were assailed by screeching parrots. (We must return to the church and museum there.) We strolled along the lovely Alameda Santa Rosa, a tree-filled green residential parkway lined with the most prosperous homes (other than ducal estates) we'd yet seen in the Ciudad. Not the fanciest cars, but a great neighborhood.

The Alameda debouched into 1a Calle and another imposing churchly ruin - which turns out to be a working jail. Maybe that's how the ruins are restored - fill'em with prisoners, put'em to work 'til it's done, then move'em to the next ruin and charge admission to the one they just finished. Dozens of dogs slept in shaded doorways opposite the jail - are their masters all inside?

We dragged ourselves back to the JARDÍN BAVARIA (almost next to our Posada), had black beer and a fine carnivorous feast, talked to the ducks at the foot of their patio stairs, watched clouds metamorphose into mountains. Then we collapsed at the end of another day, another Easter. We're taking tomorrow off. Like, totally.

CHARISMATICS

While buying those folk paintings at CENTRO De ARTE POPULAR GALERIA (see above) we heard explosions in the street, what sounded like a car-bombing. I dashed out to see - and it was another procession, folks dressed in satiny Biblical costumes dancing around and setting off rockets on Antigua's busiest business street.

As that leading edge reached the Plaza and Cathedral, the next waves flowed in - folks in workers' clothes, speakers blaring fast amplified gospel music, then banners identifying this group as the Worker's Society and Charismatics (the democratic surge of evangelical Catholicism), then more marching workers (men and women, young and old) led by a bullhorn-laden shouting preacher, then the final processional float of another bloody Jesus being carried away.

But there were women in vestments, and people singing and waving bibles, emotive popular self-expression, a much more enthusiastic group than any previous parades. Charismatics ain't like traditional Catholicism, nope.

But we saw no triumphal resurrection processions, no celebrations of eternal life. Every parade seemed to be about nothing but death and loss and pain and suffering, nothing about relief. I need to learn more about the current theologies of Hispanic America, find out just what's going on and where it may be heading.