Friday, March 29, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
San Pedro
On Day 3, I left the comfort of big city life to head to small villages around Lake Atitlan. My main destination was a town called Santiago, the largest of the towns and considered to be one of the most traditional.
To get there, I needed to take a 2.5 hour bus ride to San Pedro, walk 10 minutes to the second dock in town, and then take a 45 minute boat ride to Santiago. Easy, right?
Wrong.
Due to the festivities in Antigua, traffic was a nightmare and turned the bus ride into a treacherous, 4-hour expedition. When I arrived in San Pedor, I asked a couple of folks in my broken Spanish how to catch the boat to Santiago, and their response required no translation: "no es posible." Apparently, I had missed the last boat of the day.
What to do?
I took in the lay of the land. San Pedro could have easily been mistaken for parts of Boulder or Haight-Ashbury. It was filled with 20 somethings sporting baggy striped pants or flowing skirts, dread locks and the glassy-eyed look of the recently stoned. They walked around with the superiority of a well-constructed image, pausing only to consider how cool they were or to give their hand a try at a couple non-rhythmic pounds of the drum.
Luckily, in a town like this, it wasn't hard to locate a $7 a night accommodation. While short on the classic amenities, the lake side hostel had a view that just couldn't be beat. And with that knowledge, one night in San Pedro seemed a little more than bearable.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Semana Santa - Antigua
As it turns out, I embarked on this trip during Semana Santa (Holy Week), which is a BIG deal in Guatemala in general, and in Antigua in particular. Of course, I didn't know that when I woke up this morning. Sure, there were signs yesterday - car traffic in the streets, some talks about processions on Palm Sunday, but nothing that could fully prepare me for what was to come.
In my typical style, I woke up obscenely early - 6:30 am maybe, to take a walk. Even at that early time the city had a buzz to it. People were out on the street - literally in the middle of the road -- sifting sand onto the stones and placing flowers and fruit here and there. I figured at the time it was some Palm Sunday activity for kids - the equivalent of finding Easter eggs or participating in some sort of contest to be judged.
Anyway, I moved on with my day, figuring that I could snap a few photos later. I followed a self-designed tour through the city, hitting some of the most celebrated buildings. But each time I left a site, the energy in the streets swelled a little - the activity continued to build.
I carried on, heading to a eatery called the Rainbow Cafe for lunch. I ordered a beautifully large mint tea, soup and salad, and just around the second bite of my sandwich the entire wait staff of the restaurant left their posts and rushed to the door.
Curious to the commotion, I followed them, only to see the streets lined on both sides with crowds. The sand and flowers I had previously seen on the streets before had transformed into these colorful and carefully designed carpets. And slowly and steadily coming towards them was an enormous biblical tableaux. The first platform was hoisted up by about 80 men - 40 on each side - in matching costumes, walking in unison down the street. The second platform was made up of all women - standing just as strong as their male counterparts - with their own depiction from the Bible lifted from the ground. Closing up at the end was a smaller platform (which I'm sure was still fantastically heavy) perched on the shoulders of about 20 men. In between the platforms there were full bands, blasting form their horns their ecclesiastical pronouncements.
And as the procession barreled ahead, it suddenly occurred to me that they were going to trample the handmade carpets. I quickly finished off my lunch and then took to the streets. I figured I could cut across town and get ahead of the procession so that I could capture the whimsical beauty of these carpets before they were destroyed.
But as I said before, Semana Santa is a big deal in Antigua. And the crowd was a fortress of elbows, chests and backs. It was more like a Jay-Z concert than a religious event -and it became clear there was no way I could push through that fervor. Blocked out and cut off, I managed to stave off my disappointment. After all, maybe this was the whole point of the procession - to remind the entire town once a year to take hold of each moment because nothing lasts forever.
In my typical style, I woke up obscenely early - 6:30 am maybe, to take a walk. Even at that early time the city had a buzz to it. People were out on the street - literally in the middle of the road -- sifting sand onto the stones and placing flowers and fruit here and there. I figured at the time it was some Palm Sunday activity for kids - the equivalent of finding Easter eggs or participating in some sort of contest to be judged.
I carried on, heading to a eatery called the Rainbow Cafe for lunch. I ordered a beautifully large mint tea, soup and salad, and just around the second bite of my sandwich the entire wait staff of the restaurant left their posts and rushed to the door.
Curious to the commotion, I followed them, only to see the streets lined on both sides with crowds. The sand and flowers I had previously seen on the streets before had transformed into these colorful and carefully designed carpets. And slowly and steadily coming towards them was an enormous biblical tableaux. The first platform was hoisted up by about 80 men - 40 on each side - in matching costumes, walking in unison down the street. The second platform was made up of all women - standing just as strong as their male counterparts - with their own depiction from the Bible lifted from the ground. Closing up at the end was a smaller platform (which I'm sure was still fantastically heavy) perched on the shoulders of about 20 men. In between the platforms there were full bands, blasting form their horns their ecclesiastical pronouncements.
And as the procession barreled ahead, it suddenly occurred to me that they were going to trample the handmade carpets. I quickly finished off my lunch and then took to the streets. I figured I could cut across town and get ahead of the procession so that I could capture the whimsical beauty of these carpets before they were destroyed.
But as I said before, Semana Santa is a big deal in Antigua. And the crowd was a fortress of elbows, chests and backs. It was more like a Jay-Z concert than a religious event -and it became clear there was no way I could push through that fervor. Blocked out and cut off, I managed to stave off my disappointment. After all, maybe this was the whole point of the procession - to remind the entire town once a year to take hold of each moment because nothing lasts forever.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Antigua
I landed in Guatemala this morning and caught a shuttle straight to the town of Antigua.
It's a cobbled-stone city nestled between two volcanoes that is touted for it's colonial architecture, international vibe, and it's former status as country capital.
But as my shuttle zig-zagged down the one-way streets of Antigua - these weren't the things that stood out to me.
Instead I felt drawn to the flaking of the paint, the chipping of the rock, the cracking of the facade. You see, in its history, Antigua has been victim to many of earthquakes, and the battle scars burn brightly on some of its oldest churches, covenants and stately buildings.
This was most evident to me in the former church complex called Santa Domingo. Every bit of the building speaks to its visitors. In it's fallen architecture it says: you don't have to be whole to be beautiful. You don't have to be perfect to be loved.
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