December 30th
Chichicastenango and
Lake Atitlàn
This
morning finds us in Chichicastenango, the famous market town of highland
Guatemala. Sunday is market day,
and the crowds stream in from all directions, tourists and locals alike. Mayan women come to sell textiles and
buy vegetables and meat. Men come
to run small shops or bring home supplies. Tourists come for the pleasure of the scene, and of course
to buy.
The
heart of the market is reserved for the locals’ needs – it is quiet (save for
the chickens) and the stalls sell everything from shampoo to the
afore-mentioned chickens. Food
stalls serve tortillas and sopas through the day. Nearby, the town recreation hall becomes a vegetable
market. Surrounding this calm
center is the storm of the tourist-oriented market. Booth stacked upon booth fill the town square and extend for
blocks in every direction. Women
and children ply the crowds with smaller goods, and shoeshine boys offer their
services to all regardless of their footwear. One is almost tempted to take them up on their offer just to
see what miracles could be achieved with sneakers.
We
fight our way to the edge of the square to see the two churches, one on either
side. These are tiny, both dating
to the 16th century.
Earthquakes and time have eroded the stucco and blackened the carvings,
but they are very much in use.
Large square stone altars line the central aisle. On these the worshippers place candles
and sprinkle rose petals, harking back to much earlier rites. As is so often the case, the Catholic
church has absorbed the native beliefs, creating a somewhat confusing mélange. On this busy day, ladies in native
dress kneel to the altars, talking aloud as if scolding their God(s) for some
deed as yet undone.
The
market is a fun place to wander, though it rapidly becomes clear that there are
only about 20 goods for sale at the many booths. They pass by in varying order, but with invariable
exhortations to buy. An hour or
two is sufficient to absorb, and we are on to Lake Atitlàn.
Lake Atitlàn sits in the highlands at about 6,000 feet, not quite so high as Chichicastenango, and is surrounded by volcanic hills constantly shrouded in fog. It is known as the lake of the Gods, and truly as the mists settle over the water, with a hint of the green hills behind, one can easily see legends hiding there. A dozen or so small towns ring the lake, with ample empty hillside between. The road curves and twists, making water the most efficient mode of transport. The few lights sprinkle the hillsides as the fog rolls in and a soft rainshower cools the air. Any legend would be happy to be housed here.