CHICHICASTENANGO

Upon arriving at the small village, a tour guide pointed out a parking space for the car then suggested us to check out the most colourful native market in the Americas and the Church of Santo Tomás, located on the main square.

“The Mayan Shamans are performing their rituals inside the church.” he said.

Expecting to see a chicken being executed, Yaqui, her son Pablo and I, jogged down the old cobblestone streets, dodging the people walking in all directions, dodging the vendors trying to sell us their goods.

Reaching the main square, I immediately felt as if I was in a different place, in a different time, in some sort of fantasy land. Before me, in an amazing and perfect blend of colours, the church steps were populated with the Mayans and their flowers.

 

On top of it, the ancient Church stood strong, omniscient even, as if blessing the natives & tourists down below, on their selling and buying.  

I walked in the church and found it empty. Maybe the ceremony is over.

Stepping out the church, I hear my name. There were two guys at the bottom of the square waving their arms at me.

I recognised them as Oren and Roy, two cool Israelis that have been to Finca Tatin last week. We quickly hugged.

“Oh my God, Paulo, when we stayed at the finca, we really thought you were Mogli, the jungle boy. You always had nothing more than a pair of shorts. Now, you have a T-shirt, jeans AND a pair of shoes! Wow.”

“I know man, I can adapt to the city dress code! What about you guys? Bought anything here yet?”

“No way. Everything is too expensive, man!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Everybody is quoting us 200 Quetzals or more. There’s nothing cheaper than that!”

I bumped into a elder man.

“Perdone.”

He smiled and continued on his way.

“Paulo, you said “perdone”. I though the right one was “perdón”?”, said Oren.

“Hmm. Guys, as far as I know, you use “Perdone/Perdóneme" when you want to say “I am sorry” to one person. I only really use “Perdón” when I want to be acknowledged or served in a shop or a bar.”

“Ah. Muy bien pendejo maricon!” said Roy and the three of us just laughed.

They had to head back, so we said our farewells with the promise to meet again somewhere else in Guatemala.

Yaqui, Pablo and I went through the small streets browsing at the variety of colours and their beautifully crafted souvenirs, clothes, pottery, medicinal plants, candles, copal incense, limestone for tortillas, pigs, machetes, etc. There was even a stall selling tortillas of all colours and the oldest machine to crush ice.

This is definitely the most colourful native market that I’ve seen to.

I was looking for a simple woollen bag, like a day bag to carry my stuff but couldn’t find one that I liked. Suddenly, when I was losing hope, I saw the one I was looking for. I asked how much and was told 50 Quetzals. I put my hand into my jeans pockets and pulled out its contents.

“15 Quetzals. That’s all I have.”

“No. Give me 30.”

“I honestly don’t have anything else. I’m sorry.” I started walking away but she pulled my arm.

“OK. Give me the 15.”

“Gracias.”

Where’s my Israeli friends? I need to give them a lesson on haggling - Not really. I would have paid a bit more if I had more quetzals in my pocket - But I didn’t.

Started pouring so Yaqui said we should be heading back to the car. We hopped on a Tuk-tuk (3Qz per person) and the driver rode the streets quickly to where Yaqui parked her car.

Changed vehicles, said good bye to the beautiful village of Chichicastenango and commenced our 3 hour drive back to the capital of Guatemala.

Ciao 4 now

~ Paulo ~