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In Guatemala’s highlands, Santiago Atitlán
is tucked behind a small island and dispersed on a mountainside
at the southern end of the lake. Food stands lined the road,
and vendors fingered their goods on display for sale.
My husband, Jason, and I had walked about 50 feet when suddenly
two beaming Mayan children greeted us. We heard it was common
to be approached by local youngsters offering walking tours
or asking for money. The boy and girl – no more than
10 years old – wore grimy clothes and had faces smudged
with dirt. You could tell they lived in harsh conditions.
But the girl stood out, because tucked in her left arm was
a live white chicken. Oddly, the bird seemed very comfortable,
like a baby with its mother, and didn't make a sound.
In English, they asked us our names.
“Jason y Linda!” the kids squealed. They fancied
my name, which means “beautiful” in Spanish.
When Jason asked for their names, they responded in Spanish.
“It turns out,” Jason said laughing, “his name
happens to be Jason, and hers is Linda.”
So we adopted them as our tour guides.
"Do you want to see Maximón?"
Several Guatemalan towns have shrines to Maximón,
an idolized Mayan god. The most famous effigy is in Santiago
Atitlán. Demonstrating the complex relationship between
the Maya and Spanish conquistadors of centuries past, Maximón’s
attributes represent a combination of religious beliefs.
We hiked up a steep path and came to an open doorway. Inside,
flashing red and green Christmas lights, paper streamers,
and gold-glittered shapes dangled from the ceiling. The air
was thick with ceremonial smoke. Light from dozens of candles
softened the stoic faces of several Mayan men seated on a
bench against the back wall.
A short wooden Maximón figure sat in the center of
the room. The statue wore a long-sleeved shirt and pants decorated
in the area’s signature patterns and a wide-brimmed hat.
A lit cigarette, half its length already ash, hung in its
mouth. An old man danced around the figure, swinging a tin
can of burning incense.
Jason and I stood with our backs to the wall, unsure of how
to show proper respect to their deity. Then a man gestured
for us to present an offering, so we dropped some coins into
the money jar.
Afterwards, we meandered back to the main square and rested
in front of Santiago's sixteenth-century Catholic church.
Its white, freshly scrubbed façade contrasted with
lines of orange and pink triangular flags strung throughout
the plaza. The square bustled with villagers preparing for
a festival the next evening. The girl pleaded with us to join
the celebration. We hadn't planned on staying overnight and
the last boat to Panajachel was leaving in 15 minutes.
That night, we ran into an American who had taken our boat
but carried on to a different village. We started to tell
him about our excursion to Santiago Atitlán.
“My language teacher said to expect aggressive kids at
the pier,” he chuckled.
“Oh, we saw them!” we said.
He added, “Especially some boy and a girl with a white
chicken. She said they’re con artists!”
We have no reason to believe they were or were not. But they
showed us an unforgettable side of Guatemalan life. I know
our trip wouldn’t have been nearly as rewarding without
Jason, Linda and the white chicken.
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Travel Writers: A Guatemalan Diversion by
Linda Yun
