Category Archives: Central America

Wanna see Maximon?

Santiago, Lago de Atitlan, West Guatemala

“Wanna see Maximon?” chanted all the young touts running towards me as I barely stepped out of the ferry at Santiago, Lake Atitlan.

This deity of the Mayans has become such a huge tourist attraction that every local boy and man you meet would offer to bring you to the current abode that houses Maximon. A rather worldy street punk of no more than 10 years old managed to get my business after I bargain him down to Q$5 (quetzal) to bring me to the current property. Every year, the statue of this cross between a mayan, gringo, catholic god chooses a family house to reside in.

After a short walk to its current residence, once again I was asked Q$10 for entrance to see this rather strange looking effigy. In the same room as Maximon, there was an effgy of a dead jesus after he was crucifed, bleeding limbs and all. It seemed quite strange but not usual to mix cathoism figures with mayan deities.

There were chants going on in this tiny quarter, two men were kneeled down giving offerings to the Deity. One had a white veil drapped over him, had I not given him a second glance, I would have thought it was a lady quietly chanting away. The other one had a mobile phone stuck to his ear, constantly spitting in front of the effigy while having his phone conversation and in between that, taking huge puffs from his big fat cigar before spitting again. Obviously a multi-tasker of sorts, he might conducting some ritual but you would think that one who does not have good hygiene. The floor in front of him was covered in huge wet puddles of his thick spit. (You can probably make out some puddle at the far left bottom corner of the photo)

Took out my camera and snapped this only shot in the room before I was once again asked for more money. To take a photo of Maximon I would have to offer him more dinero pointed out by one of rather sharp faced attendant, I declined and left after lingering a little bit more looking at rest of the catholic effigies.

Paper cutting decorations adorned the house which Maximon currently resides to announce its presence.

Here’s the whole story of Maximon by Wikipedia

Continue reading

You are in the territory of the Zapatista


As seen on the way to the Miso-Ha Falls in the state of Chiapas, Mexico.

“You are in the territory of the Zapatista,

Strictly prohibit the dealing of arms, consumption of drugs and alcohol, illegal sale of wood. No destruction of nature.

Zapata lives and fights on.

Here it commands the town of Gobierno obedience”.

The Zapatista Army of National Liberation (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, EZLN) is an armed revolutionary group based in Chiapas, one of the poorest states of Mexico. According to the Lonely Planet Central America guide, they are the cult heroes of Chiapas. In Chiapas where more than one in four people are Maya, the Zapatista claims to fight for their indigenous rights.

The group takes its name from Emiliano Zapata, the anarchist commander of the Liberation Army of the South during the Mexican Revolution, whose forces were colloquially known as the Zapatistas. Somewhat muted politically these days, it was quite interesting to see this signage up where many tourists pass to visit the popular sights of Miso-Ha, Aqua Azul and Aqua Clara Falls.

In this village call Uaxactun

A typical village house in Uaxactun

It had been a little challenge just coming here to Uaxactun, the northern part of Petén, Guatemala and part of the Tikal National Park. You pay Q$25 to enter the village via the Tikal Ruins. I got to know about this seldom visited part of the jungle and became quite obsessed about it, needless to say, it took much effort asking around how to get here as I got many different answers.

There is only one public bus per day and it leaves from Santa Elena, stopping at El Remate at 3pm and Tikal at 4.30pm and arriving at the Mayan village around 6pm. One public bus out of the place at 6am in the morning. Nothing else leaves unless you are lucky to hitch a ride from a virtually non-existent private transportation. You would be stranded for at least 1 night

The 2 hour bus ride turned into a 3 hour long journey with intermittent waits for passengers and stops by the Bus attendant climbing on top of the bus with his machete, cutting up the creeping jungle all ready to engulf the only limestone paved route that links civilisation to the village. Come rainy season, this road would be flooded and transportation may not even come through.

The area around Tikal has been protected since 1990 by the Maya Biosphere Reserve. The reserve was intended to stop timber companies, farmers, and ranchers from cutting down the trees. Once you are out the protected zone, you see massive deforestation and agricultural crops growing everywhere.

Uaxactun pronounced as Wa-sha-toon was coined 8-stones by an American archaeologist back in the 1920s. This place according to the popular Mayan Archeology theory was said to have been an astrological learning place for Tikal elites. There are ruins scattered around the village and the villagers are happy to point the roads leading to them if you ask.

As you enter the village, you see a large field in the center once a air-strip constructed by the Carnegie Institution that had conducted archaeological excavations back in the 1940s. This was the place where Mayan archaeologists embark on long difficult treks into the thick jungle searching for lost ruins.

As with any typical jungle village, houses grew surrounding this large defunct air strip, now being used as ground for goats and cows grazing, and children playing soccer.

Now the village is used as a transit stop-over place for all sorts of people, poor Guatemalans on their way to Mexico and United States in search of work, rich American Game hunters sporting exotic jungle animals for fun, Mayan archeology enthusiast studying the abandoned ruins glyphs and braving 3 day treks to the remote El Mirador ruins.I met them all in this tiny strip of a village, the only visitors while I was there.

No one else ever visits this place, you might be lucky seeing a tourist here every few weeks. On the good side, you literally have the whole ruins site to yourself, although most of the ruins are in a pile of grassy mole hill.

I met a group of Guatemalans in the bus on the way to the village and met them again at one of the only 3 restaurants in the village. A friendly Guatemalan soon introduced himself, speaking with a clear mid-western American accent. After a brief conversation, he soon revealed that he was acting as a ‘tour guide’ to these group of Guatemalans. They were spending a night at the restaurant, making their way to the Mexico border and then onwards to the United States seeking their riches and their ideal new American life.

Preparing for the typical meal in the kitchen consist of rice, chicken, avocado

He was quite proud and pretty open about what he was doing, happily chatting about what he does for a living. Being a guide for these poor people soon to be illegal workers in the United States, (should they be so lucky to make it across the borders.) He worked near Chicago, spending 4 years learning his english ; boasting he earned US$150 a day tending a ranch.

“We make sure they will have proper papers crossing the Mexico border, I have connections that will ensure safe passage for my group at this border. Without me, they will definitely be caught by the Mexican police and extorted more money, probably jailed. Tomorrow morning they will take my truck onwards to the border, we have connections here so they will be safe. Then once across the border, they will be taken to where-ever they want to go in the States.”

The group did not understand a word of english, were a quiet yet accommodating bunch, I had only managed communicating with them in my raw basic spanish. I was surprised they even allowed me to take photos of them. It was only the family working in the restaurant wary about thi foreigner talking to the group.

In other parts of Guatemala the average pay was between Q500 (US$75)-1000 (US$130) a month. It was no wonder these poor workers were risking their lives for a chance to work in the United States for a better life for themselves and their families.

My heart sank for them, I wished them luck and was gestured by the owner of the restaurant into a separate room for my dinner. I do hope they make it to United States and achieve their American dream.

Having their meal at the very same room where they would spend the night before moving onto the next destination

The only possessions they had, light tiny bags for their long journey

Bookmark http://ihavetravellust.wordpress.com/2008/05/02/in-this-village-call-uaxactun/