It's 18:30 and I'm at home with a massive migraine feeling like I've inhaled far too much carbon-dioxide, which I have, my brain demanding intra-cerebral hydration - if only that existed. Rewind to 6:30, bright and early morning and you'll see me nervously skipping out the front door, camera in hand, feeling slightly guilty for ditching work. Fast-forward 20 minutes and we're stuck in traffic listening to Quique Villatoro drone on about what an amazing mayor he'd make. Snore. The day is bright and clear. Another 40 minutes and we're pulling into a driveway beside a wood workshop, the light-hearted notes of the marimba welcoming new arrivals. Still nervous-excited, the way you'd feel if you were about to come face to face with your life-time hero.
The music calls from behind a red solid metal gate. It lilts in the wind, twirling up towards the mango tree, its leaves joining in with the waltz. A man dressed in traditional maya suit stands behind the small opening in the gate, smiling broadly, welcoming us with an eager nod and a good douse of incense smoke to each of our cardinal points. We step from one world to the next, leaving the evils of modern life as we know it behind us, accepting the tranquility and serenity of the maya in front. As tranquil and serene as you can be when you're sacrificing chickens with your bare hands, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Once inside, the city is immediately forgotten. People are rushing about, busily preparing for Watzajib Batz. Pine needles are scattered on the floor, their scent released with every step. Flowers, fruit and corn are arranged in geometric fashion, meticulously prepared as an offering to the North, South, East and West. Oranges, cloves, pine needles, candles and countless other fragrant symbols are placed carefully in what will become a fire pit. Four differently coloured candles are pressed into our hands and we're asked to kneel in reverence to mother earth. An hour later my knees and thigh aching we throw our offerings into the fire pit repeatedly and settle down in rusty fold up chairs for the sermon of Mayan wisdom. Don Apolinario talks of the importance of taking the time to appreciate traditions, of the loss the Maya culture is experiencing, of the fast-paced life that we are all a part of and the technology which is consuming us. He is bitter towards ladinos but accepting and grateful of outsider's efforts to support the Maya community. He wants to preserve ancient wisdom but it is unclear whether this knowledge is to be shared.
We kneel once more, and watch as four men and four women stand around the fire to sacrifice four hens and four roosters with their bare hands. Dogs howl, wings flap, feathers everywhere and soon the smell of burning flesh mixes with the heady scent of pine and incense. We line up to throw our final offerings and prayers into the fire pit, and back to our places to kiss the earth and meditate in silence. The ceremony continues for another hour before breaking for lunch only to resume again, but I've long since retreated to the shade to down a bottle of water.
And to get back to the theme of Guatemalan politics, everybody's favorite candidate has revised his campaign promises (in spanish):
http://www.taringa.net/comunidades/chapines/2226135/Baldizon-Promete-jajaja.html
The music calls from behind a red solid metal gate. It lilts in the wind, twirling up towards the mango tree, its leaves joining in with the waltz. A man dressed in traditional maya suit stands behind the small opening in the gate, smiling broadly, welcoming us with an eager nod and a good douse of incense smoke to each of our cardinal points. We step from one world to the next, leaving the evils of modern life as we know it behind us, accepting the tranquility and serenity of the maya in front. As tranquil and serene as you can be when you're sacrificing chickens with your bare hands, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Once inside, the city is immediately forgotten. People are rushing about, busily preparing for Watzajib Batz. Pine needles are scattered on the floor, their scent released with every step. Flowers, fruit and corn are arranged in geometric fashion, meticulously prepared as an offering to the North, South, East and West. Oranges, cloves, pine needles, candles and countless other fragrant symbols are placed carefully in what will become a fire pit. Four differently coloured candles are pressed into our hands and we're asked to kneel in reverence to mother earth. An hour later my knees and thigh aching we throw our offerings into the fire pit repeatedly and settle down in rusty fold up chairs for the sermon of Mayan wisdom. Don Apolinario talks of the importance of taking the time to appreciate traditions, of the loss the Maya culture is experiencing, of the fast-paced life that we are all a part of and the technology which is consuming us. He is bitter towards ladinos but accepting and grateful of outsider's efforts to support the Maya community. He wants to preserve ancient wisdom but it is unclear whether this knowledge is to be shared.
We kneel once more, and watch as four men and four women stand around the fire to sacrifice four hens and four roosters with their bare hands. Dogs howl, wings flap, feathers everywhere and soon the smell of burning flesh mixes with the heady scent of pine and incense. We line up to throw our final offerings and prayers into the fire pit, and back to our places to kiss the earth and meditate in silence. The ceremony continues for another hour before breaking for lunch only to resume again, but I've long since retreated to the shade to down a bottle of water.
And to get back to the theme of Guatemalan politics, everybody's favorite candidate has revised his campaign promises (in spanish):
http://www.taringa.net/comunidades/chapines/2226135/Baldizon-Promete-jajaja.html
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