Eighty-five thousand years ago, the spectacular twin Los Chocoyos volcanos erupted in a major seismic event which spread ash from Guatemala as far south as Panama and formed the volcanic crater that today holds Lago Atitlán. Renowned as one of the world’s most beautiful lakes, Lago Atitlán is twelve miles long and over a thousand feet deep, held by mountainous folds of trees, coffee and corn. Rising above this spectacular setting are the volcanos San Pedro, Santiago and Toliman. Beneath them Tz’utzujil Maya pueblos with concrete houses in yellow, pink and blue are interspersed with hives of traditional adobe and tin roofed homes, tumbling bougainvillea and bananas drooping with crowded hands of fruit. On the lake fishermen stand paddling shallow wooden boats, unfolding hand lines as they roll their wrists one over the other.
In 1995 I visited Santiago Atitlán as a member of Vashon’s sister city committee. Sixteen years later I returned to Lago Atitlán and revisited Santiago and neighboring San Pedro La Laguna. I was afraid the traditional Maya way of life had been ruined by modern commercialism and inclusion on the gringo trail. San Pedro has indeed changed hugely since the day I required a guide to lead me down the narrow paths through coffee and corn to find a hidden hotel . But in this 96% Tzu’tujil pueblos, Maya identity and tradition continues to live, even as the town has graciously grown to meet the needs of budget visitors from around the world who come to learn Spanish, to live in a Maya homestay, to volunteer, or like me, in search of a more connected and vital daily life.
As a writer with a PhD in Creativity and Communication, I am passionate about “live” experiences
of communication and art and this need is constantly met in San Pedro. Even a timid singer like myself finds a welcome in a place where there is still more live music than You Tube. As an American weary of mass consumption and technology, Guatemala offered me the richness of a deeply-rooted, handmade life and the opportunity to become part of a neighborhood.
In San Pedro as thoughout Guatemala, most Maya women wear traje, traditional handwoven clothing: a huipil which is distinctive to each pueblo, a faja, a wide intricately decorated belt which secures the corte, a multihued woven skirt. The traje of the women maintains and affirms Maya cultural identity -- the patterns, colors and figures on the cloth tell a story of Maya cosmology and history. Their cloth is made to be washed on rocks. It survives to be passed down through generations while also supporting local craftswomen.
In San Pedro as thoughout Guatemala, most Maya women wear traje, traditional handwoven clothing: a huipil which is distinctive to each pueblo, a faja, a wide intricately decorated belt which secures the corte, a multihued woven skirt. The traje of the women maintains and affirms Maya cultural identity -- the patterns, colors and figures on the cloth tell a story of Maya cosmology and history. Their cloth is made to be washed on rocks. It survives to be passed down through generations while also supporting local craftswomen.
Their clothes are functional as well as beautiful, worn for the tasks of daily life, sweeping floors, cooking tortillas on wood fires and weaving. The women weavers sit with their legs tucked beneath them on concrete or dirt floors, backstrap looms tied around their waists, hundreds of threads managed without pause as intricate designs are born beneath their hands. When the weavers rise to stand, they unfold without using their hands to push themselves up.
In the morning women carry heavy plastic baskets of laundry atop their heads and possibly a baby in a rebozo firm against their backs, following narrow paths to wash on the ancient flat rocks in the lake. In the space between homes and restaurants corn sways with the wind and squash plants offer up goldenrod blossoms, while pink frijole pods and red coffee cherries dry on roofs and cement pads. Men in sombreros with machetes at their sides carry loads steadied by worn trumplines across their foreheads, their bags heavy with wood, corn and coffee from the campo.
And yet, there is always time for us to exchange greetings, “Buenos dias,” my neighbors and I call to each other as I wander down the street for my fresh orange juice. Que te vaya bien”, have a good journey, they may add. The words are sung, not rushed, and given eye contact and a smile. Of course this can only happen if people are walking or sitting along the street. There is no need for a car here—and most people cannot afford one -- so everything is within walking distance or accessible by public transportation. Life on the street is still a form of entertainment.
In the morning women carry heavy plastic baskets of laundry atop their heads and possibly a baby in a rebozo firm against their backs, following narrow paths to wash on the ancient flat rocks in the lake. In the space between homes and restaurants corn sways with the wind and squash plants offer up goldenrod blossoms, while pink frijole pods and red coffee cherries dry on roofs and cement pads. Men in sombreros with machetes at their sides carry loads steadied by worn trumplines across their foreheads, their bags heavy with wood, corn and coffee from the campo.
And yet, there is always time for us to exchange greetings, “Buenos dias,” my neighbors and I call to each other as I wander down the street for my fresh orange juice. Que te vaya bien”, have a good journey, they may add. The words are sung, not rushed, and given eye contact and a smile. Of course this can only happen if people are walking or sitting along the street. There is no need for a car here—and most people cannot afford one -- so everything is within walking distance or accessible by public transportation. Life on the street is still a form of entertainment.
There seems always time to play with children and to wish other diners in a comedor, Buen Provecho, have a good meal. Babies carried in woven rebozos are easily repositioned for feeding. If a child wants attention, he is immediately tended. There is time to sing in church, nap in a hammock, play soccer with neighbors and join with other women in making a hundred chuchitos for a wedding. There are fiestas, fireworks and bustling markets. And there is color, all of the colors ever created are somewhere in San Pedro.
Since the Peace Accords, the traditional crafts of the Maya have seen increasing innovation. Handwoven huipils are cut to form cloth shoes and sandals, with soles from used tires -- sturdier and more beautiful than the footwear churned out by the maquiladoras. Woven cloth is increasingly combined with leatherwork to make backpacks and bags. Santiago, the capital of the pre-conquest Tz’utujil world, remains the largest and most traditional pueblo on the lake. In addition to hosting the Maya saint Maximón, Santiago produces exquisite embroidery of birds. Indeed in Tz’tujil, Santiago is known as the “house of birds. San Pedro has a reputation for folk art painters who depict scenes of Maya life, sometimes from the perspective of a bird or an ant. In neighboring San Juan, women grow and spin their own cotton, coloring it with natural dyes. Every month I find something new being made in this region and as part of my livelihood, I wanted to bring other people to see these wonders of Guatemala.
I had led community-based tours to Mexico over the Day of the Dead, providing uniquely intimate tours because of my friendships with artisans there, so I hoped to do the same by offering similar tours here. I discovered an amazing Day of the Dead celebration in the Kachiquel Maya pueblo of Sumpango, where over 600 people work for months to create what look like painted murals, but are Giant Kites, made entirely from tissue paper, glue and bamboo, some as large as a three story building. I was able to learn about the traditions behind these kites, to watch the creation of these unusual masterpieces and to become friends with some barrileteros, kitemakers. For the past two years, I have led small tours in which the members stayed in a beautiful house in Sumpango and had as guide master barriletero, Julio Asturias. He also taught us how to make our own octagonal, eight-sided Guatemalan kite. We experienced a private ceremony with the woman shaman of Sumpango, and visited the cemetery where we met with Julio’s family and experienced other traditional Kachiquel Maya rituals for the Day of the Dead. I was able to offer a tour unlike any other, but advertising it was and remains a problem. Nonetheless, I wrote the two most referenced articles on the The Giant Kites for the two major tourist publications in Antigua and was happy to educate people about this amazing sacred and creative event. As I continue promoting this event, I hope that people like yourselves will come and see for yourselves.
It is true that no visit to Guatemala is complete without the ancient Maya ruins, the charming colonial city of Antigua or the unsurpassable Lago Atitán. I have lived in all of these areas since coming to Guatemala over two years ago.
It is true that no visit to Guatemala is complete without the ancient Maya ruins, the charming colonial city of Antigua or the unsurpassable Lago Atitán. I have lived in all of these areas since coming to Guatemala over two years ago.
Here in San Pedro, Lake Atitlán’s three volcanos rise outside my window. Every day I converse with my neighbors and eat fresh food I have bought from the market. It is the rainy season and the corn springs overnight to unimaginable heights. I was invited by my friends to their campo the other day where I have been documenting the relationship between the Maya and corn; walking the through the towering stalks was like being in a forest.
Recently two powerful murals were painted near the central market. One opposes the push to plant GMO corn here, among the “people of the corn;” the other challenges the mining companies which increasingly degrade Maya land. These are beautiful and courageous works in a land where opposition has been fatal.
I have traveled in Belize, Honduras, Mexico and Nicaragua but after over two years of life abroad, it is Guatemala which continues to call me home -- for her people, her stories and her constant beauty. I hope you will come and see for yourself and be touched with the beauty and kindness of this barely known country.
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