We climb the stone steps of Santo Tomás Church
for a better view; all around us is the hullaballoo of
families swinging incense barrels, lighting small pyres
of tobacco and kindling, and praying urgently in Maya
languages. “Do you notice anything funny about these
steps?” Raphael asks. “It was an ancient Maya temple
— see, there are 18 levels, one for each month of the
Maya calendar. The Spanish razed the building in 1540
and built on top of the platform, so it’s now a holy site
twice over.” Rambo chimes in: “There was some damage
done by the church in the early days. But we learned to
accept each other, to weave the traditions together. What
matters, ultimately, is belief, trust, faith. And that’s what
these people have: faith.”
Back at the morería, we catch up with Juanita, who’s
made time to offer us a blessing. We follow her up a hill
to a sacred forest clearing. Fire pits mark the cardinal
points. After sinking to her knees in prayer in front of a
stone idol, Juanita gets to work constructing our offering.
First, she sketches out an ornate cross in sugar, then piles
on kindling, copal (tree resin), tobacco, chocolate and
multicoloured candles. “Each colour signifies a different
petition: for money, protection from envy, love, warding
off evil,” Rambo whispers. “And see how she ties her tzute
(shawl) around her head; this helps contain your essence
and harness your wisdom.”
The flames rise. Behind the smoke, Juanita chants in
Maya Ki’che’. “Look how the fire behaves. If you know
how, you can visualise messages in the flames,” says
Rambo. “She’s talking to the spirit of the mountain.”
We’ve each been given a candle to cast into the fire.
Juanita waves us forward. “She says we’re to say a prayer
for those we’ve lost,” Rambo translates. He lingers for a
few moments, looking searchingly into the fire, before
dropping in his candle and turning away.Up in the air
Tourism in Guatemala is far from booming, although
its star is rising. For many years, the headline-grabbing
crime statistics coming from the capital city deterred
many; its jungle-swathed Maya ruins on the Mexican
border and the cultural riches of the Highlands were the
preserve of only the intrepid. “It’s safer than you think,”
Monica, a manager at the chichi Lake Atitlán boutique
hotel Casa Prana, tells me, laughing. “I moved here from
the city — that’s where the crime is. Now I don’t have
to lock my door. Guatemalans are well known for beingfriendly and welcoming, and around this lake people are
especially kind.”
In front of the hotel’s breakfast terrace, Lake Atitlán
is pearlescent in the morning light, the shadow of two
volcanoes etched on its surface. Not far from the hotel’s
jetty, a few fishermen are at work in wooden canoes.
Around the lake’s edges sit villages: San Antonio Palopó,
famous for its pottery; Santiago Atitlán, the birthplace of
the colourful cult of Maximón; and Santa Cruz, renowned
for its backpacker vibes. I paddle over to the latter in a
kayak, past a shore dotted with the summer houses of
wealthy politicians, and then whizz uphill in one of the
village’s signature red tuk-tuks to Café Sabor Cruceño.
The views are spectacular — behind us is a thickly-
forested zigzag of hills, gorges and waterfalls, and below,
falling away to the glittering shore, is a chaotic jumble
of roofs, washing lines and lanes. Turning away from
the scenery, attention is fixed on the menu: “These are
all really local dishes. Look, tayuyos,” Rambo exclaims.
“They’re corn dough wrapped around black bean paste.
Guatemalan food like this is cooked in homes. But
restaurants usually go for international dishes. This is
quite a special place,” he says, waving the waitress over.
The same is true of Antigua, the elegant colonial
capital of the Spanish from the early 16th century until
the earthquake of 1773. Today, it’s the centrepiece of
Highlands tourism. “We have more ingredients than
Mexico — so many ethnic groups, so much richness,”
Rebeca de León, founder of the local Guatemalan
gastronomy tour operator Kukul Tales, tells me. “Why
aren’t we showcasing this in our restaurants?” We’ve
met in the restored, colonial-era kitchens of Antigua’s
Casa Popenoe museum to sample some real Guatemalan
cuisine. She’s got me grinding black salt and white
chiltepe peppers into roast tomatoes with a pestle and
mortar. “If you want to imagine how the original Mayans
ate, look to chirimol,” says Rebeca. “The sauce you’re
making has been the basis of our cuisine for centuries.”
We move on to taste stuffed corn dough tamales, and
a spicy, shredded-beef stew called hilachas, washing
them down with tiste, a drink made of ground cocoa and
toasted corn. “Our food is seasonal and historic; some
of these dishes are even ceremonial,” Rebeca explains.
“People learn about culture through what they eat. I’m
proud to show this to travellers. But it’s a real problem that
new generations of Guatemalans would rather buy sushi
than cook. Our cuisine is at risk of being forgotten in ourSome of the kites are so tall they’ve been propped up with
house-height bamboo struts and moored to the earth by
thick ropes. In the rising wind, they strain against these
shackles like caged animals
CLOCKWISE FROM TOP:
A fisherman in a
traditional canoe, Lake
Atitlán; a tortilla cart
in the colonial city of
Antigua; kites are flown
in the main cemetery of
Santiago Sacatepéquez
on 1 November
May/Jun 2020 79GUATEMALA