Chi Chi, Chicken Buses and Tripe

Chichicastenango (and that’s the only time I’m going to type that today) is a small highland town deep in Mayan land. We could instantly tell we were higher up by the fact it was bloody freezing. The altitude of just over 2000 metres ensures the air just doesn’t seem to hold the heat: when the sun goes down, so does the temperature. It was cold by early evening and we slept under four blankets.

The town itself is pretty ordinary and very small. Out hotel was four blocks from the main square on the map, but in reality only 2 minutes walk. From our balcony, we could see the furthest edge of town a few blocks south.

The main square has the usual collection of crumbling civic buildings and restaurants and two plain but pretty churches. The difference up here is that while it’s Christianity on the surface, it’s more Mayan than anything else. The locals merely renamed their own gods and blended Jesus into their rituals to keep the Spanish conquistadors happy. The Pope has little influence when you wander so far from Rome.

So, on the church steps there’s a near constant smoke of burning incense. The entrance and church floor is covered in pine needles to represent rebirth. A path leads out of town to a Mayan icon that may be thousands of years old (though we couldn’t find the way). The people still make offerings, perform rites and make occasional sacrifices of chickens up there. We were woken early each morning by the particularly Latin American sound of a band heavy on drums and rhythm with slightly atonal flutes and horns playing a meandering melody.

It was good to be somewhere so culturally different and though still very much on the beaten track, somewhere which hasn’t really been changed by tourism and would be going ahead pretty much the same with or without us.

The reason Chi Chi is on the tourist trail is that on Thursday and Sunday it hosts Central America’s largest market.

We arrived late on Wenesday afternoon to see the regular daily market filling the square. But by Thursday morning stalls were crammed into every spare space of the square and some bits that didn’t look spare in the first place. They spilled down the side streets while hawkers wandered and pushed through the crowds selling anything from biscuits to Christmas decorations. Meanwhile the population of the town had exploded overnight.

The church steps were rammed with flower sellers and the smell of incense flowed through the alleys created by the stalls.

This is still very much a locals market: the centre of the square was crammed with benches and tables while all kinds of foods were cooked in makeshift frying pans and cookers. Locals were here to buy and sell on stalls selling anything from dried fish to nylon rope, toilet paper to toys. Dozens of stalls sold the colourful skirts and tunics worn by local women. There were piles of chicken next to piles of chickens feet, a bucket of unidentified brown meaty things and one woman with a massive bowl of tripe. Yummy.

Around this were the stalls geared to tourists. While not selling the range of things we’d expected, there were beautiful textiles, silver and jade jewellery and the unique ceremonial masks used in Mayan rituals. One of which will be gracing our flat next week.

Although bustling, the atmosphere was pleasant and friendly with none of the aggressive selling or edge markets can get. We spent hours exploring, browsing and haggling for bargains but sadly didn’t find everything for our Christmas shopping. Which means many people will unfortunately have to go without presents this year. Sorry.

With hindsight, we should probably have spent only one night up there. After we’d finished in the market things got pretty dull and we killed time until the following morning. We also discovered there were no tourist shuttle buses out to Guatemala City on Friday, meaning we’d have to catch a camioneta.

We stood on the street until the right bus came along, hauled our bags up to the guy on the roof and jumped on, in the 30 seconds the driver is willing to stop for. Then we realised the bus was already rammed with people, three each on sears designed for two children. We forced our way to the absurdly-packed back half, rather than the impossibly-packed front, and wedged ourselves in. Despite the gentleman in the aisle virtually sitting on both our laps, we were relatively comfortable and settled for the three hour trip. That was until the bus stopped amid a flurry of confusion. There was some sort of problem and everyone got off.

Buses were passing every couple of minutes, so our stuff was hauled over to another bus and we crammed ourselves on. The second one wasn’t so much a bus, more a game of Tetris. The man in charge shifted and sorted people around to fill every air space with a body part.

And yes, there was a live chicken in a box up in the luggage rack.