Lords Of Atitlan

Holy Week (Semana Santa) in Guatemala offers many options to observers, participants, and photographers. The processions in Antigua, Guatemala City, or even Xela, Totonicapán, and Patzún are awesome spectacles. Huge litters sway side to side as dozens of bearers strain to carry the Christ figure above a swelling sea of the devoted.Apostles, shepherds, and Roman soldiers walk with the ordinary through crowded streets lavishly adorned by bright patterned carpets (alfombras) of colored sawdust, flower petals, dried flowers, and fruits.All is quite impressive.

But I prefer small town celebrations. In the hinterland, tradition is better maintained. Also, within tiny indigenous communities festivity replaces the solemnity and pageantry of large city celebrations. I began my Semana Santa this year on Tuesday night in the cofradia of San Juan in San Lucas Tolimán, a place where I know everyone. Round midnight we danced with Maximón. By then, He was feeling no pain, nor were we; and the party flowed till dawn, at which time He boarded the back of an ornamented pick-up truck to tour town for the day.

Thursday and Friday I traveled (also in the back of a pick-up) to Concepción, where live a simple, humble folk, very hospitable and tradition-bound. The people of Concepción treat me as an equal. They serve me my ceremonial dish of pulique without a spoon. When I first visited events in Concepción, the cofrades gave me a spoon with which to eat. The priest also delivered Mass in Kaqchiquel. Now a new priest from the capital delivers Mass only in Spanish.No one appears to be listening. The men mock me and each other in a play of nodding off, until we all actually do. Maximón relaxes by the doorway, greeting worshipers and friends as they enter. When the Mass ends, the priest exits, and the mixed religion (Maya/Catholic) prevails. All of the iglesia's images of saints have been draped in cloth to spare the saints the pain of viewing events too horrible to be seen. On Thursday, with his capture, Christ is raised to the station of the cross. On Friday afternoon, the cucuruchos (cloaked like clansmen) lower him to his tomb for procession through the village. Saturday I returned to San Lucas to enjoy greeting friends in the lake front. In Panajachel, where I live, there are many more visitors to the lake front on Saturday (sabado de Gloria) than there are to the lake front of San Lucas, but they come from throughout Guatemala. In Pana I see traje (native dress) from every town in the highlands. But I don´t know anyone. In contrast, most visitors to San Lucas on sabado de Gloria come from neighboring towns, and I know everyone. I walk around shooting photos on demand, and all is festive. This year on Saturday night I returned to the cofradia late to say goodbye. Maximón had long since retired to his coffin, drunken from his week-long revel. Every two years the ownership of the cofradia changes hands. When I arrived, Felix, the present owner, had just received word that town elders had granted him two more years in charge. We celebrated with drink, serenaded by the Saint´s muffled snoring. Felix thanked me repeatedly for my friendship with his townspeople and my frequent participation in their activities. Easter Sunday morning I had intended to return to Pana, but when a bus headed toward las Trampas passed, I boarded it to visit parts of Concepción across its river valley: Patzutzún and caserios Panucá, Chui Solís, and Chuitziyut. There, I would never have known that Sunday was a holiday. Daily life and chores continued as usual, transitioning me back to the photos I most like to shoot.