The Road to Todos Santos - 10.30.2006
The market at Terminal Minerva was overflowing. Children carried thick bundles of crimson leaves and plopped them next to piles of marigolds that were beginning to rot. People were scrambling everywhere, buying food and flowers for the Day of the Dead. The flowers would be used to decorate the graves of family members, to welcome their spirits as they returned to the world of the living. The food would be used to nourish them.
For 20 minutes we pressed through the 300-yard long market before we finally reached the bus station on the other side. Somewhere along the way a pickpocket relieved me of 180 Quetzales.
We sat three to a seat on the bus to Huehuetenango. The middle-aged man who sat closest to the isle struggled to stay seated as the bus careened around drastic curves.
At the turnoff to San Fransisco the traffic slowed and then stopped. Everyone in the bus stood to see what was going on. There was a crowd at the intersection. The man and I decided that it was some sort of protest. Then a few police trucks and motorcycles pushed through the crowd and we realized that it was the Tour de Guatemala.
The lead cyclist was out of his saddle and pushing hard on the climb, and my guess is that he was in the early stages of his break. He seemed to be breathing easily despite the thick diesel exhaust of the escort trucks. One minute later the chase group appeared with only three riders. They were in their saddles and struggling to stay in formation. The peloton was three minutes behind the leader, but pushing quickly, and I suspect that in the end the escapees were swallowed on the long descent.
The support vehicles rolled past, and traffic inched forward on the three roads. It took us 10 minutes to nudge our way through the tangle, and just as we did the final cyclist struggled past us. He was fighting the cars for space on the road after being abandoned by the race´s escorts.
We arrived in Huehuetenango at lunchtime and by 1 pm we were aboard a new bus departing for Todos Santos. Again, we road three abreast. It was a beautiful, convoluted, slithering haul over the mountain pass and it was easy to see why the road is famous for it´s catastrophic accidents.
Our barker was middle-aged, fairly handsome, and lecherous. He asked every woman we passed if they wanted a ride, and then he winked at them and game them a sleazy smile.
The barker and most of the passengers were wearing the same getup: a white shirt with purple stripes and a thick embroidered color of red and purple and green thread; red pants with white and blue stripes; a straw hat with a purple and red band. This is the traditional uniform for residents of Todos Santos, and it is one reason that the village is famous. The other villages have either changed or abandoned their traditional cloth patterns after centuries of exposure to foreigners but the residents of Todos are still using the same patterns they have used for as long as history has recorded.
Todos Santos is also famous for:
- The horse race on All Saints´ Day
- Poverty
- Drunkenness
- And, I believe, for seeing some brutal battles with the government during the war.
We wove up and over a ridge, and then settled into an alpine plateau that was wide, and nearly treeless, and lonely. The dark afternoon clouds were settling in. Rows of red flowers perched on long stalks, marking the raised boundaries of fields and lanes. Groups of children kept watch over flocks of dirty sheep near the clusters of houses that served as villages.
A man in the back of the bus called for us to stop at a concrete hut nearby. He came forward as we slowed and stepped down towards the open door. A girl maybe 4 years old trotted from the house and handed him a few coins to pay his fare as well as a small bundle of food in a purple cloth. I couldn´t hear what he said to her before sending her scurrying back towards the house, but she was giggling as she turned back to wave at us.
From the plateau the road turned to dirt and dropped quickly into another valley. We ran directly into the bank of clouds that were rushing over the ridge that stood between them and Huehue. We could see the road, but not much else. I could smell our brakes burning. Somewhere a few thousand feet below us was Todos.
The town only has a few main streets, so it is not entirely surprising that within 5 minutes of our arrival we had encountered another group of friends in town for the festival. We all gathered for dinner at one of the few cafes in town. I had a not-bad omelet with tomatoes and onions.
An 11 year-old boy with a shirt that said ¨Boy Gang¨ made paper airplanes with one of our friends. Then he gave me his paper pirate hat in exchange for my Tigers cap. Immediately after the exchange, he ran to the railing of our patio and pretended to hurl the cap onto the roof of the house below us. I chased him around for a bit, running just slowly enough, before finally catching him in the midst of the tables. He had a small conniption as I tickled him, and he quickly agreed to forfeit his prize. He joined us at our table again, still laughing. When I asked him what his name was, he told me it was El Capitan.
The clouds were steadily dropping all afternoon and so the evening came rapidly. We took a walk in the falling light after supper. Sounds were muted in the mist, and for the first time in Guatemala I felt something approaching tranquility.
We followed a song up the hill and found three men playing a huge xylophone. Two drunk men were dancing in the street.
That night the town gathered in a tiny concrete gymnasium to crown Miss Todos Santos. The gym was nearly empty when we arrived. Another xylophone band was there. I learn that the xylophone is actually called a marimba. (Something new every day.) We listened to the marimba music as the gym slowly filled.
Then some ratbastard set off a heeeeuuuuge firecracker just outside the door, and I nearly filled my pants.
We were ready to start.
Fourteen young women gather at the back of the gym. One by one, they were introduced, and they slowly danced up to the stage.
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