On the other side of the volcanos surrounding Lake Atitlán lies the city of Antigua.
Antigua was Guatemala’s third capital city, during the era in which the Kingdom of Guatemala encompassed what is now Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and the southern Mexican state of Chiapas. Generations of Guatemalans have maintained its Spanish Baroque architecture and colonial feel, which have contributed to Antigua’s designation as a UNESCO World Heritage site.
Ancient History Meets Modern Brewing
The camping accommodations in Antigua weren’t very good for us so after settling into our Airbnb, we hopped on one of the old, refurbished school buses that serve as public transport and rode into Antigua’s historic downtown.
We were pleasantly surprised by a brewery here and immediately made ourselves comfortable inside. Their prices were comparable to what we pay in New York, which is really asking a lot for Guatemala, but we were in the mood to splurge on good beer and this beer was worth it. Adding to the experience was the clear view towards el Volcán de Agua and el Volcán Acatenango from the terrace.
Antigua is many things and to these casual observers two of the biggest things were old-timey architecture and vibrant colors. Most of the buildings that are preserved in the historic district date from the 17th and 18th centuries and display stolid stone handiwork and baroque Spanish flourishes that make them so pleasing to the eye.
Heavy wooden doors guard access to low buildings and greenery sprouts from the cracks in ruined old churches. Amidst the grey stones of ruins and the bright pastel yellow of many buildings flash the vibrant reds and purples of the Maya, selling their signature textiles from behind glass showcases or from blankets laid out on the street. To achieve the red that is so characteristic of many of their textiles, many Mayan craftspeople still use the millennia-old technique of crushed achiote, or cochineal bug.
Art and Suffering
Warning: Contains graphic cartoon sexual violence. Skip to the next section if you’d rather not see it.
Not everything is cochineal-colored peaches and cream. Behind the textile candelabra lies a country of tragedy and horror, in which terrible deeds are acted out with impunity upon good and defenceless people.
I noticed this piece on a wall in a market and as I widened my focus, I quickly realized that it was in good (bad?) company. Dozens of small paintings illustrated scrawled prayers for an angry husband to see God’s light and stop beating his wife (the apparent author of the prayer), prayers for the gang members who killed a husband and a son not return for the mother and daughter, prayers of thankfulness that a robbery was stopped before leading to rape. And prayers like that depicted in the following picture, giving thanks for not having been made pregnant by one’s rapist.
What are these, I asked a shop attendant. They’re pretty common, he replied. People turn their prayers into art. Some people think that God will hear them better this way. Some people just don’t want their suffering to go on in silence. If you buy them, the money goes to the person who made the prayer.
Art frequently gives voice to victims. That, in fact, may be one of the greatest duties that art serves to humankind.
Showing Off My Skillz
We discovered that we shared a common interest in climbing with our Airbnb hosts, who proceeded to invite us to Antigua’s one-and-only climbing wall, where I managed to put my twenty years of experience on full display and sprained my ankle dropping one or two feet onto a padded wrestling mat. High-five, me.
Happy Hour
We hobbled (well, I hobbled; Jordan walked like a normal person) down the darkened streets to meet those of our traveling tribe, who’s paths had also brought them to Antigua. We met in a bar that made us immediately welcome with a large “Donald (Trump) eres un pendejo” poster on the wall as one walks in. These are our people. This bar also pleasantly surprised us with bottles of Brooklyn Lager, our home-team beer from back in (you probably guessed it) Brooklyn.
So far on this voyage, we’ve remained solidly on the customer side of the bar, but when we stopped at a rooftop hostel bar for a pint with a view, I ended up switching sides to help the young bartender, a hostel guest working for lodging, with an unwilling beer tap. Felt just like old times.
After the shopping, the eating, the beers, the photos and the injury, it came time to keep moving. Taiga’s engine purred like an electric kitten with a cigarette problem (totally normal sounds for our car) and ferried on towards El Salvador.
