Maximon

.....my body ached after an hour of a bus journey over cobbled streets. We arrived in a small town in the mountains around Antigua. The town is worn out, faded by sun and cracked by tremors. I turned right up a steep incline, dotted by half hearted peddlars of tourist ware and strange little statues of a suited figure. About 100 metres up the incline I turned into a typical courtyard. A group of people sat hunched, carefully arranging an elaborate floral design, consisting of petals, fruit, cigarettes and other selected offerrings for the MAN. Three women dragged my eyes away. Two of them had eight cigars each, carefully bundled into one. All were burning and they took deep drags of smoke and clicked fingers and spat in respect. A large burst of flame errupted from the small group. Their elaborate design had gone up in smoke and they paced around mumbling utterances of hope. A large blue building hemmed in the south side of the courtyard. It seemed to be a church and on entering I was greeted by 6 large tabes, heavy with wax. Large candles glowed from them. Different colours for different wishes, black is for death. There were several black candles. Beside them lay upturned cigarettes slowly burning with bent ash. Plaques adorned the walls giving thanks to Maximon. I gazed into the belly of the building and the great man sat there. An old man bowed before him placing gifts of liqour and food while flaggelating himself with coarse whippet branches. I waited until he had finished before approaching. I climbed three steps and found Maximon. He wore a dapper suit with a sharp wide brimmed hat. A Texas style moustache hung beneath his nose. In his hand he held what seemed to be a cane. The people worshipped this pale faced saint, he resembled a boss from the old United Fruit company think man from Del Monte in a black suit. ..........
........These people do religion. I am a lapsed Catholic, yes a person who has been worn down by scandals and ignorance of the church in Ireland. I cant place the relevance of it in my daily life. Or maybe it is all in the presentation at home. Here all religious festivals are accompanied by joy. There is reverance but its hidden amongst smiling faces. At home its a sombre thing. This week has seen countless colourful parades, giant symbolic floats with depictions of Jesus carrying the cross. Numerous weddings to signify Ash Wednesday, where the brides wore bright brash colours and crowds gathered outside just to applaude them. Locals seem comfortable with the church and its place in their lives, not as a dictator but as a guideline and not a rule book.
This contrasted interestingly with a group of Evangelical missionaries who gathered outside the cathedral. They huddled in a massive group with one mans voice ringing out in an American twang. I overheard his pleas for God to save these people. Then I moved on.........

Thank you all for listening. One more week in Antigua and I´m gone mofo. To the lake, the most beautiful lake in the world.