Sergio told me a few days ago that there would be a procession in the streets on Sunday. I wasn’t sure who it was for and within seconds (we were on his motorcycle at the time) my brain moved on to other things like my Spanish and the busy 4-way intersection we were going through. Around 3 pm I heard the faint sounds of drums in the distance and instantly Sergio’s words flashed back. I was really curious to see what this procession was about. I grabbed my keys and camera and ran down the stairs and out the door. As the drums got louder, I found myself scurrying faster down the old cobblestone streets of Antigua in my dusty flip flops. I could see people standing in Central Park at the end of the street.
When I arrived there I was literally in owe (I think my mouth might have been hanging open). There was a procession of hundreds of people on the street right in front of me. I saw women wearing all black with black lace veils walking West down an avenida. Then men in black cloaks. The drum sound filled the air about every two seconds while the rest of the space was filled with this eerie silence. Men (priests maybe?) in purple cloaks swung incense that created a grey cloud in the air behind them. Out of the cloud came a huge replica of the Virgin Mary standing on a rectangular platform with angels, looking down at the people. I would guess 50 men were holding the replica at the base. It reminded me of a float during a parade in the states, only it was carried by men. They would take a step forward, one to the side, and then forward again. The “float” tipped back and forth and Mary’s cap swayed in the wind, giving her a life-like presence. I’ve never seen anything like this in the U.S! A crowd in black uniforms and a brass band followed. After several minutes of drum beats and silence, the band broke into a somber wail with their trumpets. I recorded moments of what I’d witnessed with my handy camcorder feature on my camera and then took several shots, many obscured by all of the people passing by. The tone of the evening was too somber and eerie for me. As they droned on down the street, I slipped away to find dinner at my home stay.
Around 6:30 pm, I told David I would meet up with him to visit a local bar with live flamenco guitar. As I headed out, back down the cobblestone streets, that same drum beat became apparent. Several hours later, the procession was still going, except that now the float was lit up with lights, creating quite a dramatic scene. I am so fascinated with this culture’s dedication to the Catholic religion. I found David and tried to show him the procession. He told me in his quirky English accent, “I've already seen several processions. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve bloody seen them all. Let’s take a jaunt to the bar (maybe not the exact words, I’m trying to sound English).”
After listening to a few songs at a brightly-colored café-by-day-bar-by-night kind of place, we met up with another group of extranjeros that accompanied our group to La Esquina (means corner in Spanish and it’s on the corner, go figure). One of them, Jeff, a man living in Texas but from Scotland, told me about a nonprofit he is starting for homeless here. He also told me about his trips to Africa. He said in Africa he had to have armed guards with him all of the time. People were really aggressive. Once a boy tried to steal his bag and one of his armed guards ran after the boy. Jeff doesn’t know what happened to the boy. He said that people don’t need much of a reason, if one at all, to shoot someone else there. It’s common to find bodies face down on the side of the road. Jeff said he would never go back. Maybe to Africa, but not to the country he had visited. His story stuck with me as we walked to La Esquina. I can’t imagine having to live in that kind of fear. I thought this place was bad, but Jeff gave me a new perspective.
We salsa danced for a bit and I started to feel off so David walked me home.
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