Day of the Dead, or Dia de los Muertos, is usually known as a Mexican holiday. Yes, its celebration in Mexico is supposed to be particularly raucous, but the holiday is also observed here in Guatemala.
Day of the Dead, celebrated here in Xela on the 1st and 2nd of November, is the day that families go to the cemetary and honor the memory of their lost ones.
In Canada, this might be thought of as a very somber or depressing holiday.
Here, it’s amazing just how uplifting the event can be.
I woke up this morning at 1pm, after celebrating the not-so-Guatemalan holiday of Halloween a bit too hard. I spent the next three hours nursing a headache (ok, hangover) in bed, but at 4pm I knew I had to drag myself out of the house or I would later regret not witnessing Day of the Dead. (There will also be celebrations tomorrow, but apparently today is the biggest.)
I walked down the street to the cemetary, and saw that the whole street in front of it had been turned into yet another fair. Hurray, more delicious fair food (see last post.)
But I was not distracted by the churros, ponche and french fries on display. I walked through the crowded gates to the cemetary, music playing, and found myself back in what is probably the most beautiful place in Xela.
I had not been to the cemetary since I went there with a group back in 2008. I’d love to go more often, but on most days the cemetary is known as the most likely place to be robbed in Xela since it’s so huge and quiet. So, when there is the chance to go – either with a big group or on a day that’s really busy – I will always jump at the chance because it’s just so beautiful.
Today, it was even more beautiful. In fact, the cemetary on Day of the Dead is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have witnessed in Guatemala.
It is simply a wonderful thing to see so much life in a cemetary.
There were thousands of people there. Whole families walked around hand in hand. Everyone was decorating the graves of their relatives with beautiful floral arrangements – so many that the cemetary smelled so fresh and alive. Kids flew brightly-coloured kites, apparently a tradition at this time of year. Other children laughed and played amongst the tombstones. Young people supported their grandparents as they walked. Food vendors inside the cemetary sold bags of chopped-up fruit, chocolate, or tostadas covered in vegetables and ground beef. Mayan women wore their most beautiful huipiles (blouses) and chatted to each other in their indigenous language.
I walked around, and felt overwhelmed in a lovely way. I often find that the most “meaningful” moments I experience while traveling, or anywhere really, are when I am by myself, and observing what is going on around me. Today was no exception. I thought about my maternal grandparents, dead now for more than a decade. I thought about family, and whether I would like to have one of my own.
After walking around for an hour and a half, and starting to feel some drops of rain, I headed out. On the way out of the cemetary I stopped and got a hot cup of ponche de leche (milk punch). It warmed me up as I walked back home.
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