Santa Clara Market Place

One week after we arrived in Guatemala, at 7:30 a.m. on a beautiful Saturday morning, Courtney and Jerry headed for the marketplace in Santa Clara. They caught a bright red tuk tuk, which is the Guatemalan equivalent of a taxi. The trip was straight up a mountain road that closely hugged Lake Atitlan. The downward view of the lake was clear and awesome under a sunny blue sky and billowing clouds. The tiny tuk tuk engine groaned, as there were four in the cab including the driver. “Toot, toot” the horn sounded as it negotiated sharp curves around the mountains where oncoming traffic could not be seen. The power of the little vehicle dissipated as it approached the City of San Pablo. There was a transfer to a big chicken bus. Courtney had given Jerry a choice—a private van to Santa Clara or a rough riding, low cost chicken bus. Jerry craved the bus experience, so take it we did. He occasionally wondered about his frugal choice as the big, colorful, rough riding, bus roared and surged all the way up in first gear. The trusty driver honked on the precipitous curves as he charged up a longer, even steeper road. Passengers were tightly crammed, but the “mountaintop” experience was worth the trepidation. Besides, the price was right!

The Santa Clara Market was like none other in Jerry’s experience. Courtney needed a few items, and Jerry wanted a couple of plastic dishpans. (There are no automatic dishwashers in San Marcos. Gloria’s arm in sling provided Jerry with a daily dose of dirty dishes.) But mostly, Jerry was like a blind dog in a meat house with his ubiquitous Canon camera. It was good that Gloria did not go. Had she survived the crowded chicken bus ride with her sore shoulder, she surely would have been pushed over more than one produce stand or basket of live chickens by assertive women shoppers. As the morning progressed, there was hardly room in the market to walk. At times, Jerry and Courtney got separated briefly in the crowd, and Jerry wondered what he would do without his knowledgeable guide and translator. By 10:00 a.m. it was time to repeat the steep mountain drive back down to San Marcos. Once again, our daring daughter suggested a totally new method of transport. Chicken buses don’t come down the mountain from neighboring cities until 4:00 p.m. Courtney suggested a pickup truck people carrier. Jerry had not ridden in the back of a pickup since age 16, but willingly climbed aboard. They held on tightly, as did a dozen others jammed body to body with the wind in their faces, and once more they took in the magnificent, alluring beauty of Lake Atitlan.

At days end, Jerry had a wonderful memory of a unique father-daughter shopping day. He will always remember the lovely Catholic Church in the market square. As well, he will recall the huge number of produce vendors, pots and pans of every description, handmade crafts, hardware, knives, grain, preacher-musicians, eateries, and most of all, hundreds of live and cleaned chickens.