Blood and Sacrifice, A Mayan Ritual

WARNING. The following article describes in detail the ritual killing and sacrifice of animals. If you are at all sqeamish you might not like what's coming up...


Rituals are a big part of most religions. In Communion, Mass and Buddhist chanting, there are set practices to follow and rules to obey. The same applies for the Maya. My big book of facts says that their religion is animist - syncreatism. I bet you're none the wiser. Neither was I until I found myself on top of a hill outside the city of Chichicastenango, Guatamala watching a chicken get it's head cut off.

The Maya believe in heaven and hell. They believe in God and the Devil. In Maya religion there are nine steps to hell, and thirteen to get to heaven. Rituals are performed not just by priests but by anyone wishing to make their peace with the Spirits.

On top of the hill over looking a bustling market town I observed part of a two hour ritual. There were three Mayan men taking part, there to appease evil spirits. A small alter is made from clay and incense and flower petals are placed on the ground. next to the alter is a circle of candles of varying colours. The main man also has a large incense burner attched to a piece of rope.

From what I could gather the process is this. Once everything is laid out the chanting begins. The main man will keep chanting for the next two hours. The chants are conversations with god, and also conversations with the devil. Incense gets swung back and forth. The candles are lit and burn strongly in the midday sun.

The chanting continues and then after candles are all lit charcoal is added to them to create a fire. Then the chicken appears. This is the sacrifice to their God.

The chicken seemed blissfully unaware of it's fate. It happily clucked and looked around as it was being brought to the alter. The other two men kneel before the alter and are blessed with the chicken by it being placed on their heads by the main man. A knife then appears, and everyone goes quiet. The chicken is placed on the ground next to the fire.

The blade does not cut cleanly through the chicken's neck. The main man has to cut four or five times to severe the head from the body. The head is tossed into the fire as the blood pours out of the chicken on to the ground. The chicken is certainly not docile now. In the throws of death it spasms wildly. The main main has difficulty holding the chicken over the fire. Blood splatters on to his yellow shirt and on his forearm. The flames lick around the feathers of the headless bird as the struggle continues. The other two men look on.

After a couple of minutes the struggling lessens as the flames grow higher around the bird. When certain the bird is dead, the body is thrown into the center of the fire. The air is acrid with the taste of burning feathers and incense. The fire engulfs the carcass. Black smoke billows out across the hill. The process from start to finish takes about 5 minutes. I hope the Gods were appeased.

Then the chanting continues. It is still audible as I walk away back down the hill, with my head buzzing with images of life and death.

Guns don't kill people, rappers and central american juntas do...

"So where are you heading next?" The suntanned American asks over the side of the bar.
"El Salvador" I reply cheerily while chugging on my beer.
"That's a dangerous place, son" His expression turns a light shade of concern.
"The war is over, I'm sure It'll be fine" I say with fake bravado.
"Hell, I'm a retired Chigago cop, and you'd never catch me there. Too many guns son, and too many wars". He turns his attention back to his Coke. I start to worry that I'm about to cross the border into the gates of haedes.

What actually awaits you on arrival, is not Dante's inferno but the very pretty and laid back town of Suchitoto. Artists hang out in cafes swapping jokes over cafe con leche. A lovely church, painted in brilliant white, dominates the southern side of the neat main square. Kids run around having finished a Sunday afternoon's football game. Some are decked out in Arsenal shirts.

Reminders of the 13 year civil war are easy to find though. Next to the chilled out cafes hang out the police. They are armed with side by side pump action shotguns and kevlar vests. The bank is guarded by a very stern looking pair of men both with an array of guns atached to their belts. Security is a big issue. In a population of 6.2 million, there are 1 million guns on the black market. There are street signs everywhere showing a hand gun with a red line through it. There are murals on the sides of buildings dedicated to the FMLN fighters who used the town as a stronghold before being overrun by the Army.

Apart from Costa Rica, every country in Central American has been affected by Civil War. In El Salvador over 300,000 fled to escape the conflict. Many are now in Calafornia and Texas. Guatamala'ps civil war lasted 36 years, killed 200,000 people and displaced over a million citizens.

Dry facts are one thing but Miguel's story brings the civil war history some immediacy. In 1978 Miguel was captured by URNG fighters in Guatamala and taken into the mountains.
"I was kept there for 19 months". He was 17.

He was trained to shoot on sight any Army soldiers, often men from the same Mayan tribe. In that time he was given missions to hijack trucks for supplies.

"I was given a shopping list of say 100lbs of corn, 100lbs of rice and that was my mission, I could not fail. If I came back without the supplies I would be shot".

His family didn't know what had happened to him. If the army finds out a gorilla fighter is hiding in a village they will toture the locals to find out. A favoured method was to bury people alive up to their necks until they talked. As Miguel's family didn't know what had happened to him, they presumed him dead and held a funeral in the main street of the village.

Finally Miguel was set free and was smuggled back to his village in the dead of night, to his suprised and delighted family.
"Even then, I had to go to the mayor with a made up story as cover for me being away fighting. I said I was trying to get to the US and got thrown in jail in Mexico for being an illegal".

The after effects of conflicts still rumble on. The poverty of some of the towns is all too apparent. Earthquakes and tornados wreck havoc and hold back recovery. But at least the countries are enjoying relative peace. Except for all those guns, son.

I am King Smoke Monkey

Here's a quick blast of History. The Maya world ad250 - 900 covered a large part of Central America. From Southern Mexico, Belize, Guatamala to here in Honduras. The Copan Ruinas is one of the best preserved and largest Mayan sites still surviving. And it's bloody ace.

Think back to Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones flicks, or 'Mysterious Cities of Gold', it's just like that. Temples strech into the blue sky from a large flat grassy central plaza. Trees have burrowed through the side of the buildings and give the stone figureheads tails in the form of twisted roots.

The Maya people are the most interesting aspect about the place. There are about 4 million decendents of the original tribes living today in Central America. Back when Copan was a bustling town there was only 27,000. If you lived then you definately wanted to be part of the elite. 1,500 royalty, nobles, warriors and priests ran the place and got all the perks. From the freshest crocodile and chocolate, which was belived to be an afrodisiac, to their own swanky part of town overloooking the central square. The poor had to make do with shacks up on the hill. Much as they do today.

The best gig in Copan town was to be the king. Firstly you get to have a really cool name. King Smoke Monkey was my favourite. There was also a King 18 Rabbit. Not only do you get to have lots of statues built in your honour but you got to have 18 wifes to boot. Being a just king the wifes worked on a rotation system so if you got bored of one, you only had to wait twenty days to move on to the next. Apparently it was to keep in sinc with the lunar calender but I believe the bloke just didn't want to get nagged at for too long.

There's only one downside to this and that's the Mayan version of beauty. A long nose was considered very attractive as was a high forehead. More worringly women being cross eyed was a sign of virility. Then to cap it off they put pieces of Jade in their teeth. Hmm don't fancy yours much......

We all live in a Yellow Submarine

Roatan, Bay Islands, Honduras:

Karl Stanley has a hobby. He likes to build stuff in his shed. Being a dab hand with a welding torch and knowing a way around a motor helps him in creating rather unique machines. Unlike most tinkerers who play with old Ford cortinas or motorbikes, Karl builds submarines. Then takes people like me down to the bottom of the carribean sea in them.

His latest creation is 'Idabel'. It cost 250,000 dollars to make, by bashing bits of metal together, and I am her 420th dive. And guess what? The guy has painted the damn thing yellow. Why the hell am I going 1000ft into the ocean in what is basically a water version of a kit car based on a cheesy Beatles Song?? I think the heat is getting to me.

Myself and Dragoman's SpannerMonkey Aussie Mike, bravely squeeze into the viewing chamber at the front of the sub. It's 'comfortable' enough for two but can sit three if you're small enough and don't go over the weight restrictions. Worringly there doesn't seem that many dials or switches. There's a guage to tell you how deep you are and a themometer. Karl stands up in a seperate area at the back and drives the thing. Probably using string. Weight distribution is done by sandbags thrown on the floor. Hmm..

On the way out to the Caymen Shelf, a vast ridge stretching down 25,000 feet, we pass Karl's first creation built when he was a teenager. It has now been layed to rest and is a playground for parrot fish and is starting to grow coral. I hope that isn't a bad sign.

Once we start to dive, things get interesting. We plummet down to 1000ft, in about 15 minutes. It gets dark. The rock starts to turn black. You can go down into the abyss and play with weird monsters at 2000ft ( for a lot more dollars) but I think this is enough. Scenes from 'Das Boot' flash before my eyes. Aussie Mike starts to get motion sickness. Our tiny fan isn't keeping us very cool. We start to sweat. Alot.

After the submarine levels out, we start to relax and enjoy ourselves. Karl turns on the head lights (they look suspicuosly like ones from an old mini) and gets out a lazer pointer and points out different types of coral, fish and weird urchins. We see tiny lobsters, butterfly fish in resplendent purple, blue blackjacks, delicate starfish crabs and dancing orange roughy's.

The sub manouvers on a sixpence and we spin in and out of the shelf wall. We pass the spot where a man who's girlfriend had split up with him took one final deep dive into the sea. He kept going until he passed out. We see the remains of his scuba gear next to some black coral.

Near to the end of our 90 minute trip we reach a whole bank of coral teaming with life. shoals of fish dance around the limestone rocks, and every colour imaginable comes into view. All worries of disaster have now left our minds and we concentrate on the amazing display. This is such a rich habitat for marine life, I'm priveledged to see it before the joys of global warming heat the water to an extent that the coral will start to die. It is an animal after all.

When we get back to base. we grin from ear to ear and the absurdity of it all. The machine worked, we saw a whole different world and most importantly we came back alive. I am now a submariner folks. All together now...Dive! Dive! Dive!

Fiestas and TVs

How do you celebrate Easter? If you are Christian it is the most important week in the religous year. Starting with Palm Sunday and ending with resurection, it is the underpining of your faith. Everything about that religion is encompassed in Holy Week. The passion, the sacrifice and the eventual rebirth.

And the giving of lots of chocolate eggs, by oversize bunnies. How did that bit not get into the gospels? Surely someone would have noticed?

Here in Granada, they celebrate by having a huge fiesta down by the lake, the biggest in Central America. There is lots of sun, food and music. The whole family sets up for the day under a shady tree, eating fried papaya and rice from a banana leaf.

A big part of the fun is the acting out of the Easter story. This is done by three actors who dress up and a bloke hitting a drum. The first player is wearing a 10 foot dress and dances around a bit. Then the second player who is about 3 foot, dressed in what looks like a matadors costume then dances some more. Then the finale. A 6 foot 6 Transvestite who looks like a prop forward, dances around and then pounces on the nearest unsuspecting onlooker (oooh say,... me) . And grinds your head into her/his chest for the amusement of the locals. This is the true message of Holy Week!

Happy Easter one and all. I am off to find some chocolate.

I love ecotourism

Arenal, Costa Rica. I'm typing this just a few miles from the base of one of the most active volcano's in the world. The last time it erupted, the force of the blast wiped out three villages. I'd like to describe it's perfect conical shape and glowing lava fields, but I can't because the damn thing is covered in cloud. Grrr.

The Hot Springs near by are brilliant though. 20 odd pools of differant temperatures, carved into the hillside. The hottest is 67 degrees celcius. Imagine going for a swim inside a kettle. That Hot. They also had a bar which is nice.

For those culture vultures amongst you I attended a football match in San Jose. Saprissa the local team played a near rival. In a dual to the death of play acting and fancy footwork it was a close contest. The game ended nil nil but I ca report the half time pies were excellent.

Do you know the way..?

...to, yup you're ahead of me.. San Jose. Greetings from the capital city of Costa Rica. It looks like a gone to seed Coventry. Hmm that good. We've just come from a national park where we got to hang out with howler monkey's sloths and boa constrictors.

Here's also a photo of me with a Fairfax C -123 in Manuel Antonio, one of a few planes brought with dodgy American cash to fund the fight in Nicaragua. It's now inside a bar by the way. Good cocktails!