The Wedding

      John and I spent a delightful week in Antigua taking Spanish lessons at the Escuela de San José el Viejo.  The school is located on 5th Avenida de Sur about five blocks from the central plaza on an incredibly beautiful property that for years was a coffee farm or finca.  As with everything in Antigua, the campus hides behind a colonial stucco wall.  A door in the wall allows a preliminary entrance into a portico where you can see through a wrought-iron fence to the lush grass, flowering and fruit trees, and gardens bordering the offices and classroom cubby holes of the main common area.  This is but a hint of the exquisitely manicured grounds covering the interior in an area dedicated to students’ temporary living quarters.  Paths meander through a wide variety of trees covered in exotic bromeliads and orchids.  Neatly kept flower beds produce an array of color everywhere you look.  Nestled in among all of this loveliness are a tennis court and swimming pool.   In the distance, overseeing it all like a proud papa is Volcan de Agua, one of four volcanoes rising up from Antigua. 

     We were housed on the property in a casita right off the tennis court with a living room, kitchen, dining room, bedroom and bath.  (Or should I say una sala, una cocina, el comedor, el dormitorio y el bano.)  Every morning a little before 8:00, we’d stroll up to the classroom area and have coffee with the faculty and other students.  A bell signaled time to start the lessons and we’d all disperse to our assigned stalls and spend the morning with our individual teachers.  My instructor was named Flory.  John’s was Juanita. 

     The methodology was pretty simple – immersion into the verbs “to be,” estar and ser, with all of their idiosyncracies; introductions to irregular verbs; exposure to nouns, adjectives and adverbs through conversations each day about everything from your family to what you had for dinner the night before.  It was quite effective yet very comfortable and non-threatening.  Flory and I even had several deep discussions about religion, world events and politics, at least as deep as my limited vocabulary would allow.

     On Wednesday, we learned that the entire group would take a field trip the next day to San Antonio Agua Caliente (“hot water”), a village about 10 kilometers outside of Antigua where there are several Mayan weaving cooperatives.  There, we would have a presentation by some of the local women on Mayan customs, particularly the whole process of courting and marriage.  For homework that night, we were all given an explanation in Spanish of these traditions.  By translating it, we would have a basis of understanding the program better the following morning.

     I worked diligently on the homework learning many interesting details.  Such as – young Mayan women prepare for marriage as early as fourteen.  If they are not chosen by the time they are twenty, they are considered old maids and will never marry.  The prospective husband can be any age, sometimes older than the parents of the bride. 

When a man decides on his bride (novia), he makes multiple visits to her home.  Soon, he brings along his parents, then siblings, cousins until everybody has met everybody.  Once there is an official betrothal, the young novia begins the task of impressing her soon-to-be suegra (mother-in-law) by weaving a special huipil, a blusa (blouse) with elaborate and brightly colored designs representing the particular Mayan village of the groom’s family.  This is an arduous exercise and takes up to a year.  It is also very risky because if the suegra doesn’t like the quality of the novia’s work, she can reject the young woman as her daughter-in-law which is a permanent disgrace. 

     If the marriage goes forward, the entire village participates.  The women of the village carry candles into the church, forming a circle and kneeling for thirteen hours straight.  Following the ceremony, the novia’s family hosts a five-day party for hundreds of people.  The groom gets to celebrate with the guests while the new bride is dispatched to the cocina to help prepare the food.   Here, she will grind corn for tortillas on a stone slab with a stone roller.  She does the same with fresh coffee beans.  All of this is carried out under the watchful eye of her suegra.

     As serendipity would have it, that Thursday happened to be our wedding anniversary. Both Flory and Juanita knew because we had told them during our lessons the day before.   When the morning came, we all gathered as usual for coffee and conversation.  The two teachers proudly announced to everyone that we were celebrating our anniversary.  Juanita even brought us some gorgeous white roses from her garden.

     A “chicken” bus arrived around 9:00 to take us to San Antonio Agua Caliente.  There are thousands of such buses in Guatemala, all that have died tortuous deaths in the U.S. as yellow school buses and then reincarnated here into the festively painted, multi-colored, lively basic mode of transportation for most of the people.  Reminiscent of long-ago, childhood field trips, we all chattered and laughed as the bus bumped down the road.   The teachers gave up trying to make us speak Spanish, although we all shouted out newly discovered words here and there, constructing crude sentences always in the present tense. 

     It was a gorgeous day.  After about twenty minutes, the bus took a sharp turn to the right and began a slow climb upwards through the houses and shops that lined the one-lane road leading into San Antonio Agua Caliente.  We crested the hill and began our descent into the town, stopping a couple of times so our driver could negotiate with oncoming buses exactly who would pull over and who would proceed.

     Finally, the beautiful central plaza of the town became visible.  The driver found a parking spot across from the entrance to the cooperative and we piled out to go to the program.

Inside, we were greeted warmly by several of the cooperative members.  There were folding chairs placed in a semi-circle.  From the floor to the ceiling on every wall, incredible works of embroidery were displayed including huipilles, mantels (table runners), place mats,

           John with Juanita and Flory.                          napkins, purses, blouses.  Some of the mantels were dubles where the intricate weaving is the same on both sides so there is no distinction as to top or bottom.  We were surrounded by a multitude of color.

     Once we were seated, one of the women came forward to formally welcome us.  She spoke in Spanish and gave some preliminary remarks about the village and its history.  I could understand some of it and was impressed by the fact that she kept emphasizing the importance of education and school for her children, both of which are relatively recent phenomena in the Mayan villages.

     She demonstrated the many uses for the traditional Mayan blanket at first throwing it over her shoulders like a shawl, then like a magician, twisting one end and the other to form a sling for carrying a baby or perhaps some vegetables to the market.

     Soon, her words became a little more familiar as she launched into the explanation of the marriage ritual.  In her melodic voice, she repeated the information I had studied the night before but using props such as a traditional wedding cake and a bowl of Pepian de Pollo, the spicy chicken stew normally prepared as a staple of the wedding feast. 

     A little ways into her presentation, she seemed to be asking us a question.  “Donde esta la novia?   Quien quieres a ser la novia?”

This set off a round of giggles from Flory and Juanita who were sitting right behind me.  Flory punched me in the back.  “Tu eres la novia!  Es su anniversario!”

     I realized that the hostess was calling for someone to play the bride in a mock wedding ceremony.  Flory and Juanita had colluded to make sure I got the part.  And, of course, when she asked for “el novio,” they shoved John out of his chair.   

      We both stood up and moved to the front of the group.  The Mayan women proceeded to dress me in a stunning huipil of brilliant turguoise, yellow, pink and green.  They folded a more subdued falda, or skirt, around my waist and cinched it with a cinturon, belt, that matched the huipil.  Then, to complete the outfit, they placed a lace veil on my head and handed me a white flower.

     Once they were finished with me, they turned their attention to my future esposo (husband).  The novio’s traditional wedding attire pales in comparison to that of the bride.

            But, John looked very guapo (handsome) in his hat, scarf, jacket and sash.  

The story wasn’t complete with just the two of us.  Our hostess began asking for another volunteer.  After some cajoling from the group, another student named Lydia Sweetland stepped forward.  The Mayan women busily began dressing her as they had me.  For a finishing touch, they folded one of the blankets into a small square and plopped it on her head.  At first both she and I thought maybe she was the maid of honor.  But, after a few minutes, we realized that she was playing the role of my suegra!  In that capacity, she poured flowers on our heads while we knelt on the floor.  I anxiously asked her if she liked her huipile, the one I supposedly slaved over for the last year. 

     John was delighted to play the part of the frolicking husband who could dance the night away with the hundreds of guests while I had to grind beans on the stone slab for coffee. 

     Flory and Juanita laughed heartily at all of the antics.  We had truly been set up by our profesoras! 

After the “ceremony,” our hostesses served us the Pepian de Pollo and the wedding cake for lunch.  It was quite a feast.  I don’t think we could ever have found a better way to celebrate our anniversary on such a beautiful day in such an intriguing place with such warm and wonderful people.  Thank you, Flory and Juanita, for making it all possible.  Oh, and Lydia, too ----- musn’t forget mi SUEGRA!!!