Antigua's Carpets of Flower

By Deb Zulawski

Blogger, artist, photographer, and soon to be expat, currently living in the Pacific Northwest.

ANTIGUA, GUATEMALA - I love the little surprises that come with travel. You know, the kinds where you turn a corner and see a street artist performing, a small neighborhood festival in action, or you walk in to the middle of an angry protest in full swing with police in full riot gear. Yes, that happened in Paris. And then there was the day I came across streets covered in flowers and people in purple robes in the small colonial town in Guatemala. That, without a doubt, is one of my favorite travel surprises.

I was teaching at a private bilingual school just outside of Guatemala City and on the weekends I liked to head over to Antiqua, a charming, little colonial village outside the city.

I had a regular place that I liked to stay at that was dirt cheap. It was very basic, just a single bed and bathroom, but it was secure, and over time I had come to know the owners and they me. A lot of young people would stay there long term when attending the local Spanish language school, so I would often see someone I recognized on return visits.

I stuffed my backpack with a few things that I would need for the weekend and left my apartment for a short walk to catch the chicken bus. 

The bus was filled with locals who had come into the city on business and were headed home to towns and villages on the outskirts of the city.

Large plaid plastic bags and bundles wrapped in plastic or cloth and tied with string where carried on board and shoved wherever one could find space.

The seats were metal and when we would hit rough road there was always a slide and a bump that could leave a good sized bruise on the backside. Passengers held onto poles, the backs of seats and each other as we raced down the road, around curves and out of town.

The chickens that were being transported loudly expressed their displeasure with the driver’s skills, as a young man made his way through the packed aisle, pushing between people and climbing over feet and market bags. Hand reaching out, he called for the fare to be paid. He pushed and shoved until he had reached the back of the bus with all fares in hand. He then turned around, making his way back to the front, as he gave change to passengers who didn’t have the exact fare. I was always amazed not only at his skill of maneuvering the crowded bus, but also how well he remembered who was expecting change and exactly how much.

At each stop, one or two passengers would push through the crowd to get off and a few more would cram on. Think sardines in a can, with a bunch of chickens and plastic bundles, and you have a general idea. Windows were wide open which invited dust from the dry roads to enter. I always enjoyed this ride. Always.

The normal amount of time it took to get to Antigua from Guatemala City was about an hour more or less, depending on the number of stops and how long the load and unload process took at each of the stops.

I am not sure how long we were on the bus on this particular day, but I worked my way up the aisle, so I could ask the driver how much longer until we arrived. It seemed to me that it was taking an exceptionally long time.

I asked how much longer. He shrugged.

“How far away are we?” I asked. I looked outside the bus and saw a lot of people walking in the direction we were headed, so I thought we must be close.

“Cerca, (close)”  he said. With a side nod of the head, he opened the front door of the bus and motioned for me to exit. And so I stepped down into the dusty fine powder coating the dirt road.

It was hot and the road was dusty and uneven and the heat from the line of cars, buses and truck assaulted me as I passed each one. I had no idea how far I had to walk, but I walked and walked and walked for what seemed like forever.  As I continued in the direction of town, and as the crowd of people walking increased, so did my curiosity.

When I arrived to the edge of town I took one of the streets away from the crowd. Then the surprises began. I came across a street with people decorating the ground in front of their homes. They were carefully and meticulously creating beautifully designed blankets of flower on the ground. Large. I would estimate they were 10 feet wide and up to 20 feet long, in all stages of creation. Some had put down a base cover of what appeared to be sawdust of various colors. Over that different natural materials were laid, colored sawdust, green grasses and flowers, all positioned with great care.

Each family was creating a special design all their own, made with great love and care. I still had no idea what was going on, other than people were decorating the ground. It was very beautiful, but also very curious.

Looking at the activity, I could feel the anticipation of the people making the carpets, as well as the onlookers.

Adults and children participate in the procession.

Roman soldiers are positioned
on the side of the street.

All tuckered out from an exciting day.

A block away, the plaza in front of the church was coming to life with families gathering and children running amongst the stands that were set up offering sweet shaved ice and other treats.

From a distance I could see people starting to line the streets and decided I should start walking that direction. In the distance I heard a chanting, not words that I could distinctly make out, but a repetitive, deep, soft chant.

I squeezed into a spot on a corner, next to the curb. The anticipation of the crowd was palpable.  

In the distance, I saw a crowd of people walking on the street, headed my way, people in robes of purple walking in a haze of what appeared to a fog or smoke. I didn’t even know what to think.

As they got closer, and the smoke dissipated enough that I saw a huge, and I mean HUGE wooden platform made of dark polished and ornately carved wood. On the platform was a larger than life Christ carrying the cross. This  gigantic platform sat on the shoulders of as many as 60 men of all ages, as they moved forward step by step down the street.

One man was positioned at the front and one at the back to control this gigantic platform as it swayed left and right with each step taken forward. It was painfully slow movement forward.

The now softer chanting continued, as burning incense in the metal censer was swung back and forth creating a surreal haze.

There were men dressed as Roman soldiers. Children in purple robes walked hand in hand with their fathers and the really little ones, exhausted by the event, were carried on their father’s shoulder. This was the most magnificent procession I had ever witnessed.

The beautiful and colorful carpets of flower were destroyed by the feet of those walking the procession. Each carpet, that took hours to create, lost their meticulously created ornate pattern. Flowers and grasses were dispersed all over the street. One carpet became the next as they became meshed, one mixed with the next.

The large platform was carried past where I stood. And then there was another and another and another.  The platforms kept coming, surrounded by men and children in purple robes, smoke. The chanting had become a silent hush as each platform passed.

And then, when I didn’t think I could be anymore amazed, I saw the next platform. Equal in size as those that passed earlier, this one was not carried by men in purple robes, but by women, women dressed in black with black chapel veils or scarves on their heads, about 30 women on each side. With this immense and heavy platform resting on their shoulders, they walked step by step, forward.

The smell of incense hung in the air even as the last of the procession passed. The street fell quite and the crowd slowly went in all directions. Some home, others to the church. And then there were a few like me, who just stood and absorbed all they had just seen, looked at the destruction of the flower carpets and felt grateful for the surprises that travel can provide.

Smoke from incense fills the air.

This was the Semana Santa procession in Antigua, Guatemala.  The celebration begins on Ash Wednesday and ends on Good Friday. Each morning on the streets of Antigua, during that week, the locals leave their homes, with buckets of colored saw dust, flowers, grass and straw, and create a carpet of flowers. Over and over and over again they create anew. And each day the procession comes and each day the carpets are destroyed. I was told that people from all over Central America come to Antiqua for Semana Santa to see or participate in the processions.

This is the reason I love wandering when I travel, for the unexpected surprises, and this I have to say was one of those wonderful surprises that I will never ever forget.

Have you ever encountered a wonderful surprise on your travels? Have you seen this procession or something similar in another country? Please comment below.

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