Maximon's Altar

A number of years back I was travelling through Guatemala and came across this church full of activity. It happened to be a church worshiping Maximon a saint combining Catholic rituals that I recognised and Mayan rituals that I didn't. Whilst reading a website the other day I noticed a mention of Maximon and that prompted me to dig up my old notes .... these are my (brief) recollections of Maximon.


Burning candles, black, red, yellow, blues, white and green. For envy and money. Luck, travel and enemies.

Self flagellating supplicants before the altar of the greybearded cigar smoker. Prayers from the ranks rising through teeth clenched 'round broomstick thick cigars. Priestess in kitchen woman's apron spits strong spirit upon the altar.

The air is thick with burning wax smoke. The walls dotted with plaques thanking San Simon for services rendered. The faithful pray to themselves with serious intent. A woman before the entrance lights many a red candle, perhaps she thinks about St Valentines tomorrow. A curious juxtaposition between religions.

Cloyingly thick and burning black,the smoke and bright flames of clumped together candles soon force the curious away. Outside men sweep up the ashes of another burning, placing them ever so gently upon leaves and a bed of flowers lining an ages old dented 'barrow.

A man on the steps to the church, in pirate red scarf, berates, pleads and gesticulates at a half burning, half smouldering pile of black candles. He turns to poke angrily at the mass before him and in doing so spies a young gaily dressed child to whom he smiles and waves.


Image of Maximon: Used under Creative Commons Licence courtesy of http://www.eveandersson.com/photos/photo-display?photo_path=%2Fphotos%2Fguatemala%2Fatitlan%2Fsantiago%2Fmaximon&photo_size=large

No Nile Crocodile And A Half Pace Bob Marley

Just before I head off to Malaysia to get my fill of Kopi-Peng, Char Kway Teow and Martabak Manis I thought I'd leave you with these memories of my sailing down the Nile on a Felucca.

It wasn't until after I had jumped into the Nile that I remembered it's famed crocodiles. Never mind, I thought, if I've survived the papyrus sellers of Cairo's Khan el-Khalili market then I can surely survive a crocodile attack or two.

I dove under the Felucca and broke through the water on the other side, the sun glancing sharply off the water. Momentarily blinded I slowed to wipe my eyes and spotted a crocodile. OK. I didn't spot a crocodile in fact the only crocs I came across in Egypt were on feet or stuffed in museums or stuffed on feet trudging around museums. Or, as in this case, where the croc I saw was being wielded by the Nubian captain of our Felucca who, waving it in his hands was clearly using it to remonstrate with a tape player. What he expected the croc (a bright orange one I might add) to do I'm not sure but what he wanted was what he'd wanted for the last two days of our sailing. He wanted Bob Marley to stop singing at half speed. Now, I know, the sound of Bob singing as if he's stoned has a certain synchronicity about it but being advised at mournfully low speed that "no woman, no cry" is more likely to lead to crying than not. I sympathised with our captain and would have gone to his aid and remonstrated alongside him using my own, far less colourful, sandal but I was enjoying the moment much too much.

Behind the croc waving Nubian stood a proudly decaying pillar and wall. A wall and pillar shining that golden colour that all ruins along the Nile seem to have. Etched deeply into the wall were Hieroglyphs although all I could make out was the occasional cartouche. To the right of the building and by the water's edge sat an Egyptian woman washing. Behind me a small row boat made it's way across the river. Two schoolboys in white shirts and ties sat in the stern as the boatman rowed away. I wondered if he asked them to move down to the back of the boat as they entered and, if we examined the underside of the seats upon which they sat, we would find stubborn lumps of old chewing gum.

"Won't you help to sing, these songs of freedom", came bubbling across the water. The orange croc had apparently worked and Bob was now advising me to "free our minds" at a mostly normal speed. I'm not sure I needed the advice at that exact moment as I drank in all I saw around me. The Nile around me, the smiling Nubian captain, croc still in hand, sharp sunlight, the engineless Felucca, walls that spoke of ancient glories, schoolchildren in a little row boat and Bob. Somehow it all worked to, for those few minutes at least, emancipate myself from mental slavery.

The Journey I'd Love to Do: Silk Route By Rail

Back in the late 90's I took the Trans Manchurian from Beijing through to Moscow in the middle of winter. The world was surreal in it's white starkness, like picture postcards come Christmas time. Outside on the stations amongst the fishmongers, bag ladies with fresh bread and milk, the air was so cold it felt brittle. My thermometer, which measured -20 Centigrade refused, like a reluctant teenager, to budge from its little cocoon to tell me the real temperature. Suffice to say it was cold and I was not going to risk having a quick open air pee.

I loved that particular journey. The five days passed quickly and I was never bored, not even for a second. It was as if I had entered another world where everything slowed down. I could watch the white snow capped houses and trees whizzing by for hours. Almost zen like I lulled myself through Siberia.

A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to redo the trip only this time in Summer. It did not disappoint. While the scenery was different and my train companions more affluent I fell into the same dreamlike state. Something like the Matrix's "bullet time" everything slows down but seems hyper real.

Ever since then I've wanted to do similar sorts of train trips. I've toyed with the idea of taking the train through Mexico's Copper Canyon and I've taken the train from Singapore up to Bangkok but the journey I really want to do runs through Central Asia. I've been lucky enough to see Kashgar and Urumqi in Western China but what I'd love to see are the almost mythical cities of Samarkand and Bukhara. What better way to see them than by train. A train that runs all the way from Hong Kong to Moscow but rather than running through Siberia it runs right through the heart of Central Asia. These dreams lead me to John Armitstead's site http://www.johndarm.clara.net/silkroute/intro.html.

John's journey is one I'd like to take. For now though I've just put it into my "travel I like to dream about" book ..... do you have one of those books?

Noticed a few people reading this post are coming here looking for information on the Trans-Siberian. If you wish to read another account of travel on the train have a look at Jon Evan's (the Backpacker Thriller author) post here http://rezendi.com/blog/2006/09/second-person-siberian.html

Image: Courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/theroadisthegoal used under Creative Commons Licence

My next port of call: Malaysia

My first real backpacking experience was in Singapore and Malaysia
almost 20 years ago. Since then I've returned to the area on numerous
occasions. This was convenient as I worked in nearby Indonesia. It has
always remained one of my favourite travel destinations.

Why? You may ask? Simply put .. it's the friendly people and the
delicious food. I love a good beef rendang, roti parata or a Laksa.

Now I'm off there again in January and I'm looking forward to
rekindling my old flame ... Malaysia. This little post is to just wet
my appetite (oh, and to try posting to www.whereoldbackpackersgotodie.blogspot.com

via the iPhone).