Buried Treasure

“You just got to go, it’s unbelievable, like nothing you’ve ever seen...I can’t even explain it.”

I’m not big on cemeteries, they never held any real fascination or even notice for me besides realizing it’s just as expensive to die and it seems a big waste of good space, after all it’s FORever. I’ve also been to a total of four cemeteries in my entire life. The first and third one looked like suburbia with neatly maintained rows, white white marble against perfectly trimmed green grass, and planned gardens—five flowers per tree. The second time was for a field trip in high school with Mrs. Brown, senior year to study increasing life spans and epidemic diseases. The last one was the notorious old cemetery in Savannah, Georgia and was by far the most interesting, but that time I was more fascinated by a huge agave plant riddled with carvings of people’s names and greatest loves to see much of the other, much older wonders. But after meeting Nicole, another traveler in her 40’s, in a cafe, swapping stories about our time in Guatemala and other places, she was adamant we go see this one cemetery. “You just got to go, it’s unbelievable, like nothing you’ve ever seen...I can’t even explain it.” She also warned us not to go alone as the cemetery had a reputation for attracting drugs, drunks, and dead people.

The next day I begged my maestra to take me on an outing to the cemetery. “Elisa, tú quires ir al cemetario? Porqué?” Helen was bemused, but she agreed with a wicked smile, giving me the feeling I wasn’t the only one who would enjoy the little field trip.

Quetzaltenago has a long, fascinating (complicated by Spanish) history. A history that can be read in one of the cities oldest and most unique cemeteries, with its mix of spacious corridors dominated by commandeering and alternately bizarre private tombs to its tangle of overgrown brush pushing out disjointed, scattered headstones. Here time periods and styles clash, there exists a patch of the cemetery laid with very old traditional stone graves from the late 18^th century cholera epidemic that swept through the city. A small wrought iron fence separates the antique tombstones from the bright splashes of color from the more modern monuments behind it. These luxurious private tombs are designed to the owner’s taste and sometimes personality. Such as one ex-president of Xela obsessed with Greek architecture and responsible for many of the cities Greek buildings, he will forever be remembered in a small Greek mausoleum complete with Greek columns and Greek flare.

Despite the wide range of themes and colors of these private shrines, they all held one, and probably most important thing in common, each had the money in life to rest however they pleased in the afterlife. Built right behind the church, the most expensive and extravagant tombs monopolized the property right behind the entrance. Huge concrete affairs either housing one very important person, or sometimes joining one or two families in one palatial plot. Families being buried together is something of a universal intent, but here there were literally miniature palaces encasing a family, it was a so unique, anyone could see why ancestors or strangers would want to venture here to visit. And venture here they must have, most of the tombs were crumbling charmingly in antiquitarian fashion or else were brightly painted and surrounded by flowers (most tombs had vase like holders incorporated into the overall structure). Judging by the abundance of both wealth in flowers and freshly painted hues, it’s not hard to believe ancestors and families visit the cemetery often, and keep up with it every year as they would their house. It’s both a source of pride for the family as well as a way to pay respect for the dead. Day of the dead, a yearly festival honoring those who have passed with food and offerings is also popular as a festival here, though it does not seem to be as culturally built in as Mexico with her Katrina’s.

Less extravagantly planned and situated, but nonetheless cared for or attended with love, were the smaller plots, tiled monuments, and headstones. Heaped almost randomly were they could fit, it resembled fighting one’s way through a forest to view the various tombs here. This, Helen explained, was for ordinary people, the sprawl, the distance, all signified a more humble budget. But this section of the cemetery was far from lacking in detail or design, it was just on a much smaller scale. I found this part to be refreshing and more individualized, some were tiled, one was painted in the colors of Mexico with an elaborate Virgin of Guadalupe, some even had the deceased’s picture covered with class built into the structure. Hardly any were just a name and a date, poetry or prayer was one more means of elaboration or dedication.

As we walked back to the entrance I listened to Helen wistfully mourn how hard Guatemala can be for young children and infants. Even in a big city where there is more accesses to information, healthcare, and opportunities, Guatemala is still very much a country in need. This time I paid closer attention as we passed what appeared as walls of tombs, stacked with a slot for each small child, built up like a fortress. Right near the entrance a place of most importance, was the stronghold of the cemetery; Guatemala never forgets its children. And let any visitor know, the mourning in not dark and dreary, life is a celebration—the bright colors selected with love to highlight the life that had been, not the time that had been lost.