Biking to Maximon

Guest blogger Dolgin Jr here to write about what I love best -- bicycling. For our third day in Antigua we rented mountain bikes (North Vancouver-based Kona brand, of course) and headed out of the city with our trusty local guide for a series of cross-country trails and single track riding through farmers' fields in the surrounding region. As we turned off the highway to start scaling the dirt road, the chain broke on our guide's bike, which proved to be a troublesome omen for the day to come. (His chain would break two more times before he basically gave up on the whole pedalling aspect of cycling and walked or pushed his way along the ups and flats, or sometimes got towed by me, and just cruised down the downs.)  Heading up the hill proved to be just the right level of difficulty for my limited mountain biking experience, which meant somewhat past Avi's comfort level for trail riding, and he threatened to turn around, but I convinced him to carry on. And once we hit the flat area, he started to enjoy himself more, and assures me that he was grateful for "no returns" policy. There was one crazy downhill, and, given the dry dusty conditions of this time of year, I watched in terror as I rode behind Dad and visibly saw him nearly lose control, but all in all it was a pretty gentle amble through the bean and corn fields, the few scratches and bruises notwithstanding.

So, the ride was delightful minus the waiting (the guide waiting for us to catch up; us waiting for the guide to "fix" his chain). But the highlight was the final destination: the shrine of Maximón. Legend goes that when the men were all out in the fields, Maximón, a cross between the Mayan god of sexuality and the Catholic saint Simon, came and slept with all the women of the town. So, seeking revenge, the men cut off Maximón's arms and legs, but they still now "pray" to him -- or, rather, give him offerings -- so that he won't pour his wrath down again. Armless and legless, Maximón (pronounced Ma-she-mon) is pretty bad ass, often sporting sunglasses and with a cigarette in his mouth.

The offerings are equally morally questionable. Outside, people are burning fires, dousing the flames (and their throats) with rum or other alcoholic firewaters, and chain smoking the fattest cigars you've ever seen at lightning speeds, as if the more they smoke, the more it will appease Maximón. Inside, people light candles (also sprinkled with alcohol and other mystery liquids that might include hot sauce, or just more alcohol of various hues), and queue up to share a drink with Maximón (they literally pour booze in the effigy's mouth), and get beaten with herbs and have more alcohol dumped and/or spat onto their heads. It was definitely one of the strangest rituals I've ever seen -- and the good news is there might another shrine to this crazy folk saint further along in our travels.

I wanted to stay and join in in the festivities -- we did have one shot of rum as a toast to the man -- but our guide was keen to roll his useless bike back to town, so we remained relatively sober for the way back. Probably a good thing.

Elie