Pastores

My third weekend in Guatemala, I decide to take it easy and stay local. There is so much to see and do in this country, I can't manage to fit it all in during this one stay. I still haven't visited the ruins at Tikal (an eight-hour drive from Antigua) or the beautiful falls and clear waters of Semuc Champey. I still need to see Livingston, Monte Ricco and Flores Island. With finality, I throw my hands in the air and decide I'll just have to come back. Which means this weekend I'm free to stay near Antigua. And go boot shopping. 

Twenty minutes from Antigua by chicken bus, Pastores is a tiny pueblo whose main attraction is hand-worked leather boots. My friends and I have been tittering about the fabled destination all week, working up the courage to hop on one of the converted school buses and make the trek out of town into unknown territory. By Saturday morning, we're nerved up and ready to go, and we head to Antigua's central market to find the bus to Pastores. 

As we sit waiting for the bus to fill up, saying no gracias to the vendors with their dripping ice cream cones and bags of sugared nuts, we wonder how we'll know when we've arrived in Pastores. The bus kicks up a wake of dust as we pull out of the market, and we eye the low hills as we follow a winding road out of town. The bus passes through Jocotenango and a stretch of dry land, and I start to wonder again how we'll know when we've reached Pastores. In the distance, I see cement buildings crowding against the asphalt highway, and as we grow nearer I can make out images painted on wooden signs. The word botas (boots) heads every shop as we fly through town. Quickly, we stand up and make our way to the front of the bus. The driver slows to a stop and we descend at the far edge of this tiny village. 

We make our way back along the road we had just passed, peeking into shops filled with leather boots. This is no tourist destination: the other shoppers are native Guatemalans, down from the City or up from Antigua. They, too, are looking for boots, as well as cowboy hats and rodeo gear. I try on a red leather pair with white stitching and my friend slips her feet into a tan pair that rises to mid-calf. On the way out, we admire a pair of leather chaps hanging from the ceiling and I eye a set of shiny metal spurs. Too much? I wonder as we head into the dusty street.