As offerings were left on temple steps a thousand years ago, so little fires burned incense on these church steps.

The smoke of copal resin drifted in all directions. At the other end of the market square was the little white El Cavario church where a man on the steps was swinging a censer. His eyes were closed and he was fully absorbed in his ceremony.

We started the serious business of looking at the merchandise. Although this was the day before the market was meant to be open, many of the stalls were overflowing with color and eager merchants.

Grandma Julia was interested in everything. Glorious bed spreads and table clothes were made from three hand woven blue or green or purple strips of cloth sewn together.

We had interrupted the sales lady in her embroidery but she was happy to show us what she had been doing while waiting for customers.

The colors everywhere were unbelievable. Each stall was predominately one product but you were just as likely to see bananas stacked up together with skirt fabric. The local vendors have worked out that the gringos don’t buy many huipils. Like me, they can’t find a way to use the traditional heavily embroidered blouse. Here the craftsmen and women have taken old and new huipils cut them up and made patchwork bed spreads, pillow covers, and every kind of bag. They have taken scraps of everything and made trim for clothes. They have made woven items that are useable. There were patchwork shirts and dresses made from blends of blues or browns created from fabric lengths that might otherwise be hard to sell.

We bought until we could hardly carry all the colorful items. Then we retired to our little motorhome and found storage for it all under mattresses and in corners that were not already filled. It was then dinner and time to sleep in our home away from home.

In the morning we found ourselves completely blocked in by every kind of truck. It didn’t matter as we had no intention of leaving until later in the day.

We walked down the main street with little shops on either side overflowing with merchandise. Additional enterprising vendors covered every inch of the sidewalk. They were packed so closely together it was hard to tell who was selling which items. Women and children in colorful outfits, some carrying merchandise on their heads and babies on their backs, came up to us to offer their products. Little children held out beads and woven belts and masks, whereas the women had the more valuable fabrics stacked high on their heads like multicolored sandwiches. Between it all here were ice-cream carts and wagons full of oranges.

This was fun, but we were glad that we had done our serious shopping the day before.

So which was our favorite market town; Chichicastenango of San Francisco el Alto? I still haven’t made up my mind. We are going to return next February so I can decide.