In Chocola, the sky gets light long before the sun first peeks over the tall volcanoes that lie to the east. The light is accompanied by a cacophony of roosters, “chicken busses”, dogs, cows, firecrackers, and it is barely 4 am. Noise was invented here. In fact I’m pretty sure a new noise or two was invented just last night. It is hard to believe that the town had only just settled in a few hours earlier after a night lamenting the last minute defeat of the Guatemalan futbol team. Bruised national pride notwithstanding, when the sun comes up these people go to work.

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I gave up on trying to sleep in over a week ago, so rather than stare at the large red spider on the ceiling I swing my feet off the cot, put on my sandals and decide to take a few early morning photos of town. By now everyone either recognizes me or ignores me. For the first couple of days I was worth a curious look or two but no more - I’m now as dirty and tan as the rest of them. I’ve even acquired my very own rusty machete. Still half asleep, I try to smile and join in the syncopated yet melodic chorus of “Buenos Dias”-es that the men trade as they file past one another on the one main road. I chuckle when I find the (now empty) bottle of scotch that had been passed around after the upset in front of Don Carlos’s tienda.

I stop and take a couple of photos, one of the blue evangelical church at one end of town: it is one of 32 you will find in this community of roughly 8000 Q’iche Maya. It is more poorly maintained than most and the light from the still sunless sky makes it look like a ghost caught in purgatory. It seems dead now but on Friday night it will undergo a resurrection of its own, with a couple hundred attendees, a fully appointed band playing halleluiahs and the sermon blaring on a loudspeaker that can be heard clear across town. It’s easy to attribute the success of these ‘evangelicos’ to the obvious draw everlasting salvation must have for these desperate people, but I wonder if its simpler than that. Maybe the Maya just really enjoy a good party on a Friday night.

Walking back to the center of town, the street has emptied as quickly as it filled up. The men are now well on their way to a day’s work, which waits for them in some cases several hours away. Guatemaltecas might be the hardiest and hardest working people in the world. After a day of farming, many of the men will stop to gather firewood and walk for miles with it strapped to their backs. During the earliest expeditions into Ancient Maya ruins, some archaeologists traveled up the mountains sitting in a chair strapped to a local farmer’s back and forehead.

It is not long before the women of the town appear on the streets, many wearing brightly colored ‘huipils’ - the traditional woven Maya blouse. They have this tremendous ability to balance absolutely anything on their heads, from a basket of fruit to a twenty-pound school desk. Families here are clearly matriarchal. Women run the household, take care of the children, the food, livestock, and usually work the counter at their family’s tienda or cantina. Every family is selling something from their front door during the day.

A thin black and white dog saunters into the street and reclaims the spot he probably slept in the night before. The dogs here aren’t really pets, more like friendly scavengers. They seem to run a community of their own with only a part-time affiliation to the townspeople, who do seem to take care of them if they’re hurt. I recognize the dog from a few nights before as ‘belonging’ to one of the musicians in the local marimba band. Five men altogether made up the group, four who played side-by-side on an oversized wooden marimba, and one who played drums. Their instruments were old and thrashed, contrasting sharply with the shiny new ones that appear every Friday at the ghost church. Still, the cracked, buzzing keys and split drumheads gave their music an unforgettable, raspy voice. They must have played for four hours that evening, taking turns singing, playing solos, and everyone drinking a ton of ‘Gallo’ brand beer.

Though these people call themselves Maya and speak a Maya dialect, they have no cultural memory connecting them to the Ancient Maya that I’m here to study. I’m a student, volunteering this summer with and archaeological team gathering evidence that Chocola was once a significant Preclassic Maya city. There are mounds - artificial hills that usually suggest ruins - to be seen in all directions. One needs only to walk through one of the cornfields and look down at the tilled earth to find a dozen broken pieces of pottery from thousands of years ago. Evidence is everywhere that a civilization once thrived here, and it’s clear why. Anything would grow in these fields. The earth is dark and fertile and there is an abundance of fresh water and other natural resources.

Such abundance is incongruous with the sparse life these modern Maya lead. They are held captive by a global economy, farming coffee considered second rate solely because of Chocola’s altitude. Their hard life has, however, bred an apt and elegant efficiency. It’s a quality you can see everywhere. Watching a campesino work with his machete is another perfect example. With it he can dig, cut, chop and if he adds a banana leaf it makes a pretty decent umbrella. The women use nondescript orange plastic bowls of various sizes for everything, washing, carrying fruit, even as collection plates at church. They are essentially the modern version of the clay vessels I dig out of the ground.

To see what’s left of the ancient splendor of the Maya, pay the $99 US for a flight from Guatemala City to Tikal. But to shake hands with the Maya as they are today, visit a small co-op village like Chocola. They may be a far cry from the civilization builders of an earlier time, but despite the cultural turmoil and poverty they’ve been forced into, many of the ancient culture’s hallmarks still shine through. They are a resourceful, practical, and intelligent people, with a straightforward and egalitarian family, social and political structure. They prefer efficient, multi-use tools and disposable pottery. Maize and beans are still their primary staple foods. They value Jesus, a tangible, chthonic deity they can see, touch, and yell at when things go wrong. They even still love a good ballgame, although these days they don’t ritually sacrifice the losing team.