If you drive north from Huehuetenango, past the Cuchumatanes plateau where the trees get stubby and the air turns thin enough to make your head spin, you eventually hit San Mateo Ixtatán. It’s a place that feels like it’s clinging to the side of the world. Most people in Guatemala City or Antigua have never been here. Honestly, most tourists wouldn't even know it exists unless they were specifically looking for the legendary black salt mines or the ruins of Wajxaklajun.
San Mateo Ixtatán isn't your typical postcard-perfect colonial town. It's rugged. It’s loud. It is deeply, fiercely Chuj.
The town sits at over 2,500 meters above sea level. That’s high. Really high. You feel it in your lungs the moment you step out of a chicken bus. The name "Ixtatán" actually comes from the Nahuatl word for "place of salt," and that’s the heartbeat of the entire region. People have been fighting over this salt for over a thousand years. Long before the Spanish showed up with their horses and crosses, the Maya were trading this specific "black salt" across the highlands. It wasn't just a seasoning; it was currency. It was life.
Why San Mateo Ixtatán matters more than the history books say
Usually, when we talk about Mayan ruins, we talk about Tikal or Quiriguá—the big, manicured parks with gift shops. But San Mateo Ixtatán has Wajxaklajun. It’s right there, literally bordering the edge of the town. You can stand on a mound that was a sacred temple a millennium ago and watch a kid kick a soccer ball nearby. It’s living history, which sounds like a cliché until you realize the Chuj people living here today are the direct descendants of the people who built those stone structures.
There is a continuity here that you don't find in many other places. The language, Chuj, is spoken by almost everyone. It’s a Q'anjob'alan language, and if you don't speak it, you’re basically a guest. A welcome guest, sure, but definitely an outsider.
The salt mines, or las salinas, are the real reason the town exists. They aren't open-pit mines or massive industrial complexes. They are small, ancient wells. The water comes out briney, and the locals—mostly the women—boil it down in large pots until only the salt remains. It’s a brutal, back-breaking process. It takes hours of burning wood to get a small amount of salt. But this salt? It’s different. It’s mineral-rich, slightly smoky, and widely believed to have medicinal properties. If you have a goiter or thyroid issues, people in the Cuchumatanes will tell you to go find the salt from San Mateo.
The struggle for the land and the "Palo Viejo" conflict
You can't talk about San Mateo Ixtatán without talking about the tension. It’s not all ancient ruins and salt. For the last decade, the region has been a flashpoint for environmental and social conflict, specifically regarding the Pojom I and Pojom II hydroelectric projects.
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Look, it’s complicated.
On one side, you have international companies and the central government in Guatemala City pushing for "development" and renewable energy. On the other side, you have a community that feels like their water and land are being stolen without their consent. It got dark. There were protests, military interventions, and sadly, people lost their lives. In 2017, a man named Sebastián Alonzo Cipriano was killed during a demonstration.
When you walk the streets of San Mateo Ixtatán today, you see the scars of that. You see the graffiti. You feel the skepticism toward outsiders who come in asking too many questions about "resources." It’s a town that has learned the hard way that its natural wealth—whether it’s salt or water—is something that needs to be defended.
Getting there is half the battle (literally)
If you’re thinking about visiting, bring a jacket. Actually, bring three. The weather in the Huehuetenango highlands is famously fickle. One minute it’s sunny, and the next, a "chipichipi" (a fine, freezing mist) rolls in and drops the temperature by ten degrees.
The road from Huehuetenango city to San Mateo Ixtatán is an adventure in itself. You pass through Todos Santos Cuchumatán—another famous indigenous town—and then keep climbing. The road winds through the "Cumbre de los Cuchumatanes," which is the highest non-volcanic point in Central America. The views are incredible, but the hairpin turns are enough to make anyone's stomach do somersaults.
Specific things you’ll notice:
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- The clothing. The men in San Mateo Ixtatán wear a very distinct capixay—a heavy, black wool tunic that looks almost like a poncho but with sleeves. It’s designed for the cold, and it’s been the standard "uniform" for centuries.
- The architecture. It’s a mix of old adobe houses with tile roofs and newer, "remittance architecture" built with money sent back from the United States.
- The market. It’s chaotic in the best way possible. You’ll see sheep, hand-woven textiles, and of course, disks of that famous salt wrapped in corn husks.
The mystery of Wajxaklajun
Let’s talk about the ruins again. Wajxaklajun is often called "El Resguardado." It dates back to the Classic period of the Maya, but it was occupied right up until the Spanish conquest. Unlike the limestone cities of the Petén jungle, the structures here are built from the local stone of the Cuchumatanes.
Archaeologists like Carlo Billi have noted that the site was a major defensive stronghold. It’s easy to see why. The terrain is a natural fortress. But what’s fascinating is that the site is still used for Mayan ceremonies. It’s not a "dead" city. On significant dates in the Mayan calendar, the smell of pom (incense) wafts over the mounds.
There is a certain weight to the air at Wajxaklajun. It feels heavy with time. It’s one of the few places where you can see the intersection of pre-Columbian history, colonial struggle, and modern indigenous identity all in one square mile.
The reality of life in the north of Huehuetenango
Life in San Mateo Ixtatán is hard. There’s no point in sugarcoating it. Migration is a huge part of the story here. Almost every family has someone in the States—in Florida, California, or the Carolinas. The money sent home keeps the town’s economy breathing, but it also means many families are split apart.
The town deals with high rates of poverty and limited access to healthcare. When the fog settles in and the sun goes down, the isolation of the place becomes very real. Yet, there is a grit to the people. They are incredibly proud of their Chuj identity. They aren't just "Guatemalan"; they are Ixtatecos.
If you go, don't expect luxury. There are basic guesthouses. The food is simple—hand-slapped tortillas, black beans, maybe some spicy chicken caldo. But the experience is honest. It’s one of the last places in the country that hasn't been "Disney-fied" for the tourist trail.
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Actionable steps for the curious traveler
If you actually want to visit San Mateo Ixtatán or support the region, here’s how you do it without being a "tourist" in the bad sense of the word:
1. Go with a guide who knows the Cuchumatanes. Don't just wander into the salt mines or onto the ruins without introducing yourself. It’s a community-centric place. Finding a local guide from Huehuetenango or Todos Santos who has connections in San Mateo is the best way to see the salinas respectfully.
2. Buy the salt directly.
When you see the women selling the salt disks in the market, buy them there. It’s the most direct way to support the local economy. It makes a great gift, but more importantly, it keeps an ancient tradition from dying out.
3. Respect the photography boundaries.
The people in San Mateo Ixtatán are often wary of cameras, especially after years of political tension. Always ask before taking a photo of a person or a ceremony. A simple "Is it okay?" goes a long way.
4. Pack for the "Páramo."
This is high-altitude grassland. You need waterproof gear and layers. Even if it looks sunny in Huehue city, it will likely be freezing or raining by the time you reach Ixtatán.
5. Learn a few words of Chuj.
"B'atz' ixtat" (the salt is good). Even a tiny effort to acknowledge the local language changes the vibe of your interaction instantly.
San Mateo Ixtatán is a place that demands your respect. It’s not easy to get to, and it’s not always easy to be there. But if you want to understand the soul of the Guatemalan highlands—the part that hasn't been polished for Instagram—this is where you find it. It’s a town built on salt, stone, and a stubborn refusal to disappear.