I spent my last two days in Guatemala boating down Rio Dulce to Livingstone, a port town on the eastern border of the country. On the way down, the captain swung the boat to a fortress at the mouth of the river. In all seriousness, I think it is the smallest fortress ever built, ever.. From a distance, it looked like someone’s villa with watch towers. Two small cannons gaze out of their peepholes on the side. If I saw this fortress, I would want to be a pirate just so I can raid this city.
Moving along, we stopped at a few bungalows on the river for quick snacks. These bungalows are isolated from the rest of the world. They interact with their neighbors, make some good to sell to tourists and otherwise they are pretty far apart from civilization.  Surprisingly though, one of them had a modern American-sized oven which a local lady uses to bake bread to sell.  Local carpenters worked away on half built furniture while kids paddled in half tree-trunk rafts on the river. It was just another regular day for them, but I was taking all in the beautiful surroundings.
Livingstone is the only city in Guatemala that has a large percentage of black populations. Their ancestors were slaves brought from Africa and settled on the nearby islands. Many of them wore dreadlocks and seemed how I imagined what Jamaicans would be like. I didn’t stay long there except visiting the local pretty site – the Seven Altars. After walking along the beach for what seemed like forever, I got to the seven cascading pools. This was well hidden in the woods; it’s a wonder anyone ever found this place.
I am not really scared of heights. But jumping off of anything takes some bit of thinking. My friend’s camera started recording. I had some doubts. Why was I up here and why am I going to jump off this? “Hey, the camera is rolling.â€Â That’s all I needed. I jumped. “Hey that’s wasn’t too bad. Do you want to do it again?â€Â So we jumped off twenty times.
Well, actually it was more like two times. I am really not a water mammal. I like lying in the water. That’s about it. However, by the end of next week I should have finished off my Open Water Diving courses in Honduras. I have never swum more than 50 meters or floated more than probably 2-3 minutes at a time. Time to step it up. This is what traveling is about – new experiences. Onward!
Tikal is the most famous Mayan site in Guatemala. There are something like four thousand buildings there and while only fifteen percent of them have been excavated. At the height of the civilization which dates back twenty five hundreds years, more than one hundred thousand people live there. Tikal dates back before the other Mayan sites. But just like other Mayan civilizations, Tikal faltered and by the time the Spanish conquerors came, Tikal laid in ruins. It was discovered again in the mid-1800s, but archeological studies of the site didn’t begin until the mid-1900s by UPenn. Naturally, many artifacts were moved to the US and other museums. If the temples could be moved, they probably would have been moved too.
           Unlike Chichen Itza or Uxmal in Mexico, Tikal sits in the middle of a thick jungle. The temples have not been scrubbed and prettified. A few climbing structures have been built on the temple so visitors can climb to the top without risking their lives. I started the trip at three O’clock in the morning, taking one and half hour to get to the site by shuttle. Howler monkeys howled and they howled hard and loud. They hopping from tree to tree and swung freely. At one point in the walk, the guide told us about a temple a bit higher up from where we were that has not been excavated yet. From looking at the surrounding areas and trees, I could not tell at all that a temple sat above me. Many wild animals roamed in their natural habitats. We men are intruders into this jungle that is their home.
Even though I have already been to a few other Mayan ruins and heard the stories of their lives, I still enjoyed Tikal immensely. I was there early before the arrival of the balk of the tourists. Of the three guides there, two spoke English and one spoke Spanish. I went with the Spanish guide. I understood maybe sixty percent of what he said. Midday sun set in. The jungle heat began to cook. After six hours at the ruins, I hopped back in the van back to Flores.
I have a thing, or I would so much as to call it love, for natural waterfalls and pools in the woods. Semuc Champey is one of those places, complete with a trail, clear blue water, thick green forest surroundings and rocks in the pool. It reminded me of El Nicho in Cuba, still my favorite “El Natural.â€Â I stayed in bunglow huts in a nearby town called Lanquin where a river runs nearby.
The river guides had just scouted the river the day before in preparation for white water rafting trips. Justin, the Brit, Danielle, the Hawaiian sailor, Laura, elementary school teacher from Oregan, Laura ex-doctor-to-be from Germany and I along with the guide took our plunge as the first group this season to go down the river in high water. Before end of the trip, two of us would be thrown off the raft into the river. The water looked faster and more aggressive from the banks than it actually was. We coasted for about 10 minutes down the river before the rapids picked up. Naturally I sat in the front where the action is. This level 3 to 3.5 river was a good start for a rookie. We got instructions on how to paddle forward, backward, duck and the most important one, throw ourselves on the floor of the boat to brace for bumps.
If you have never tried white water rafting, you have got to get yourself to a river and try it. It’s not the same as the ones in Great America amusement parks where you are nicely strapped in like a baby onboard an SUV. When the river tosses you around, sending you into the air while you are half leaning over paddling with all your might, you get a rush like no other.
Towards the end of the trip, as we approached a drop, our guide called for the safety guide in another boat. We were off course because his paddle got stuck in the branches. He had lost one of his two paddles. The safety guide, well, was too far ahead and couldn’t hear him. So much for safety guide J This was their first guided trip together, apparently there is some kinks to work out still. So we went over the drop, head of the boat diving in first, hit a slight bump, my side of the boat went up and immediately Laura and Justin on the lower side of the raft got dumped into the rapids. Her paddle went into the water and I instinctively grabbed it and threw it back into the boat. But as I reached for Laura who was closer to me, the paddle got bumped out of the boat again. I grabbed her by her hair and started to pull her back in, but quickly realized I was dragging her by her hair!
Water was rushing by and our boat bounced on the rapids. I let go of her hair and this time grabbed her by the sides of her dandy life vest and pulled her back in. Quick count! Have we got six in the boat? Ok we are all good. Two paddles lost in the river, but what a rush!
Nearby the lodge, there is a bat cave. I expected a few bats hanging upside down where we could shine our flashlights on. When I got there near dusk, literally thousands upon thousands of bats rushed out of the cave. They first came in small waves and then hundreds and then thousands. They kept coming and coming. Bats would fly so close to my head that I could hear them whizzing by. I held out my hand in mid air and one bat with dysfunctional sonar actually ran into it. Even after 20 minutes, the bats did not let up a bit. They were hungry. I would be if I was hanging upside down for the whole day. I caught the last bus back into town in time for the American-sized vegetarian buffet. I ate a mountain of food
After climbing Tajumolco, I needed a vacation away from my vacation. What better place than the beautiful Lago de Atitlan to get some hammock time? The lake is just as pretty as the last time I visited.
Running into New Zealand Miguel from Xela, I started my day with an enormous fruit shake sitting by the dock overlooking the lake. An afternoon message followed. Even though the quality doesn’t compare to the Brazilian massage I got in Florida when I hurt my neck, for $7 USD, it was well worth the price. The rain usually came in the afternoon, making it the perfect setting to relax on a hammock.
Since my traveling, I have met people in different cities, or even countries and then saw them later again. At San Pedro, a village on the lake, I ran into the three Belgians, Jerone, Lynn and Toon and Katy from Texas again. We had met on a bus from Mexico. What are the chances?
In his spare time, Jerone farms bee for honey. He gets stung by bees a few times a week just for fun. Toon said he studied philosophy at a bad university and now he teaches in a terrible school. He is a funny guy with a very warm laugh.
Katy’s friend Meghan is a math smarty who will attend NYU in a few months. I told her that I was one class shy of getting a math minor at my university. After two days sitting in advanced algebra, I decided I will probably never use those crazy formulas. I was right.
We had pizzas made in an oven that is the Buddha’s belly at a restaurant called the Buddha bar. James and I shared an eggplant and chicken pizza mixed in a special green sauce. Much fun was had by everyone at the hot tub afterwards.
Next day I shuttled my way to Chichicastenango for the Sunday outdoor market, supposedly the largest in Central America. I am pretty convinced that most of the good are not made by hand locally because many items looked the same. There were the usual fried chicken with rice and beans. And then there was Kellogg’s cereal with rice milk. Merchants sold handicrafts, masks, bags, towels, blankets, cheap toys, lime stones used as soaps, flowers, wood, beans, meats hung on metal hooks, incense rocks and fresh fruits – I especially like the pineapples. I wasn’t tempted to buy anything except for a machete. Everything was for sale, even the used, dull and rusty machete with enough kinks on the blade to be used as a saw. Bargaining was a necessity to buy anything at the market.
As the sun started to set and rain came down, the street stalls began to close one by one. Canopies held up by metal or wooden posts are taken down. Twice a week, merchants come here the night before to set up for a full day of market. Empty handed, I walked away with a full stomach and was glad my backpack was not any heavier than before.
And…. this little fire hazard sits above the market.
Pictures here
Tajumolco is the highest point in Central America, all 4222 meters of glory. Led by a crazy Guatemalan guide, Carlos, who always seemed to be smiling, I climbed the beast along with 8 others from the UK, France, and Holand. In fact, I was the only one from the US. We packed our changes of clothes, 4 liters of water, food, sleeping bag, mats, and set off at 6 am in the morning. I don’t think I have ever been to altitude that high before. The only thing that could stop me from getting to the top is if I got altitude sickness, or so I thought.
Switching buses through two different towns, we were dropped off at the side of the road,which hardly seemed like the starting point for the hike to the highest point in Central America. I expected a grand entrance with guards. But this is Guatemala – on a tight budget, so all we get is a sign. Carlos, standing no more than five feet five inches, was easily carrying 60 lbs of supply on his back. My backpack felt heavy because I carried all of my clean and dirty clothes just in case I got cold. After all, at the top it could get close to freezing with wind chills. The only difference between hiking and living in cold weather is that during a hike, there is nowhere to hide from the cold.
We walked through farm fields on a dirt road, which quickly turned narrow.  Not far into the hike, we were already way above the other nearby villages. The French couple fell behind the group since Carlos kept a pretty quick pace. The French girl gave her backpack to the second guide to carry, but still they were falling behind. We took turns walking behind Carlos. The air chilled and wind picked up. My Pirates of the Caribbean hat and gloves warmed me pretty good, but I sensed that they were going to be enough for much farther into the trip. Our bags felt heavier the higher we climbed; pretty soon we were all taking deep breathes to get more air to our lungs. Having climbed Tajumolco 28 times this year, Carlos had no trouble at all and kept a steady pace, only stopping when we all seemed like we were gasping for air.
By the time we stopped for lunch, my pants and shirt were soaked from my own sweat. The strong wind on the plateau made me not want to move, but as I stayed stationary, my body temperature cooled down fast. Not long after, I was freezing even through my jacket and sweater. I should have changed into a dry shirt then, but I was too cold to want to move. Our simple ham and cheese sandwich with onions and tomatoes tasted great after our initial stage up.
After lunch, the trek got much steeper; my quads were beginning to ache, but nonetheless we continued on. The distances between everyone, which had been pretty close, were now starting to spread out. We passed a few wild mountain cows, or maybe they were bulls. I don’t know. Who knew there are wild cows thousands of meters up on a mountain? I was beginning to regret not leaving all of my dirty clothes back at the hostel. I could drink my water to lighten the load on my back, but I wanted to save it for later.
I knew the hike wouldn’t be a piece of cake, but reality was setting in that I would be working hard to get to the top of this mountain. My left quad was tightening up more and more. We breathed quicker and took smaller and slower steps. Man, I signed up for this; I have got to get to the top. Eventually, we reached our camping ground. By then I was totally beat. I crawled into my sleeping bag and was happily wrapped up.
It must have been my wet shirt and the humidity trapped in my water tight pants that made me feel like an ice cube. I was pretty uncomfortable to say the least. The rain started to come down. The tent was kept dry luckily. Carlos cooked up some warm soup and spaghetti, which I chowed down pretty fast. By sunset, I was deep asleep.
Later in the night I would be woken up many times. I remember liking camping when I was in middle school. But after all these years living comfortably in cities, I am really not a camping person. I like my warm room, pillow-top beds, air conditioning. That night I was trapped in a completely pitch black tent with nowhere to run to.
And then the worst came. I woke up with a headache. I thought altitude sickness finally set in, but secretly I was hoping that I was only dehydrated. I am not a big fan of taking pills, but I was still 200 meters of steep climb from the top of the Beast. I wanted to get to the top. I needed to get to the top. I took the pill from Carlos.
We began the final ascent in the dark without our backpacks. This was the steepest part of the climb. Carlos didn’t let up on the pace; in fact without our backpacks he set an even faster pace. I would look up at the top of the mountain but each time the view didn’t change much. Looking up trying to see over the top is probably the biggest taboo in hiking because that just makes the hike that much harder. I could hardly see where I was stepping, but as light started to creep in, my steps became more secure. The morning wind blew right through my jacket. Somewhere along the way, my headache vanished. Other guys turned off their head lamps. We were just meters away from the top.
Holy cow! I felt great to make it up to the top. The cold, the leg cramps, the headache and whatever else bothered me no longer mattered. I got to the top. From there, we could see all the way into Mexico. The air was crisp. I took many deep breathes. I was no longer out of breath. How high up was I? It didn’t matter. I conquered it. Hella Yeah.
Yup, try to say that word. It’s definitely one of the weirdest word ever created. It’s also the name of an archeological Mayan site, which differs from other Mayan sites because it doesn’t have large monuments to see. Much of the site remains in the states as they were discovered, carved rocks laying in different formations which archeologists called monuments. Unlike other Mayan sites, local Mayans still go there on a regular basis to pray, perform rituals and communicate with their higher beings. Some sites were used to pray for the sick to get better, for the unfertile to get pregnant, for a good harvest and also for money. The numbering on each of the hundreds of stones gave me a glimpse of the amount of work that goes into excavation of the site. Many of the ruins remain under about five feet of dirt. In one monument, I saw rocks formations which clearly were used as roads.
That rocky road would pick up farther away at another monument. And in between, the road remains buried. At the park, there were many interesting fruits of trees, some colorful, some long and eerily furry and some delicious. At the park, there’s also a small zoo housing a host of exotic animals. By exotic I mean I have not seen them before but they are probably common for the area. And who would have thought to put turtle and crocodiles in the same cage?
The next day, a couple friends and I took a trip to Georgina Fuentes, a natural hot water spring. I’ve never been to one before, so I was definitely psyched to check it out. The day started out pretty hot, so I was a little worried that it would be too hot to get in the hot tub. As we stood in the back of a truck and felt the mountain air starting to cool down the higher we climbed, I felt much more at ease. In fact at the natural spring, we could see our own breathe because of the cool ambient air. There are three pools, one funneling into the other and getting successively cooler. I was a huge fan of the hottest one since this was the closest thing to a hot bath I could get. The skin on my hands got wrinkly, but I didn’t care. The water felt great and supposedly therapeutic too, who knows? Most people there were Guatemalan families taking a weekend getaway trip. Many families were barbequing there, which made me very hungry. On the way down, we stopped by a Mayan town to visit their market. I picked up half a dozen string bean looking fruit. Inside there is a neatly lined-up row of white cotton-textured fruit meats engulfing large black seeds. The meat tasted like a mix between cotton candy and Lychee. Before the bus arrived home, I had finished my bag of string bean fruit. I am amazed at all the different fruits that are out there. Even though Guatemala is relatively close to the US, I had never seen such a fruit before. I can only imagine what I will find when I get to Brazil.
Another delicacy in Guatemala is a cerviche that’s made from a certain part of a bull. I won’t say what it is, but its texture is pretty close to soft conche. The grandmother at the house hadn’t had it in 18 years, so when I brought a portion home to share, she was thrilled. So far I have been pretty adventurous in eating street food and trying local specialties. Luckily I haven’t gotten stomach problems. But for sure, I would meet my match when I get to Mexico.
Besides the six students in the house, there are five other members of the family living together. They somehow all shared one room, but I guess they had to in order to fit everyone in the house. Mimi, the youngest girl no more than four years old, was so adorable that I was actually looking forward to coming home just to see her. She would murmur some unintelligible gibberish, but I think she understood more
Spanish than I.
On one of our outings, we went out to a field to plant trees. I thought well since I haven’t been going to the gym, I would give some sweat to a good cause. It wasn’t until we got there when I found out that there are no trees to plan. In fact, the field where we were to plant trees was not even tilled. For a couple hours, we used primitive tools to flatten the field. It seemed like we were getting nowhere; the stubborn roots of the grass dug in deep and held on tight. We were the beginning of an ambitious plan to plant one million trees in Xela. The plan is to start five nurseries to seed the trees and once they get bigger, they will be moved to bigger locations. There we were; building the first of five nurseries. As we worked the land, Alan, a 6’6†student from Canada, told us stories from his military training. After a couple hours, between the 7 of us, we tilled a total of probably 8 feet. What hard work! I am glad I am not a farmer. Later on, over a couple beers, Alan told us that the land for all five of the nurseries could be tilled by machine for Q200, which is less than $30. From that perspective, it was probably the biggest waste of human power. I have wasted many hours physical labor in the gym lifting dumb weights and producing nothing other than stimulating my muscles. This work was at least a little productive.
At the end of each week, the school hosts a dinner for all the students and teachers. Some people brought beer and wine to go with dinner. I happened to walk past a piñata shop and saw a lucky red Elmo. I stuffed him with candy and got a decorated yellow beating stick. After dinner, Alan got his diploma from the school, made a little speech in Spanish of course, and afterwards, onward to the bar. Many pitchers of beer followed. And then Elmo got his can of whoop-ass. As he laid there with his insides hanging out, a random guy at the bar ran to Elm, grabbed him and busted out the door like a lightning. “What just happened?†“Dude, he just kidnapped Elmo!†We all were laughing at the randomness of that. And then out of nowhere, the same guy busted back in, turned his head left and right as if he was looking for something. Then he ran to his chair, swiped his jacket and then just like that, he was gone again. I hope he got every lollipop out of Elmo. On the other hand, I don’t want to think about what he did to Elmo that night.
One of the things I am beginning to miss a lot is a hot shower with gushing buckets of steamy water. Except for the few nights of luxury hotels I stayed in Puerto Rico, I have been staying in private homes or local inexpensive hotels. All of the bathrooms didn’t have two lines of water, one hot and one cold, like in the US. What they have is an electrical shower head which heats up the water right before it comes out. The device only turns on when there is enough water going through it. But if too much water goes through, the device can not heat up enough water, so the water ends up being lukewarm at best. It’s a game between me and the showerhead every night. Sometimes I have no problems getting at least some hot water, but at other times the water pressure changes and when not enough water goes through, my little bit of hot water turns cold suddenly. By the time it got to my feet, the little hot water on my head and shoulders usually were mildly cold. When the water is hot, however little, my showers have become extended ceremonies because who knows when I will have hot water again!
Originally I only planned on staying in Xela, the second largest city in Guatemala for one week, but like many travelers who make a pit stop in Xela, I ended up staying for two weeks. Besides the smog that comes with the city, Xela is a pretty comfortable place to live. I enrolled in a Spanish school called Utatlan, which is right next to the center of Zone 1. One thing I don’t think I have mentioned before is that Guatemala cities are divided into zones, usually something like fifteen zones for a large city like Xela, which has about one 150,000 people. Each zone has its own road names and numbers, so there could be 10 different 12th streets in one city because different zones could all have a 12th street. Utatlan is one of the bigger schools and offers after school activities ranging from visiting Mayan town, taking salsa classes to hiking local trails. I also stayed with a local Guatemalan family to get the total immersion experience, but as it turned out, there were other students Erin, Casey, Karen and Sarah from the US and Rob from the UK living with the family. I felt like I was going to a boarding school again, meeting new people, going to classes and living together. After traveling for almost two months, having a regular schedule is a nice break.
Surrounding Xela are many worthy sites to visit. On my second day, we hiked a few kilometers up the mountain south of Xela to Los Vahos, a natural steam bath. Along the way were fields, plantations and a secret meeting house where leaders in Xela at one time point planned to secede from Guatemala. To their misfortune, the Guatemala government found out about it and executed them all in the central park. Xela has had a long tradition of independence from and mistrust of Guatemala city because of its population make up; Xela has a very high percentage of Mayan population while Guatemala city has mostly Ladinos, mix of Spanish and indigenous people. Despite Xela being the second largest city, it receives disproportionately small amount of financial aid from their federal government.
The natural steam bath is a hut built upon two holes that spew out geothermal heat. There are two separate rooms – each one seemed hotter than the other. Within about fifteen seconds of sitting in the room, I was entirely soaked from the vapor. Think of the time playing sports when you are just drenched in your own sweat and then imagine getting that hot and sweaty in fifteen seconds. That sums up the experience pretty closely. I tried to blow cold air on my arm, but by the time the air reached my arm, it felt like a fire torch on my arm. The eucalyptus leaves covering one of the steam hole made the air smell very fresh. My lungs though toasting have never felt better and my sinuses cleared. I felt like I was getting cooked, but in a good way. When I couldn’t take it any more, I would jump out under the cold shower outside for a bit and then go back in. I definitely haven’t felt better since the beginning of the trip.
After my one week of Spanish crunch in Antigua, I headed west to Lago de Atitlan, a beautiful lake surrounded by volcanoes. There are numerous villages surrounding the lakes including Panajachel, San Pedro, San Marcos and a few other smaller ones. The bus dropped me off at Panajachel, the most developed village, where boats are available to take you across the lake to the other villages. Sitting lake side and trying out the local comedores, I was beginning to take in the whole scenery. A few Mayan women and young girls, one of them only 6 years old, came by to show me their weavings for sale. The handcrafts here are well made; I bought a light, colorful scarf from the woman for 10 Quetzeles, or a little less than $1.50. There are many Mayan women selling similar handcrafts in Guatemala, depressing the prices for all of them. I also met another Mayan woman who was selling tortilla, hot little pieces of flat bread made from corn. After buying some tortillas from her, she happily agreed to let me take some pictures of her with her basket. Tortilla is such a main stable of food here that I don’t think I have gone many meals in Guatemala without some form tortilla.
After lunch a small boat took me to San Marcos, one of the smaller villages with a population of 3000, according to my book. It wasn’t until I got to my hotel there when I found out just how small the village is. There is basically no main area of the town, a “parque central†if you will, other than a few small interconnected walkways like this. A few people with dreadlocks and dressed like they belonged in 60’s, stayed in my hotel, which consisted of a few straw-covered wooden, triangular huts surrounding a garden. Talking to them, I quickly found out that San Pedro is the big party town, and not just that, a lot of foreigners come there for the cheap and available drugs there. Marshall, an American Taiwanese from San Diego I met, told me that when he got off the boat, the people waiting at the docks offered him a running list of everything from weed to hard drugs. Whatever you wanted, they had there – for cheap. I guess if you wanted to get really messed up, it’s to do it by a beautiful lake than in a basement somewhere. I haven’t really met or talked in depth with many anti-globalization, anti-capitalism thinkers, so their agendas, such as the idea that capitalism in the long run is not sustainable because profit-first decision making is destroying the environment, are quite foreign to me. We weren’t going to solve the world’s problems, and his solution of learning how to hunt before doomsday comes didn’t appeal to me. However I was happy to listen in on his view of the world’s problems. After all, how often do I get to hang out with people on the far rustic end of the scale? San Marcos supposedly has the best view of the lake and I couldn’t disagree more. I got up bright and early the next morning to catch a few indigenous people fishing on their small rafts in the tranquil water. I dove in for a swim. Water wasn’t too cold, even though this time of the year is winter in Guatemala. The day before, I met up with Guy, pronounced “Giâ€, a Frenchman who offers paragliding rides from the surrounding mountains down to the village. He showed me a video of a man running full speed jumping off a cliff. Just as his foot was about to land on nothing but air, the parachute lifted him and he began to coast in mid-air. The weather hasn’t been too great, raining on and off. That morning the sky was pretty cloudy but by 10:30 AM, we finally got a break. Marshall and I packed up our bags and along with Guy, we went in his boat back to Panajechel. It was a waiting game. There needs to be enough wind to take off and sky need to be pretty clear with some thermal flow to keep us in the air. We waited, waited, ate some lunch and waited some more, but as the afternoon came around, Guy gave us the bad news. Today was not going to be it. I will have to wait for another day, maybe back here.
One of the main attractions in Antigua is hiking the volcanoes nearby. I signed up for the morning hike since there are often afternoon showers; actually since I arrived in Antigua, the rain has been nonstop. Our van left at six in the morning, winding its way up the mountain. Despite the fog covered windshield, our driver got us up to the park safely. Hiking up to Volcano Pacaya was only 3 km, a fairly easy hike in the park. Kids at the park entrance offered horse rides up the mountain, but none of the people in my group, nicknamed Puma to distinguish ourselves from other groups there, took the offer. After only about a short distance from the start, we came upon gates which would have prevented the horses from getting through. On the way up, we could see a lake in the distance and also a volcanic-steam power generation plant opened by an Isreali company. Just from the trail itself, I couldn’t tell that it was a volcano. When we got to the top, I saw blackened rocks that had no plant growth on it whatsoever. As recently as one year and ten months ago, the volcano erupted, sending ashes over to Guatemala City 45 km away. However, the actual molten lava only sprayed within a few miles from the top. The scenery from the top was astounding for it contrasted the rich green mountaintop and the still-angry, black, hardened lava, barely covering the hot molten lava beneath. The hot steam from the lava beneath breathed through various holes in the ground.
As we descended onto the black rocks, I could hear crackling sounds of the rocks crunching and breaking. Winds warmed by the lava heat replaced cold gusts of the mountaintop. Even though I stood on hard rocks, I felt the rock could give away at anytime. It wasn’t until later when I found out from the guide that the park really has no idea when the volcano would erupt; it could be days, hours or minutes. We were simply hoping that during our visit, the volcano is peaceful. Two of the girls in the group wore sandals; I think they were crazy. Even though most of the rocks were solid, in some places, a thin patch of rock covered over molten lava only a few feet below. If the rock broke, it would be terrible news for whoever stepped on it. I thought maybe I should walk behind the guide or someone heavier than me. If the rock can support their weight, then surely it could support mine. I tried not to put my hand on anything as the rocks could be scorching hot. Even through my hiking boots, my feet were starting to feel very warm from rocks below. As other people in my group were taking off layers to cool off, I was putting extras socks on my hands for protection. Despite the increasing heat, the two Denmark girls with sandals soldiered on. Even though they had been talking a lot on the way up; they weren’t talking very much any more though.
The point where we began to descend to see the lava is actually not the mouth of the volcano, but rather, we were on the side of the mountain. As we descended further, I could see some molten lava flowing in the distance. Further still, I came only within a few meters away from moving lava. Holy Cow! By then, I could definitely feel the heat on my face. The cold wind that blew on top of the mountain was now hot dry heat which in a way is similar to bonfires – ones that you want to get close to but know you really shouldn’t. One of the guides from the other groups prodded the lava with his walking stick, setting it on fire. Other tourists, probably American, brought marsh mellows to cook. Natural instinct tells me I shouldn’t be this close to a volcano, but seeing and feeling moving lava and molten rocks make the trip worth the risk – I hope. I wondered how many times this volcano has erupted over the years and swallowed the people innocently standing there. As more morbid thoughts crept into my head, our group began our trek back out. As I looked back at our line of little ants marching out of the volcano, I felt really small, but satisfied.
