Guatemala Group Trip Part 3: Lost on a Motorcycle, and Sick on a Boat
Part One Is Available Here and Part Two is Available Here
It was time for me to leave El Paredon. For months I was looking forward to these three days, they had come and gone so quickly. I was sad to leave, but I knew my friends would be at the next stop. Natalie and Vanessa had left on a bus that morning, two hours before I did. I was hoping they would make it to the Airbnb before me to make my check in easier. They definitely beat me there. It also turned out that their shuttle took them on one of the big boats across the river as well.
I loaded up my gear and drove down to the boats on the North end of town. I didn’t see Caesar anywhere, he told me he would be there at 10 and wasn’t. There was another man loading a woman and her scooter onto his boat. I asked if he had room for one more and the price, he said yes and 50Q, same as anyone. I agreed and we rolled my bike backwards up a ramp and onto the narrow boat. I suddenly felt like a real adventurer. I had seen lots of pictures and videos online of bikes with luggage loaded into narrow boats on tropical waters and always thought “wow, that looks cool”. Its a little thing, but it felt like a big thing. The boat fired up and we were off. I tried to make conversation with the woman on the boat but my Spanish just isn’t quite there yet. After about 10 minutes of admiring the scenery, I spotted a boat coming the other way, as it passed I recognized its driver, Caesar. I felt a bit bad, but if you dont show up on time, sometimes you dont get business. We hit the far bank, unloaded my bike, and I paid the man. I geared up and resumed driving. I had made a special playlist for riding on this trip and it was absolutely perfect. I cruised for hours on this trip just enjoying the music, the scenery, and the wind. I enjoyed the farms, small towns, and the half buried tires with “Pinchazo” painted on the side, telling passersby they could get tires fixed there.
I made a slight detour to see the town of La Democracia. Its big draw was large stone statues carved by the ancient Olmec, to look like heads. They were all in the town square and all had people relaxing around them. I didn’t feel comfortable taking a picture that would have locals in it, so I was only able to get one. I also noticed I was the only tourist there. I felt like I was invading their homes, or maybe something else that just wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t stay long, I had other places to be anyway.
My next stop was in Santiago. I was told the road from Santiago to San Pedro, my destination, used to be dirt and, when wet, would bog down motorcycles so bandits would wait in the trees and rob travelers. In recent years the road has been paved and I am told it is safe. The rental shop, however, suggested I ask the police about an escort. Some previous travelers had been told they dont need it. Others have been offered it for 50Q, the going rate for most services, it seems. I found the police station easily, but communication was a problem. Via google translate I was able to learn that an escort was possible and that two police on a blue motorcycle would meet me at the gas station. I then made a very rookie mistake. I searched “gas station” on my phones map app and said “this one?” which he replied “yes”. NEVER ask a yes or no question if there is any language barrier, the answer will always be “yes” and you will be lost. I drove the directions my phone gave me and ended up at shop downtown that sold tanks of gas for stoves and BBQs. I realized my error and decided to get back to the police station. Unfortunately, the roads in town were narrow and lined high with buildings, most were one ways and I simply got lost. Before I knew it I had gone way uphill in town, dead ended at a market, back tracked, got lost again, and ended up in a very poor neighborhood where the houses were made of tin scraps. Luckily all the locals looked friendly and it was still daylight. I know my mother would worry about me being lost here, but it was women walking about their day and children playing in the street smiling and waving at me. I was definitely frustrated, but not quite hopeless or scared. In a pinch I could flag a tuk-tuk and ask him to guide me, for a fee… probably 50Q. It didn’t come to that as I eventually found a way downhill and back onto the main road that I recognized. It took some thinking, some patience, and possibly some illegal road maneuvers, but I got there.
The same officer was there and I explained again and then asked him to find the gas station on my phone. He then directed me to a park. I drove there and found a gas station a block away. I pulled in and asked the attendants if the police ever meet people there they replied “sometimes”. I waited a bit, asked if they could call the police, they said they could but they didn’t have the number. I then asked if the road to San Pedro was dangerous, the man said no and looked a little confused about why I would even ask.
My phone was at 40%, it was 4:30 pm, and I was getting impatient. I decided to just go, I didn’t want to risk losing daylight or having my phone die as I relied on it for navigation. I came out of town fast and kept my speed up. I figured if I just don’t stop and keep my speed up, I would blow past anyone before they got a chance to rob me. After a few minutes it slowly dawned on me, this is actually the nicest, freshest, road I had seen so far, and in Guatemala, that’s saying something. The roads were lined with hotels, farms, people cutting lumber, and what appeared to be some kind of adventure park. Clearly things had changed and this was no longer a dangerous route. I relaxed a slowed down a bit.
I found my way into town and suddenly my maps dead ended at a narrow T intersection, both turns looked too narrow for a bike… practically, but not technically. I texted the girls and Natalie was kind enough to meet me at the road. Google wasn’t lying, I was supposed to drive my bike down that narrow path. I wiggled the bike between the house and a treelined fence, around a tight corner, between some houses, and then through a gate, up a curb and onto a small gravel pad. I was downright grumpy, way overheated, dehydrated, and a little embarrassed. I got my gear off and unpacked a little in the bedroom. After I had grumbled enough about google maps and calmed down, we went for food. We found a little restaurant and I ordered a pizza and the girls debated what to order. The waiter looked at me and said “chicas dificile” and walked away with a grin to gave us another few minutes to decide. It immediately became yet another running joke. After, we went for a walk around town and down to the docks to see the famous Lake Atitlan.
The following morning, I felt like garbage. The previous days riding and the pizza for dinner were not sitting well. I did my best to dose myself with diarrhea meds. We went for breakfast at the nearby hotel. It was beautiful, large glass windows and concrete construction overlooking the lake. To me it looked like a French sunroom. It felt like a place one would take tea with the Count of Monte Cristo. After breakfast Renata decided it would be fun to take a boat across the lake to Panjachel, then take a tuk-tuk to Santa Catarina. It was a good idea, had I not been sick. We bought boat tickets and I asked the driver if there was a bathroom. He pointed at a few nearby restaurants. None of them admitted to having bathrooms. I came back and mentioned it to him. Without a word he waved to me and started running, he was a short man but bounded the steps 3 at a time. We burst into a yet to open café and he showed me to a washroom, what a legend. I loaded on the boat and we started bouncing across the waves of the lake, my stomach immediately started to churn. My stomach felt like a dryer with a boot in it. After a few stops along the way, I asked permission to run ashore to use the washroom again, the captain allowed it and I sprinted. The little café charged 5Q for the washroom, one dollar well spent, in my opinion. When I got back on the boat I sat near the front, just in front of the small roof that doubled as a luggage rack. As we cut across the lake, my lucky travel hat blew off, but was caught by the luggage instead of lost to the lake. Today was not my day, I felt terrible and now for about three more stops and another half hour, I had to anxiously watch to see if I was going to be in the market for a new hat that day.
We finally made landfall at our destination and my hat had survived the journey, by some miracle. The walking calmed my stomach a little. We found a little café where Renata grabbed a coffee and I used the washroom. From there we waved a tuk-tuk and it struggle up the hill to the lookout where we stopped for photos, then it rocketed down the hill into town. We jumped out and explored town a little, it was mostly small booths selling textiles. Vanessa and Natalie had some lunch in a restaurant that was so small, they ordered food and the cook ran out the front, to the market, and came back with the ingredients to make it. It was impressive, but slow. I was still too ill to eat. As they ate, the stray dogs worked their way closer, giving us all sad looks hoping for scraps, naturally we caved. The ladies running the shop across the street were waving and showing us their table runners hoping to make a sale.
After sufficient wandering, we decided to take a truck back. I remember calling them Camionetas in South America, they were just a pickup truck with seats in the box. We asked the first one how much and he said for four people 150Q, Renata laughed and walked away. He tried to explain that was the normal price, just as a second truck pulled up. Renata asked him how much, he said 20Q for all of us. We hopped aboard, laughing the entire way. The truck was much faster, and more comfortable than the tuk-tuk.
We explored Panjachel’s street market a little before finding our way back to the docks. Luckily the ride back was faster as it was direct to San Pedro, the catch was that cutting across the middle of the lake meant larger waves. A local man on the boat gave us a tip that we could pull the emergency life jackets from the rack on the roof and sit on them for extra padding. It worked well. This time my hat stayed on. I was happy to be done with boats for the day. We had a nice supper that night at an Israeli place and played cards at the house we rented. It was a nice last night before I had to head back to Antigua and the girls were off to Tikal.
The next morning I loaded up my bike, hugged everyone goodbye and hit the road. Getting the bike out of the alleyway was far easier than getting it in. Getting out of San Pedro was a bit of trick, again, narrow streets and one ways. I finally made it onto the highway but it looked oddly familiar. I stopped and checked the map… I had driven 20 minutes in the wrong direction. Not being able to see my map was a real hinderance. I got back on the right track and then got lost again in the next town, this time the main road had been shut down for a festival of some kind and navigating around it was just impossible. I then realized the problem. When google maps would say “turn left” that would sometimes mean turn left down this very narrow alley, sometimes it meant take the next left, and sometimes it just meant the road was curving. I found it much easier to stop every few blocks and visually check the route, that little shift made life easier but travel slower.
I wound up on steep switchbacks into the mountains as I climbed away from Lake Atitlan, all the while unsure of what gear the bike should be in “2? no too low, 3? no too high, try 2 again maybe?”. Eventually the road straightened and leveled. It was a this point I hit some road construction. I filtered to the front with some other motorcycles and was told it would be about a 15 minute wait while they painted the lines. I watched as more bikes and cars came into the line. There had to be two dozen bikes and hundreds of cars. Suddenly I heard honking and turned to see a chicken bus had jumped the curb into oncoming traffic and was driving full speed as oncoming cars swerved out of the way. The construction workers angrily waved as he blew passed and jumped the curb back onto the right side of the divided highway. That diesel bus spit black smoke the whole way and I didn’t see a hint of him touching his brakes. After a few more minutes, with little warning, the workers jumped up and cleared the pylons. All of us bikers were standing beside our bikes stretching. Suddenly it felt like a pistol start at a race. We all jumped on, fired up, and raced off. It was an amazing experience. So many bikes just cruising down the highway in a group, some waving, some racing, and some just minding their own business. Eventually we all spread out and found ourselves among the regular cars and trucks of the road. A normal day for them, and fascinating experience for me.
As I came into Antigua the road took me through a few deep canyons that looked like they were carved out for the road. I was reminded of my motorcycle trip to Drumheller last year. It also rained heavily for about 15 minutes, at which point I passed an accident, a tanker truck had hit a scooter. There wasn’t a body anywhere and there were no emergency vehicles there yet. I hope that means it was low speed and no serious injury. When I got within a few blocks of the rental shop, I hit rush hour traffic. I made another mistake, driving like a Canadian. I was moving inches in minutes by pretending to be a car. Eventually, after an hour in traffic, an ambulance came through and created a path. I saw motorcycles following close behind and remembered where I was and what I was straddling. I started lane splitting, weaving between the stationary cars and even waving a few to back up so I could make space and cheat in front of them to the other side. Within minutes I came rolling into my destination, smiling, and was received by the owner’s friend. I think he was American, either way, his English was perfect and he was friendly. The bike had sustained no damages, I parked it, returned the helmet, took of my gear, thanked him, and left. I rushed through the return process, putting my borrowed gear away and stripping my bags off the bike. I was flying high from the lane splitting and just riding in general and didn’t want him to have to wait any longer than needed. I walked the few blocks and checked into my hotel, got some food, a mojito, and some sleep. I was thoroughly tired after a full days riding being lost, being hot, being rained on… I’d experienced it all.
The next day was my last day, my flight left that night. In the morning I went to Café Sole, a restaurant that shares a name with one in Edmonton where I meet with some motorcycle guys twice a week, if time permits. The food was good, but I just wanted a picture of myself in front of their sign to show my friends. I then got a text from the girls saying they had a bus change in town around noon and would have about half an hour for a visit. I was excited, but we ended up only having about 20 minutes where they drank coffee and tea as fast as they could before running back. I then bought some souvenirs for myself and some family members. I tried to nap in the afternoon but couldn’t, at 10pm the car came to pick me up and I was driven to the airport. The flights home were rough, I had terrible middle seats because I didn’t want to shell out $50 to select my seat and my layovers were long. I was happy when I finally made it through my door. 36 hours later, I boarded a plane to get back to work for two weeks.
As a rule, my family doesn’t like motorcycles. Primarily because they are dangerous. I, however, enjoy them, but more importantly, one of my biggest issues with traveling is actually the travel part. I have always had a hard time with buses. I find them usually stuffy, smelly, and crowded and I hate being at the mercy of someone else’s schedule for when I can use a bathroom. I also learned in South America that just because a bus has AC, doesn’t mean it works, and if it works, that doesn’t mean they will turn it on… As such, after doing some riding and some thinking, I decided to try renting a motorcycle to get around on a vacation and see if that made things better. I dont know that its a solution for every trip, and its certainly more expensive than bus tickets, but it is something I enjoy. At the very least, this trip has proven that a motorcycle is at least an option for me to get around when I travel.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, Guatemala, motorcycle, Outdoors, travelwith no comments yet.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 2: Motorcycles and Loud Hostels
Initially, I was only supposed to meet up with the girls for the hike, then we would go our own ways. I was renting a motorcycle and going to the beach and they were going to do another hike. Vanessa decided she didn’t want to do the hike and Natalie was still feeling ill so they opted to meet me at the beach and let Renata go solo. I was glad to have the company.
The morning after the hike, I was good and nervous as I packed my bags and made my way to the shop. The streets in Antigua were narrow and the traffic looked a bit chaotic. I also had language barrier concerns and worries about what I would do if the bike broke. I had also heard many a rumor about corrupt police supplementing their income by threatening gringos. It was too late to back out, I had already paid and I had already told people I was doing it, so, dammit I was going to do it. I walked to the shop and met a man who spoke good English, with a bit of a French accent. It turns out he was Guatemalan but had spent many years living near Montreal. He walked me through the bike, a Honda Tornado 250cc. It was black, and a little scratched, but it fit me perfect. He asked how much experience I had with things like flat tires. I told him the truth, that I had very little, and he casually put a tracker in the saddle bag of my bike. He also informed me that the word for flat tire was “Pinchazo” and that was also the name for someone who fixes the flats. He gave me some tips on my route and told me he had never heard of anyone having issues with police. He said “if you get pulled over, give them this insurance paperwork, your license, and a smile, you’ll be fine”. I guess the stories I had heard of police making up charges and demanding on the spot payment were, perhaps, unfounded or exaggerated.
I turned on my GoPro and started driving down the cobblestone streets, initially the busy streets were terrifying but I soon learned it was much like walking in a crowd or being on a ski hill, everyone watches for everything. I made my first stop, a café where the girls were having breakfast. Natalie informed me she couldn’t finish her breakfast and before she was done offering it to me, I had a fork in motion. I then walked them outside and excitedly showed off my new bike. I probably sounded like my nephew with new Hot Wheels, boys never grow out of that. I punched my coordinates into my phone and set the app so it would read the directions to me, that way I could keep it in my pocket. Just before I put my helmet on I asked if anyone wanted to give me a kiss for good luck, there were no takers… it was worth a shot. I fired up the bike and hit the road. Renata was catching a bus north for the hike while Natalie and Vanessa would meet me that afternoon at the hotel also via bus.
Traffic getting out of Antigua was a little heavy but not hard to navigate, it was only a few turns at stop lights. I then found myself on a highway. The drive itself was scenic, but uneventful. The roads were smooth tarmac that made me jealous, Canadian winters pulverize our roads to a near gravel like state. One funny thing happened on the way. I was going on a divided highway, California 9, I believe, when I thought my GPS told me to take an exit. I took the exit that curled me on the overpass above the highway, then I was instructed to merge onto the highway again, then immediately on to the exit, then back across and merged back onto the road I was initially on. I had basically detoured four loops quickly to end up where I had started. I chuckled in my helmet and kept driving. I passed a few small towns and stopped at a gas station, used my rudimentary Spanish to buy some fuel from the attendant. I then went in a bought some plantain chips and an ice cold soda, it was amazing. This was probably the most satisfying part of the trip for me. I knew I could drive the bike but I worried about communicating for food and fuel. Turns out charades and toddler level Spanish could get the job done.
When I first left Antigua, the views were primarily mountains and the weather was the perfect temperature for riding, warm but not hot. As I drove the highway, I hit a wide turn and went down a hill and almost like flipping a switch, the weather was hot. The wind on my body felt like a hair dryer and suddenly there were palm trees and open fields. Shortly before I arrived at the hotel in El Paredon, I drove a sandy road that paralleled the ocean. I found the ruts, bumps, and dips quite exciting, but my new camera has such good image stabilization that the footage doesn’t show it.
I arrived at The Driftwood Surf Hostel at 3pm long before the girls. I was checked into our room and allowed to park my bike in the yard behind the gate. The staff were friendly and I signed up for a surf lesson at 4. To kill time in-between I sat in the pool and had a beer from the swim up bar. It was at this point it dawned on me that this was, in fact, a party hostel. There were young people everywhere and music was blasting. I didn’t think much of it, but later it would be a problem. A group of young women chatted with me at the bar and suggested that when I get to Atitlan I take the party boat. They described it as drunken, sweaty, and sexy. To me it sounded horrible, and I told them that, they assured me my lady friends would love it. I later told Natalie and Vanessa about the sales pitch and it became a bit of a running joke.
The surf lesson was ugly. It was fun, but I was still sick from the hike and tired from the days riding. There were lots of falls and fails. By the time the lesson was over, the girls had arrived. We went for a dinner at a small shack just off the beach, then turned in for the night, tired from the days events. Unfortunately, the hostel was having a DJ night and it didn’t let up until the wee hours of the morning. We all put earplugs in and did our best. I was able to sleep a bit, but the girls did not. I had another surf lesson that morning, early. By the time I got back it was decided that there would be a change of hotels. I went and talked to reception, I had booked 3 nights, I could cancel the last night without penalty but was stuck for one more night minimum. They found a nicer, cheaper, quieter, nearby hotel for themselves and moved that day. I canceled my third night and would join them for the last night. It was a headache but it was for the best. I was also embarrassed because I had picked the first hotel that was so bad, and the girls found a better one in less than an hour.
Beyond the hotel logistics, it was a nice day and we didn’t do too much. My morning surf lessons went better and I managed to catch a few waves. The girls checked into their hotel, we had some lunch, and spent some time in the pool at the new hotel as it was a little nicer and had no one else in it. For some reason, for the last year, Natalie and I had a running joke about doing the lift from Dirty Dancing. In Thailand we never found a place with a pool and in Jasper the hot springs were closed when she came. At this hotel pool, we finally got a chance to try and actually did a pretty good job of it. It took more than a few tries but we got it to work. After supper, I headed back to my hotel and called it a night. Unfortunately, that night at my hotel was some form of strip-pool, where players would play pool and have to remove clothes if they missed, sounds like a young mans game to me. Luckily it was a bit quieter than DJ night so I was able to sleep without earplugs.
I had my last surfing lesson which ended on a high note with me catching waves and riding them to the very end. I then checked out, settled up the bill and headed over to the new hotel that the girls were already checked into. We had some breakfast and while Natalie did some school work, Vanessa and I went for a walk. I was told, on the far end of town, there were boats that could take my motorcycle across the river, I wanted to confirm because that sounded fun. As we hit the end of town, there it was, a big concrete ramp leading to dozens of boats waiting for customers.
I stood, surveying the situation, wondering who to talk to when a group of four pulled up in a boat, two young men and two young women. They appeared to be American and spoke English amongst themselves and then thanked a man on shore in Spanish. It seems they had rented his boat. As they offloaded they all walked passed and I grabbed their attention. I asked the local if he spoke English, he said a bit. I asked one of the Americans if they could translate, they agreed, and I asked “can you take my bike on your boat across the river tomorrow?” the man nodded, looked at the local and said, in perfect English “he wants you to take his bike across the river tomorrow” and we all had a good laugh. The local man introduced himself as Caesar, and said he would take me at 10ish for 50 Quetzals (about $10). I thanked him for his help, shook his hand and started walking. The four Americans jumped into a pickup with Florida plates and offered us a ride. I found them fascinating, but I declined their offer, I was enjoying the walk.
For our last night, we went to a fancy outdoor restaurant that is only open three days a week and only until the food runs out. It was called Chef in Flip Flops and this week they were serving Thai food. It was ok, but we each had a cocktail and they were actually better than the meal. After the meal, we walked to the corner store and each grabbed another drink and some snacks. We then went back to the hotel and tried to relax in the pool before getting bored and feeling the need to try and do the lift again. Between the surfing and the lifts, I was starting to feel like Patrick Swayze, if only I could dance like him… Maybe my next trip should involve dance lessons?
Technical
I rented the bike from a company called MAGtours. I am unsure the year of the bike but it was a 250cc Honda, single cylinder, dual sport. Its basically the CRF250l but with a carburetor and drum brake in the rear, its my understanding that the tornado was sold outside of Canada, USA, and Europe to countries that still want carburation and dont have emissions standards. I brought my own jacket and gloves from home. The jacket is made by Speed and Strength, I took the protective padding out of the jacket to make it fit in my bag. I emailed the manufacturer and they confirmed that the jacket did have abrasion resistance, but they highly recommended leaving the padding in. It wasn’t the safest way to do it, but it was safer than no jacket. Without the padding it looks more or less like a normal zip up, hooded jacket, and I wore it on my volcano hike. I had a seamstress add some Velcro panels to the side while doing some other repairs so I could put a Canadian flag patch on each arm. The gloves I bought second hand on Facebook marketplace, they are by Joe Rocket and somehow only cost me $20. They were a little warm but the venting on them did their work well. The helmet was provided by the rental shop and with their permission I mounted my GoPro hero 11 on the front of it. The camera was bought for this trip. For shoes I just used my hiking boots, better than sneakers but not as safe as a true motorcycle boot. Sadly, some safety preferences had to give way to the realities of my luggage limitations.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, el paredon, motorbike, pacific, surfing, travelwith no comments yet.
Guatemala Group Trip Part 1: Airport Annoyance and Volcano Hike
There I was, early April with my non-refundable accommodations and airfare to Guatemala and a pink slip from my work. I had, rather abruptly, been laid off. I thought my boss was kidding until he opened his laptop to reveal HR letting me know it was a “business decision” to let me go. I briefly thought “wow, he really committed to this prank”. I was in a bit of a panic as I was now job hunting, worried about finance, and filling in the blanks for this trip. Then suddenly, a job came through. It was a camp job, two weeks on, two weeks off, and as luck would have it, I could work the two weeks before my trip and the two weeks after. I suddenly had a job, but only a few days to get ready for it and my trip. I went to work for two weeks, flew home for a day, flew to Guatemala for two weeks, then home for a day, then back to work…. and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Getting There
I’m not entirely sure how we decided on Guatemala… Natalie and Renata initially wanted to do Patagonia while I wanted to go to a scuba resort in Mexico. They somehow came up with Guatemala and informed me I was coming. Natalie also invited her friend Vanessa along. Getting to Guatemala turned out to be a real trick. I flew from Edmonton to Denver, waited 6 hours, then flew to Houston where my layover was supposed to only be 2 hours. It turns out they had a rain storm that re-routed Vanessa’s flight to New Orleans that morning, then she got sent to Houston in the evening. She ended up on the same flight as me from Houston to Guatemala City. Unfortunately that flight was delayed from 8pm to 1am. I met her for the first time at the airport and we did our best to survive the over-heated and over-crowded airport while over-tired. I did my best to keep spirits up and keep her entertained, but I don’t think she was enjoying my brief history of The Cajun people of the American South as much as I enjoyed talking about it. We landed at about 3am in Guatemala City to find that the airline had lost Vanessa’s bag with all her hiking gear that she would soon need.
We took a 45 minute car ride to our Airbnb in Antigua. I had pre arranged a private ride and the driver was kind enough to wait for our delayed flight. Natalie and Renata had already checked in and gone to bed. They left us the second room which contained a single queen sized bed. We agreed we were both too tired to draw straws about sleeping on the couch. I huddled against the far edge of the bed, doing my best to keep my distance for fear of making this near stranger uncomfortable. I fell asleep almost immediately and was informed in the morning that I do, in fact, snore. I had my suspicions. Renata took us for a walk around town on its old cobbled streets and translated for us so we could get some street food and we took a quick tour of a cathedral that was ruined by an earthquake in the 18th century. I also withdrew some cash and poor Vanessa began her fight with the airline to find her luggage, she was in a rush as we had a hike scheduled for the following day. In the afternoon we went to a coffee plantation and went for a self guided walk that got us somewhat lost, but it ended with pizza so I can’t be too sad. In the evening we went for another walk and saw the famous Arch de Santa Catalina and got some street food from the night market. I had recently started watching Anthony Bourdain’s TV shows online so I was keen to try the local food, it did not disappoint.
Somehow, the stars aligned and the airline was able to find the lost bag, but it wouldn’t be available until 2am. We weren’t exactly excited to take a taxi all the way there and back but luckily, instead, our driver from the previous night was able to pick it up and drop it off for her. It arrived late, but unharmed. We did our best to sleep but the 5 am alarm came in fast and loud.
Acatenango Hike
I pulled myself together and packed my gear. We made it to the shuttle just in time. It was about an hour drive to our guide’s headquarters. We, along with about two dozen other tourists, were treated to a breakfast and given a quick once over of the hike we would be doing. We were also given our own packed lunches to carry up. We were then loaded back into the vans and taken the short drive to the trailhead. We got out and started hiking uphill in a narrow valley, about a lane and a half wide and 8 feet deep, the ground was fine dirt, hundreds of people were walking up and down the hill and the dust was brutal. I didn’t think to put my bandana over my face and thought to myself, surely this is just for the first few hundred feet. I was wrong. The dust lasted for hours, and for a portion we walked between farmers fields up narrow hallways of barbed wire fence, so narrow we had to stop and lean on it to let people pass on their descent.
Slowly the trail started to improve but the sleep deprivation, the dust, and the long fattening winter had already done its work on me. We were now on less dusty trail, finding our way up switchbacks through the forest. We stopped part way up at the park gate and I was given a paper bracelet to show my fee had been paid. As the hike progressed I continued to be slow, dead slow, dead last in our group slow. Renata and Natalie were somewhere near the front and I would occasionally catch Vanessa. Around noon we stopped for a rest and I made the mistake of having a small snack. My stomach immediately tightened. My stomach felt like it was full of rocks and made of knotted rope. As I lagged behind, the guides were asking me repeatedly if I was ok. I repeated “yes, fine, tired” but deep down I was worried, this wasn’t like me to be a slow hiker. Juan De Fuca I was always first to camp, I did Skyline in two days, by accident… I was never slow. Was I maybe getting sick? that happens to me a lot when I travel, I think its the airplanes that make me sick. The last two hours of the hike I continually fought the urge to vomit. It was one of those days where as I walked I was always eyeing the best spot to stop and spew but somehow it never came to that.
I finally stumbled into camp, last in the line, and was told to go to hut 3. The huts were all in a row, attached like townhouses. The labels were odd and I accidentally went into cabin 4 to sit down and decompress. I was tired, frustrated, sick, and embarrassed and shedding a tear or two, which was interrupted by someone coming in, and politely, and awkwardly, explaining that I was in the wrong cabin. I meekly shuffled to the correct cabin and laid down for a few minutes and let my stomach and lungs settle to their appropriate locations and rhythms. Eventually I dragged myself out and into a chair out front. I forced my lunch down, chicken and rice, while taking in the view of the famous Fuego Volcano. It was spewing smoke periodically and we had a front row view. I chatted with the neighbors and eventually started to feel better. The guides came around and said that at 4pm they were guiding people down the valley and up the other side to get a closer look at the volcano. Renata opted to go on this side quest. Natalie and Vanessa weren’t feeling well so they stayed back and napped for a bit. I milled around camp, had some hot chocolate, and chatted with some of the other hikers. We also built a fire. As evening came, the clouds rolled in and we couldn’t see anything. Everyone else was woken up for supper, fried chicken and spaghetti, both good, but an odd combination.
After dinner, someone said they saw lightning and we all turned to look. As we did, the clouds cleared and we got a perfect view of the volcano spitting lava high into the sky. The was also causing an electrical storm above the volcano. We were now seeing eruptions and lightning strikes. Everyone got their phones and cameras out. I tried to get a picture but it was just a small red dot on my black screen which I thought was pretty funny. There were some serious photographers there and they were kind enough to share their photos after the fact.
We took in the show and realized our companions weren’t back yet from the volcano. We could see headlamps in the distance, but it turned out to be other tour groups. We later found out that those poor individuals hiked all the way there to be stuck in the fog, then turned back before it cleared. They still got a good show on the way back, but not the up close and personal look they had hoped for.
Eventually Renata made it back and we agreed it was bed time. Our cabin was a thin foam mattress on the ground, four pillows and four sleeping bags and little room for much else. We piled in and got comfy and if I sat up I could still see the volcano through the big window on the front of our cabin. I did my best to not think about how often that bedding was or wasn’t washed. We stayed up a little late laughing and joking. At some point, due to the thin wall, we could hear a ruckus from our neighbors banging on the wall followed by a heavily accented “sorry, there was an animal in here…… oh no, not animal… uh bug, a bug!” glad they clarified that. Throughout the evening the volcano continued to erupt, occasionally with enough blast that the cabins would shake a little.
At 3am Renata and Vanessa started the sunrise hike. Natalie and I still weren’t feeling well so we stayed back and slept in. I was told, after the fact, that it was a nice hike but very cold. Breakfast was tea and a cereal similar to corn flakes with hot milk and granola. It was quite good. Around 10 am we started our descent, I still felt really rough, but this time I at least had the good sense to put a bandana over my face to try and keep the dust out. About half way down, at the official park gate, there were also a few vendors, I bought a slice of watermelon for 5Q (about $1) and it was amazing.
We made it down, loaded into the vans and headed back to HQ for lunch and to get cleaned up. We were then driven back to the city and walked to our AirBnB, unfortunately we were early and couldn’t get in until the cleaner heard us making noise out front and let us in. Shortly after, a regal woman in a long white dress welcomed us and gave us a quick tour… we must have been quite the sight covered in dust and dirty clothes. Luckily the rental had two showers and we were able to get cleaned up a bit, this unit had four beds which was also a nice luxury. After getting cleaned up, we went for walk around the city and to get some dinner, we also found a patio and each got a cocktail.
I went to bed dog tired, and in the morning, I picked up my motorcycle, but that a story for next week.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged Acatenango, Antigua, backpacking, camping, Fuego Volcano, Guatemala, hiking, travel, Volcanowith no comments yet.