A few days ago with an early start in a shuttle mini-bus I made the twelve hour trip from San Cristobal in Mexico to the well lauded Antigua back in Guatemala. The trip was broken up by breaks and a chaotic border crossing. The cramped conditions in the mini-bus were more than compensated by the company of my fellow travellers and the spectacular scenery. I got chatting to Onka and Jennifer two Dutch girls in their twenties. Jennifer has a Mexican mother and although brought up in Holland has been studying in Guadalajara, Mexico's second city. The girls are old school friends and have got together to travel Mexico, Guatemala and Belize. We shared a couple meals together with some good banter. When we arrived In Antigua late at night they asked me to walk them to their hotel. During our conversations I often had to quell their fears about the perceived dangers of the area. I think they saw me as wise and mature and felt safe in my company. Talk about the blind leading the blind!
At the third and last leg of our trip we stopped off at Panajachel to drop off some and pick up others. One of the new passengers was a weird and such a startling character that it was difficult not to stare. He was a white man of over six feet tall aged sixty and American (which we discovered subsequently) with a good stock of white hair in dreadlocks. He wore what can only be described as a shaggy pelt loin cloth, carried a staff and was barefoot. He looked like a cross between Mahatma Gandhi and Ben Gunn. He was covered with hippy regalia and object d'art dangled from various parts of his body. His state of undress and lack of baggage was worrying because it can quite chilly and stormy some nights in this neck of the woods. He sat at the back of the bus with us so I did my best to engaged him in conversation. His skin was cracked and parched and his voice was shot to hell. He sounded like Dylan singing Ave Maria. He is a disciple of Dr. Timothy Leary the self proclaimed leader of the sixties counter-culture movement who has been immortalised through his anthemtic proclamation "Turn on, Tune in, and Drop out" and who advocated mind altering drugs like LSD. Our aged hippy friend attended many of Dr. Leary's lectures and seminars in the sixties. We also discovered that until recently he had been living in India and had spent time in Kathmandu. I was hoping to bump into him around town and have few beers with him, but it didn't happen. Another new passenger was a 30 year old Dutch woman who had been living in Guatemala City for five years. She worked in some kind of development capacity and was employed by the Dutch government. I asked about the threat to a single blonde woman living in one of the most dangerous cities in the world. She explained as part of her job she works in the most dangerous parts of the city, and as the people know her and what she and others are attempting to do they leave her alone. She lays the blame on the violence squarely with the Guatemalan government, police, and military who she claims are totally corrupt.
Panajachel sits on the Lago de Atitilan and as we drove away up the steep winding road we became all agog at the scene leaving us over our shoulders. The village sits on the edge of the lake and two volcanoes bestride it like the wings of a perched giant bird of prey. To add to the dramatic panorama it was dusk which gave an overall grey sepia affect and thin grey swirling clouds were wrapping themselves around the volcanoes like delicate chiffon scarfs. Mother nature had provided some wonderful scenes over the last weeks but this was her coup de gras.
Antigua is like St. Cristobal de las Casas but with with bells on. It has even more ambiance and the streets are cuter, even more cobbled and it has a towering volcano as a backdrop with two others at the other end to balance things up. Wandering these cobbled streets on the first glorious morning I bumped into Onka and Jennifer. We chatted about our immediate plans. They were intending to go to a coffee farm and I had just booked a trip to climb an active volcano. Again they were weary of the dangers. Lonely Planet had described incidents of robbery and rape in the area. Also it had stated that some foolhardy climbers had their shoes burned away and suffered serious injuries and that some had actually been killed during the sporadic eruptions that take place. I convinced them to change their mind with my final gambit being " What do you want to tell your kids, you went a coffee farm or you climbed an active volcano?
We met at 6.00am the following morning. Volcan Pacaya was an hour away by bus. In fact the bus gets you to the a sort of base camp where you hike up the last leg. The hike takes about an hour and half and you're led up by a guide. They also have horses for the aged, infirm or the generally unfit. I had concerns about my heel and I thought my back would give me some gip however I had great confidence in my legs and lungs that I considered were as strong as a man half my age. I mentioned this to the girls when they suggest I go up on horseback supporting my case by regaling them of my recent exploits playing seven-a-side. There were a gathering of locals with their horses to hire and for some reason they began to head in my direction so bending my elbows to flex my muscles I sent them away with a fleas in their respective ears. So we began the acsent and it was very steep at first over rough terrain and then the slope became more gentle then increased again before we had our fist breather. Well my heel was OK and my back was holding up however my legs were like jelly and I was breathing so heavily that my cheeks were like Dizzie Gillespie hitting a high note. I persevered hoping to get my second wind. Along the way we passed the locals with their horses looking to provide some profitable assistance to those in distress. When they saw me appear around a corner the were stirred from their stupor and began jockeying (like the pun?) for position. But was I a quitter?..No!! well not until the next bend when I saw a prolonged steep incline.
I tottered and stumbled upwards until I could totter and stumble no more. At that moment I felt a certain affinity with Richard III and with great Shakespearian eloquence I mummbled under my breath "A horse a horse will some bastard get me a horse. As I turned the next bend through the sweat that had dripped into my eyes I could see a shimmering Galadreil holding the reins of the mighty Shadowfax. When I wiped away the sweat it was in fact a local woman pulling an old nag with piece of string. She didn't have to ask. Now I've ridden a few elephants and camels in my time but can't remember ever going near a horse. Having seen the aging and overweight John Wayne slipping effortlessly into the saddle in True Grit I assumed it was a piece of cake. My short Celtic legs didn't help. Getting my left foot into the stirrup was difficult enough, but my casual, languid, and rather dignified effort to swing my leg over resulted in me kicking the horse up the arse. Obviously more commitment, energy and umph were required. So with a much more determined effort I swung my leg over which created a certain amount of inertia that meant I came very close to going straight over the other side, a feat managed by every slapstick comedian since the silent movies. For a full ten seconds I was at the two o'clock position holding on with my ever whitening knuckles then I managed to right myself. It was touch and go. Humiliation heaped upon humiliation. The one good thing was that this took place between groups of climbers who were concealed behind bends at the front and back of me. I was then led around the bend where my group was waiting for me to catch up. I was then paraded through them. There were some including Onka and Jennifer with benign "it's for the best luv" smiles, looks of relief as some were concern about my wellbeing and others that they may have had to give me this kiss of life if I hadn't capitulated, and a few I told you sos. Most were young but there were a few older ones including a few flushed middle aged out-of-shape women who were hacking it. This was the moment when I shook hands with my own mortality.
There was temporary release from my feeling of failure when we reached the top as the spectacular panoramic view revealed itself. People were clambering over the waves of solidified lava and the backdrop was amazing with Guatemala City off in the distance. Then looking up through the ever changing cloud patterns which added to overall effect we could see the billowing smoke from peak of the volcano. When making our way across the lava we could feel the heat being emitted below us so much so that at a certain point we toasted marshmallows. I managed to get back down using Shank's pony.
In the evening I wandered into a lively bar/restaurant which seemed quite Anglicised. They also sold bottles of Guinness, and then I realized it was called O'Reilly's Bar. I'm sure that if I landed at the Sea of Tranquility there would be an Irish theme pub there to offer their hospitality. I can't complain though as I had "craicing" Irish stew.
I then wandered into another bar. There were a few people dotted around and a couple playing pool. There was long bar with about a dozen vacant barstools and I slid onto one of the central ones and slipped into my Humphrey Bogart "Gimme a beer Mack" mode. After a while leaving my beer on the bar and jacket on the stool I went to the bog. When I returned a bloke had sat right next to my stool. I thought of all the stools in all the gin-joints he had to sit next to mine. I sat down after shifting my stool away a bit so that weren't actually touching. We both sat in silence although he spoke to the barman in Spanish occasionally. From my sly glances and reflections in the bar mirror his demeanor convinced me he was obviously gay. He was shortish, looked seedy, crumpled, and reminded me of Roman Polanski. Then he turned to me and started chatting. In a perverse or some would say perverted way I thought at least I'm still an object of desire for someone. I rather unsubtly put him in the picture by mentioning my three ex-wives, four children, and career in the construction business. I needn't have been concerned because for the next hour and half and several drinks me and Dave hit off big-time. He is an American and now lives in the beautiful Panajachel I mentioned earlier. He is well traveled and has a great sense of history to go along with his geographical experiences. Our politics, outlook, and sense of humour were so similar. He also gave me some interesting information that has made me alter my itinerary slightly. He mentioned Esteli in Northern Nicaragua which was a Sandinista stronghold in the 80's and that it was well worth a visit. It was carpet bombed by Somosa's army and attacked by the Contras financed by Reagan's illegal funding organized by Oliver North. Dave also identified the seat in a hotel in Honduras where North plotted Arms for Irangate scandal. We bade our farewells with a another firm handshake to add to the list. I think pecks of the cheeks of Onka and Jennifer count too.
I've travelled to Copas Ruinas which is just across the border in Honduras and is almost totally concealed in the beautiful mountain forests. I took a picture from a vantage point overlooking the diablo and I could just make out the top of the church in the main (only) plaza and a few red tiled rooftops amongst the foliage.