Travelers are a strange bunch, forever seeking the elusive bargain; always seeking to prolong the trip by paying less. Some felt the burden of guilt being a rich traveler, and offered to pay. But others still refused and our driver decided the situation would best be solved by driving our van through the gate and over the angry villagers. I looked at my friend and told him I wasn’t so positive that this was a good idea. I secretly wished for a taxi to pass in order to take me back to the village.
We drove through the gate and some very angry villagers.
As we began our ascent to the top of the volcano, an armed guard joined us. I remembered hearing that Pacaya was a safe volcano to climb, so I asked our guide the reason for the guard.
“That is why it is the safest,” he replied.
The climb was difficult not for the terrain, but rather for the altitude. My ears were popping during the ride up to the site, and the volcano was fairly steep. Those not accustomed to the altitude, myself included, had difficulty breathing. Every fifteen minutes or so the group would stop to rest and acclimatize. I was among the last to get up. The trail was dense with trees, bushes and mud. Those at the front of the line had machetes to cut the undergrowth, I was reassured that if anyone surprised us, our guides would be able to chop them into pieces in a matter of seconds. After an hour of climbing, we reached a clearing and stopped to rest once again. It was here that one of our guides and the armed guard turned to leave.
“Where are they going?” I asked.
“They are going to make things more tranquilo with the villagers. They are following us. They are very upset that you people did not pay.”
I suddenly had the feeling that I might die; if not from the villagers or banditos, then from the altitude. I wondered why I decided to come on this trip. I wondered if it was all worth it. I sat down on a rock and looked to the valley that lay below me. In spite of my exhaustion and fear, I noticed for the first time the astounding beauty of where I was. I could see for miles and miles out over the dense forest that covered the entire area. Intermittently I could make out small houses which I later realized were the town of Antigua. All around me were the lushest, most vibrant greens I had ever seen in my life. It appeared almost fluorescent. The ground was so fertile it literally burst with color and seemed to glow in the daylight. The remaining guide told me that the last eruption had occurred seven months ago. It seemed unbelievable to me that the plant life I was looking at had grown for just seven brief months.
Our group continued on. The latter part of the journey was much more grueling than the first. The ground, changing from grass and mud to volcanic rock, was very steep and slippery. It had begun to rain. The temperature dropped. As the cold rain met the volcanic rock, steam began to arise, blocking our view of the volcano summit and the surrounding countryside. The wind began to whip the rain against our bodies, transforming into tiny pins that pricked our skin. I was already completely drenched and falling behind the group. We were too close to the summit to rest again; I could feel the steam rise from the rocks. One fall and I would be singed.
Normally in First World countries, one can never hope to come close to the edge of a mountain or the top of a volcano. But this is Guatemala, and there were no ropes cordoning off restricted ground. No safety nets; no restrictions. Here one can walk to the edge – and off.
I continued to fall behind and wasn’t sure if I would make it. The ground was proving impossible to walk on. The volcanic rock became gravel, and I took one step forward and slid two backward. My shoes became unbearably heavy with accumulated rocks and water. I could not see the others in my group, only vaguely hearing their voices at a distance.
“At least the banditos won’t follow us here,” I thought.
I was now climbing, using my hands to pull myself up to the top. Visibility was now zero. The steam rising from the rocks covered everything. The heat from the rocks below me was so powerful that I took my raincoat off. I was soaked, there was no reason for it now. I took another step forward with what seemed like the final amount of strength I could muster and, suddenly, I encountered level ground. I began to hear voices only a few feet away from myself. I had reached the top. The view was totally obscured from the steam. I didn’t have a chance to use my camera that I had lugged on my back the entire trip, but I felt that I had accomplished something.
The walk back down the volcano was the highlight of the trip. It took me forty-five minutes to climb the final stretch of volcano and five minutes to run down. Gigantic piles of volcanic ash cushioned my steps as I bolted down. My shoes, which were now ruined, filled up quickly with ash and rock and now weighed about ten pounds each. We were descending in total darkness, save two flashlights.
We reached a small village on the side of the mountain and waited there for our transport back to Antigua. I watched the local children fight over trinkets given to them by our group. I felt a little guilty when an empty water bottle I handed to a little boy became the subject of a melee.
As we drove down the narrow road most of the group slept, but I was unable. The other guide had returned and was speaking softly to the other guide so as not to wake us. I feigned sleep and listened as they discussed how nervous they were about being robbed on the way down the volcano. I noticed how tense they became every time we passed another car on the dirt road. I listened as they discussed their strategy if that should occur. I grew nervous as well, knowing that the others slept, blissfully unaware of what was happening. The guides greeted everyone as a brother, smiling and wishing them a good night. My heart jumped in relief as we passed the front gate with no incident.
Back in Antigua at the local bar, I spoke with other groups that had climbed that day. Everyone had an interesting story to tell; especially those that had been robbed. Seems that some of the tour operators were in cahoots with the banditos, running a profitable business in stolen goods. I sat and listened while casually sipping on my drink, content with myself and glad to be alive.