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Published: August 23rd 2006
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View from the top
A Mayan ceremony atop Volcan Santa Maria Cold. Bleak. Depressing.
Climbing the final ascent of Central America's highest peak was just plain frigid. Sure, it was summer below in Quetzaltenango but up there in the volcanic rise of Tajumulco hail was peppering our tents lightly as a polite patter to the not so polite rumble of my tent mate's snores. It was 4.30 Am and soon we were herded out of our tents by our school principal and a guy who looked a lot like an Ewok (However, I feel obliged to point out that he lacked the requisite agility and strength that they possess. This old geezer was always a good 45 minutes behind the group during the climb. Really, he only had the effusive body hair and sticks that he used for the dual purpose of a walking aide and to poke recalcitrant students out of bed).
The group of 15 or so students from the language school had bandied together at 5 AM the day before and piled into two mini-buses that slowly made through the dry and dusty highlands of Guatemala to the base of Tajumulco. Apart from a few addled Dans who failed to show due to excessive drinking the group
excitedly chatting about the possible effects of the altitude we were about to ascend to. Rumours of head spins, nausea, diarrhoea and vomiting were quickly put from our minds as we stopped at a market near the base of the volcano to fill any empty space in our packs - that wasn't already occupied by excessive supplies of water - with as much chocolate, biscuits or other sugary foods that would sustain us on our epic voyage.
I had been excited about this trip for some time for a few reasons. The views from the top of Volcan Tajumulco are breathtaking. From one side of the summit you are able to see strings of volcanoes, crudely paving the way across Guatemala. Immediately on the other side lies the frontier between Guatemala and Mexico. I was looking forward to getting a view of Chiapas, the state of Mexico that I was planning on visiting. However, the main reason I was excited was that the trip was to be led by the former guerrilla from the civil war who was now employed as a guide at the PLQ. During part of the bitter civil war that enveloped Guatemala for many decades
YOU CAN DO IT!!
Tenna battles a serious injury (nail in foot), not sure what Adelaide was battling that day. the guerrilla group the URNG broadcast the Voz Popular (Popular Voice) to the people of Guatemala. In doing so they broadcast to the population the atrocities and injustices that were being perpetrated by the government against many groups in Guatemala including the indigenous, journalists, teachers, students and professionals. By providing a popular voice for the persecuted people of Guatemala the guerrillas were pursued even more relentlessly by the government forces. Tajumulco was the site of many skirmishes over the years and as it happened our guide, Ronaldo, was one of those who spent years living and fighting on the steep grounds of the volcano.
Past students told me that during the day's climb we would stop to hear stories of what life would be like on the volcano and how the guerrillas, with little weapons or equipment, managed to fight off the army that had been provided weapons by a series of US Governments hell bent on fighting off "communist insurgents" in the Americas. But somewhere along the way someone failed to mention that Ronaldo, quite used to running up and down the mountain, was happy to waltz off at high speeds and leave us to tackle the inclines
Lightning Rod
Me at the top. at our more somnolent western pace. Never one to shy from a challenge, I shouldered my heavy load of water and chocolate biscuits (my, how brave I am) and stalked up the hill after Ronaldo. He was hard to catch up to. Not only had he had years of practice on scaling the mountain he also had brought along a secret weapon - his dad. Loaded up with all of his and his son's possessions, Ronaldo's dad laboured up the hill while his son menacingly stomped alongside him minus the burden of luggage - unless you count the metre long, threatening-looking machete that he swung round as he walked the well trod route.
But I sure as hell wasn't gunna miss the stories - no-siree. Even if i had to run after a crazed, ex-guerrilla with serious father issues who was brandishing a well used weapon I was gunna find out what happened on the volcano. On reaching Ronaldo and his father i was greeted by a knowing smile from Ronaldo and a surprisingly chirpy welcome from his dad considering he had just carried two people's supplies up a few thousand feet. In my best, most polite Spanish i
A man, his cows and their radio
A cowboy i met once. He was cool. began to ask about what happened on the mountain during those years, and silently (as silently as possible for someone who has just spent three hours running up a hill after a Guatemalan Guerrilla) I waited...
"Do you believe in God?"
Hmmm now this was a tricky one. Now as most people reading this blog are well aware, I pride myself on my A Grade Atheism Standings and my ability to bore anyone as to why I believe that there s nothing to believe in. "But", I wondered to myself breathlessly, "perhaps this is a lead in to stories about times on the volcano and if i say no i am about to shut off any opportunity I may get to hear the stories!" Having a crisis of conscience, I made for time by gulping a few mouthfuls of water. "If i tell this guy 'no', will I piss him off and lose both the opportunity to hear the stories and one of my arms?" - he was holding a big knife lets not forget. But damn it all to hell (if i believed in it) before i could even spit my answer out he had launched into
So famous they should put our faces on a cake
In fact they almost did, but instead they put on the face of a rather unfortunate looking baby. It put me off my bread each day as I went into the bakery. XELA WHOOO?? XELA PAN!!! a long, boring speech about he wonders of Christ and the church of the latterday saints. Now those past students had also forgotten to mention that our guide was a Mormon too. As reward for my troubles i got to listen to stories about the Tabernacle Choir and pitch Ronaldo's tent with his Dad.
With a tired face, strained after smiling politely for an hour, i eagerly welcomed the rest of the crew as they made their way to the camp site a few hundred metres below the apex of the volcano. We spent the late afternoon and evening pitching our tents, drinking Quetzalteca Special (the local rum) and making the best meals we could from our supplies.
As the sun set and the chilled wind began to blow all I could make out was the imposing figure of the apex above us and Ronaldo, machete in tow, having quite a heated discussion with some other hikers about who really owned the fire wood of Tajumulco.
To be continued.
[Oh and you may notice that the photos dont really match the blog. That's because I had lots of photos stolen when I had my camera nicked. I hope the thieves love all the great photos I took for my "Stray Dogs of Central America" calendar. If anyone I was traveling with has some they'd like to share, let me know!]
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