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A grand sight
HJT in the Grand Plaza at the Tikal ruins After my exceedingly brief stay in Belize, I headed across the border with Northey into Guatemala. Soon after we crossed the border on foot I got the impression of a country full of shysters and grifters, as we had a number of what seemed to be father and son combinations attempting to hornswoggle us into paying an astronomical price for the short trip from the border to Flores. Unaccustomed to having a travel partner and relishing the blanket of security it provided, I was initially a softer target than usual for the unscrupulous good hustler/bad hustler routine they were laying on thick and fast. After crunching a few numbers in my head however, I realised that they had seen me coming and became overly determined not to fall prey to their scamming. Furthermore, I didn't want to lose face and appear like a pigeon to Northey, himself a traveller known for his intrepidity and durability. Thus, I felt a consequent determination to drive the hardest possible bargain, almost prepared to wait another couple of hours until the right deal came along. Northey thankfully provided a steadying voice of reason and we were on our way to Flores at a reasonable
price not long after.
I momentarily forgot the value of Northey's wise counsel and fine company the following day when he 'accidentally' locked me out of our room at the hostel as I showered. In the ensuing nervous and anger filled moments I was forced to wait wearing nothing but a barely there towel as the hostel manager first searched unsuccessfully for a spare key, and then picked open the hundred odd staples of the flywire screen covering the window to recover the key from inside the room. Once I was clothed, we headed off to Tikal to see the Mayan ruins. Their location in the middle of the Guatemalan jungle made the whole experience seem even hotter and sweatier than perhaps it was, but this couldn't take away from the amazing sights on offer. Perhaps best of all was the view from near the top of temple four, the tallest of all the temples, from which you looked out and saw nothing but the tops of the other temples poking through what looked from that vantage point to be thick, rather impenetrable jungle. More than any other, this vista made enduring the strange smell which permeated through the
jungle (which to me smelt like fish being barbecued in lemon and pepper) all worthwhile.
With little else to see in Flores we once again moved on swiftly, catching the overnight bus that night to Antigua via Guatemala City. In booking the bus ticket, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the bus was listed as 'first class with air conditioning', especially as many of my other bus experiences throughout Central America had been rather subpar. I would hate to see what a second or third class bus in Guatemala would be like. If I'd had someone sitting next to me and forced to sit straight in my seat my knees would have been poking into my chin. The air conditioning was effective though. Ruthlessly so. I was doing my level best to get some shut eye ahead of a big planned trek the following day but it wasn't easy given the near-Antarctic conditions coupled with the fact that I was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt and all the warmer clothes I had were in my bag under the bus.
Reading about the climb up the Pacaya volcano (one of Central America's most active) as we booked
up for it I was rather shocked to hear that most climbing groups did the trip accompanied by an armed guard due to the many muggings that take place. When we got to the bottom of the volcano and I saw that our guide was going to be a decrepit, hunched old man I was hardly filled with confidence of a safe journey ahead. Nonetheless, I had heard stories from fellow travellers of people roasting marshmellows over streams of lava and therefore had no hesitation in heading up to witness this phenomenon for myself. With no bandits active on this particular day, the main difficulty we endured during the climb came once we got to the section of the volcano which was all hardened volcanic rock. It parts it was very loose and any stumble threatened some nasty flesh wounds on the jagged, rocky surface. After making it to the highest point allowable at that time (due to activity) and marvelling at the incredible views while having the soles of our shoes partially melted by the red hot rock in parts just below the surface, we headed back down.
The descent was even more difficult and treacherous than the
ascent, and as we neared the edge of the volcanic rock section the relief at not having taken a stumble caused me to lower my guard. No more than 10m before the ground flattened out and the danger subsided, I stumbled, fell, and landed on my hands and knees. I consider myself lucky that I didn't break my wrists or any other bones, but the gaping gashes on the palms of my hands are only now (almost 3 weeks later) beginning to heal. Embarrassed by my carelessness, and with the "oooohs" and "aaaahs" of the fellow climbers who had witnessed my fall ringing in my ears, I quickly bounced up and pretended everything was OK. In my hour of need Northey, being the great mate that he is, was guffawing with laughter. The stinking rat.
I had forgiven him before we were forced to part company the following day. He was heading off to Lago Atitlan (reportedly magnificent) but time wouldn't allow it for me as I had to leave on a bus at 4AM the following morning to head to Guatemala City to fly back into the creature comforts of Western civilisation in Vancouver.
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