Back to school: Guatemala

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16th -27th

Soon after we arrived back in Belize City, we found ourselves on a mini bus to Flores. The border crossing was relatively easy, although we nearly missed the seemingly optional immigration desk and thus nearly missed the crucial entry stamp which allows us 90 days in Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua.

Flores itself was nice, also island-like, in the middle of a great lake. We stayed in a simple hostel, shared a single bed (not unusual given that one bed is more often than un-inhabitable and we only have one mosquito net), and tried to sleep. I had volunteered James my sleeping liner (assuming I’d be cold) and tucked myself up in my bag, thus spending the night sweaty and itchy and completely unable to sleep. I was very relieved when my alarm went off at 4am and I was able to get up, shower and get ready to board the bus to Tikal.

We arrived at Tikal at 7am, shocked at the unexpected high entry fee, opted out of the guide option and went in to explore. Tikal is one of the most famous Mayan ruin sites and really rather spectacular. Due to lack of historical knowledge and tiredness however, I was less than enthused. Especially as I knew we had to make it until 12.45 until the first bus left to return to Flores. Highlights included spectacular views over the vast jungle from the top of the pyramid-like ruins, tiny frogs (literally the size of large ants), howler and spider monkeys, and toucans, oh and our sandwich spread filled burger buns which we had for breakfast and then for lunch (at about 10.30)! Back at Flores we spent the day wandering around and discreetly using the wireless internet from the place we had been staying (we had been snuck the code by a kind man at the desk who had promised to give it to us before he and James had been told, in no uncertain terms by the stern lady who presumably ran the place, that guests were not allowed to use the wireless). We waited, thus, for our 10pm overnight bus to Antigua.
The bus journey was not exactly what we had expected. I had brought my sleeping bag on with me, much to James’ amusement, but we were both soon incredibly grateful for it. The bus was like a walk-in fridge, and for once, I was able to take the ‘cold seat’ and protect my always-warm boyfriend from the cold! We arrived in Guatemala City early and waited in a refrigerated waiting room for a connecting bus to Antigua (part of our ‘direct’ ticket). Half an hour or so later, a man entered and vaguely looked around for the gringos, found us, and shoved us and our bags onto a mini bus and drove us to Antigua. We arrived there around 6.30, hungry and craving coffee. We found a camioneta (chicken bus) stop and waited at the adjacent cafe savouring hot coffee and slightly stale muffins.


Our bus to Panajachal on Lake Atitlan arrived around 7am, our bags chucked on the roof, and we took a seat on the near empty bus. It didn’t become too overcrowded until much later in the journey and thus it was a rather comfortable initiation into the chicken bus travelling style to which we were determined to habituate.

Once at Panajachal, a Spanish school that we liked was soon found, a homestay arranged, and we settled in to what was to be our home for the next 7 days. The town itself is situated on the overpoweringly beautiful lake, whose blueish hue seems to envelope the surrounding towering volcanoes that protectively watch over it. It was while taking in this view over a beer in a local cafe, that we got our first taste of Guatemalan hospitality. I was in the toilet while James started talking to the man and his son in broken Spanish. By the time I was out and sipping at my beer again he had offered to buy us another couple of beers. I’m afraid our astounded disbelief and shock and instinctual fierce refusal may have come across as a little rude and the man and his son, cheerily enough it must be said, headed off.
The Spanish course itself was largely good. I was astonished at my initial ability to concentrate for 4 hours straight (although admittedly my concentration did wane towards the end of the week as tiredness took over and my brain became overloaded). Frustrations did emerge, on my part, in the most childish of ways however. After the first couple of days, it became clear to me that James and his teacher were going much, much faster than my teacher and I (the classes were one on one). My teacher, it seemed, was obsessed with practice, while James’ was happy to teach him the rules and trust that he would do the necessary practice in his own time. Even when I requested that we take the same technique so that James and I were, to some extent, at a similar knowledge base at the end of the course, she continually reminded me that we should be practicing and that I had to promise to practice afterwards. Poor James had to deal with my post-school tantrums! It did improve however as, unfortunately, my concentration waned. After class great lunches were provided and we spent the afternoons doing homework and wondering around the town with an Australian girl who was also taking classes.

We took Sunday off to climb San Pedro, a huge volcano on the other side of the lake. We (James, Kate (the Aussie) and I) left around 6 am and took a boat across to ‘San Marijuana’ as the Panajachal people call it. There, we bought ourselves some breakfast, some bananas (later dubbed ‘emergency bananas'), bread (both sweet and savoury), and made our way to the office at the start of the walk where we were required to pay the 100 quetzales entry fee. The entry pays for security. The volcanoes around the lake are notorious for bandits who rob and sometimes rape both men and women, so we were happy to pay the fee in return for our safety.

The walk itself was tough, to say the least. It was a good four hours up, and the up was very steep. The relief at the top was immense, though tainted with the thought of the journey down which we knew would not be kind on our pathetically ancient knees...and it wasn’t. Kate, however didn’t seem to struggle at all, which made us feel all the more pathetic and old. We were only just back in time for the last boat to Pana. The boat journey was very choppy and slightly nerve racking. It was not until the next day that we found out that earlier that Sunday a ferry, presumably like ours, had capsized and killed three people.

Although we slept well, Spanish the following day was nigh on impossible. I was almost falling asleep at the desk. The afternoon was spent doing as little as possible.
Tuesday morning, and our last in Pana, we had a great goodbye breakfast feast, heaved our backpacks onto our backs and stumbled down the street to the hotel-cum-bus stop and waited for out mini bus to Antigua.


In Antigua, we found a hostel with kitchen facilities, dumped our bags, and went off to explore the oxymoronically dubbed ‘lovely colonial town’. First impressions were bemusement at the prices which we had wrongly assumed would be cheaper than in Panajachel, and at the sheer amount of tourists. We had planned to leave early the following morning for El Salvador, but were dissuaded by a Dutch couple who recommended we climb Pacaya - the active volcano near Antigua. Still sore from San Pedro we somehow convinced ourselves and didn’t set the alarm.

At 2pm the following day we boarded a mini bus for Pacaya and an hour or so later we disembarked, hired sticks off a little girl (we were still very sore and needed all the help we could get) and bought 4 large marshmallows and started the treck. The walk was incredibly easy in comparison to San Pedro (most of it was a proper path), and it only took an hour and a half, including frequent stops to reassemble the group. The active part of the volcano was slightly separate from the grassy bit we had been climbing for the first hour. No plant life grew here. Instead, the grounds surface was a mixture of volcanic ash, volcanic rock, and what had been molten lava, hardened to form convenient breaks from the rocky rubble that we otherwise had to climb. This was definitely the most difficult part of the climb, though the most rewarding.

People are not allowed up to the crater anymore, there have been too many deaths. Apparently it was closed after a tourist was leaning over to photograph the lava, lost his footing, and fell in. A very James Bond way to go I thought.

Anyway, as you near the top (you can still get pretty close) you begin to feel the heat raise from beneath you, which is something of a relief given the fact that night is drawing in, and, at the altitude and with the wind it is really quite cold. Suddenly glowing embers become visible, which, after closer inspection, turns out to be a slow thick stream of lava making its way down the volcano. People stood by it, prodding it with sticks, some toasting marshmallows (us included), while it rolled along right next to us. Occasionally sizable chunks slowly broke off and rolled down towards us (and we were very close as it was). Several times I pulled James back out of fear that he would be burnt, or worse. It was a matter of seconds after separating from the flow, however, before the bright orange lava turned to black rock. It was remarkable. There are not many places you can get so close to something so lethal, the potent heat being the only barrier between the people and the lava. Apparently we were quite lucky to see lava, a German girl we met later in El Salvador, informed us that she too had climbed Pacaya, but there was none to be seen.

All too soon our guide was calling for ‘the Tigres’ (our group) to make our way down and fearing getting lost and/or falling down the rocky face which was hard enough to get up and now it was nearing pitch dark, we hurridly began our descent. It was 9 oclock by the time we got back to the hostel. An early night was had as we really were off to El Salvador early in the morning this time!

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Photos

writing the blog
- probably mexico!!