A Volcanic Easter in Guatemala
Our entrance into Guatemala was disappointing given the rest of our visit. As my wife, Jess, and I leave the Guatemala City airport late at night we head to the official taxi rank. They quote us $50 USD to get to our hotel. It’s only 5 minutes down the road. I check Uber and it’s $4. You really want to trust in the kindness of strangers, it’s a shame that a faceless app turns out to be a better friend.
Guatemala is the first stop on our relatively unplanned 3 month Central American adventure. We spent the week prior to our arrival in Salt Lake City, Utah, with Jess’ family. They made us feel incredibly welcome and showed us some of the sights of their beautiful state. Whilst there, we created an outline plan for the next leg of our trip, which includes working up north through Guatemala into the Mexican Yucatan, then south on a large horseshoe shaped journey down into Belize, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and weather permitting, Costa Rica.
We decide to begin our trip in Guatemala City. Whilst most travellers recommend leaving the capital city upon arrival, it just seemed rude to land and leave. As I draw the curtains in our modern monolith hotel on our first morning, I’m met by the faint outline of a perfect volcano in the hazy distance. Jacaranda trees with bright purple flowers and pink bougainvillea poke above the general urban sprawl. The weather is not too hot, not too cold. The city sits at an elevation of around 1500m, making it a lot cooler than the lower plains.
After frequenting the gym and pool for a few hours, we get a taxi from our hotel in Zone 10 to Zone 1 and wander the streets. As we’re walking along, a man finishes munching on a Mars bar and throws the wrapper down the drain. A woman sits silently on a stool at the roadside getting her hair cut by a young girl. Decaying wanted posters adorn an old faded building like the Wild West; faces of a silent genocide that ended 40 years ago, people still searching for a justice thats impossible to deliver. It’s an interesting city, but feels divided by the zones it uses to segment itself. Our time here is spent shuttling between the safest, zones 10 and 1. I’m inclined to agree with the guide books, there’s not a huge amount to see, but it’s nice to get a feeling for urban Guatemala. Like the bankers of London, the Guatemalans just refer to it as ‘the city’.
The next day, not out of choice, we get a private car over to the city of Antigua. The bus options seemed very confusing. In part, because by complete chance we’ve arrived in Holy Week, or Semana Santa, just before Good Friday. Everything is either fully booked up or the transport schedule has changed beyond recognition. In the U.K., Easter is usually a subdued event, so the extent of the preparations here takes us somewhat by surprise. After three hours in the car for a journey that should take an hour, we finally arrive at the city of Antigua. All the roads in the centre of town have been closed for the ongoing holy celebrations.
We take the afternoon to walk around the small town centre on the granite stone sett roads, admiring the beautiful old buildings with Spanish architecture. Antigua was the former capital city for the Spanish Captaincy General of Guatemala, which encompassed modern day Costa Rica, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Honduras and a southern section of Mexico. In part, the location was probably chosen by the Spanish because it’s fairly central, but also because of its elevation, giving it a cooler climate. In reality, it was a poor choice. The city is surrounded by highly active volcanoes, one of which erupts every 15-20 minutes and has done since before the Spanish arrived in the 16th century. That should probably have been enough of a warning, but instead it took three devastating earthquakes in the 18th century before they finally moved the capital to what is today Guatemala City. As a result, Antigua was largely abandoned, which in hindsight was a blessing. The old buildings were preserved timelessly. What remains is a combination of old Spanish churches, monasteries, nunneries and various ruins in a town that feels like it’s only just brushed the dust off from the 18th century. Even the Starbucks and McDonalds are attractive.
(Catedral de San Jose, Antigua, Guatemala)
(A boy rides his motorcycle down a deserted granite set road in Antigua, Guatemala)
(A mural ordains the inside wall of Starbucks, Antigua, Guatemala)
The week of Semana Santa is the perfect time to visit, when the streets are occupied only by the walking and the faint hum of traffic is limited to the outskirts. Men and children walk along in full length religious purple robes whilst beautiful carpets made of petals, flowers and stained sawdust are delicately constructed in the centre of the roads. As we amble along, we stumble across an ongoing Catholic procession. It’s like something out of the Godfather Part II, or the day of the dead in Mexico. Pastors swing their incense burning censers back and forth whilst robed women carry a huge wooden float adorned with the Virgin Mary. It’s more than 20 feet long and is supported by as many women. It must weigh multiple tonnes. A large and loud brass band follows closely behind. The streets are rammed. The procession winds its way in a complex route around the grid system of the city centre, reminiscent of the game Snake on a Nokia 6210. As the procession proceeds onwards it walks intentionally over the ornately created flower carpets, turning them into a powdery mess. As soon as the procession has past, a team of men with shovels and a JCB digger swiftly transfer the mushed flower carpet remains into a waiting bin lorry. We wander off slightly in awe of the whole event whilst wandering aimlessly around the colourful market square in the centre of town. It’s only then that we realise it continues night and day for the next three days without break.
(A family cross the street to join the Semana Santa celebrations in purple robes, Antigua, Guatemala)
(Women carry a float dedicated to the Virgin Mary through the streets of Antigua, Guatemala)
(A petal and sawdust carpet, destined to be trodden over and ruined by a procession next morning. Antigua, Guatemala)
The next day we visit the ruins of La Recolección monastery that collapsed during an 18th century earthquake. It’s a monstrously big structure, not in area, but the walls are more than 8 feet thick. Large sections of the remains sit around the main structure, looking like they tumbled down from the White City of Gondor. It’s pretty obscene given that only a few monks actually ever lived in it and it was funded entirely by donations.
(Jess admires the ruins of Recolección monastery, Antigua, Guatemala)
That evening, another smoke filled holy procession winds it way through the city’s central square. We can barely breathe from the smoke and incense as floats are carried by. But at least I have a height advantage whilst watching, the average male height in Guatemala is 1.62m (5’4”). We decide to cross the road at a quiet moment in the procession, only to be immediately met by dagger looks from all the women lining the street. Apparently we’ve conducted a massive faux pas and urgently retreat back into the crowd from the middle of the road. An old man chuckles as we re-enter. He smiles and says ‘gringos’ as he shakes his head left to right. The remaining evening is filled with the sound of bangs as the locals set off firecrackers in celebration. We’ve only been here a few days, but Guatemalans seem to have a general obsession with fireworks.
(Hooded men lead an Easter procession through Antigua, Guatemala)
(Men and women carry angels through the smoke filled streets of Antigua, Guatemala)
(Priests robed in black swing censers filled with incense, choking the streets with smoke, Antigua, Guatemala)
The next week we spend learning Spanish whilst living at a local homestay on the northern side of Antigua. On the first morning we enter a large garden that hums with the sound of knowledge transfer. I meet my teacher, Mauro, and the 5 hour daily exchange begins. Mauro’s a delightful chap and I spend the week ruining his language with my broken ‘Spanglish’. During the week I’m amazed at how much I can pick up with his help. Although, to be honest, I’ve always hated learning languages, and never got close to mastering one other than English. But, for the first time, I think I may understand the principles behind a new one. I wish desperately I could go back to my 14 year old self and explain the subtleties I’ve learnt in just one week with a dedicated tutor. We discuss everything from our respective lives, families, pet likes and hates, through to genetics, diets, and the rather ominous trends of recent global politics. His occasional off shoot takes us into rather uncharted territory, the homosexuality of Ricky Martin and the causes of erectile dysfunction were certainly odd and unexpected tangents. I assume he was asking for a friend. All the time we jump between English and Spanish as I desperately try to cram more vocabulary in, although a girl from our Homestay claims she only ever heard English from my table….
On the Wednesday after Easter, the people of our homestay just seem to decide on a whim that they want to build another bedroom for language students. With a tape measure, cement and some old breeze blocks the process begins. There doesn’t appear to be any need for planning permissions, foundation inspections, or diagrams. Behind the neat facade of the earthquake prone UNESCO World Heritage site a new concrete walled bedroom quickly takes form. I watch the building unfold whilst lifting paint cans filled with concrete that have been provided as gym equipment.
Whilst this is happening, the roads of Antigua are being opened back up. The tranquility of Holy Week/Semana Santa is shattered. Hundreds of old American school buses, driven down and repurposed for public transport, alongside countless cars and motorbikes, fill the streets again, spewing dust and fumes onto the thin sidewalks. As you wander the streets there’s always a hosepipe going, someone watering down a driveway, car, or pavement. A desperate losing battle against the fine dust that seems to coat everything. Maybe it’s from the nearby volcanoes, maybe the traffic, or maybe just from a lack of rain as we approach the end of the dry season. On the final day of language school I’m utterly exhausted, mentally and strangely also physically. I’m also overtaken by a very alien feeling, I have no appetite at all. I go to bed tired with an unusual disinterest in food. This continues for the remainder of my time in Guatemala, my appetite never quite returns to normal. It’s very strange. I’ve been bitten by a few mosquitos in the homestay, so as a virologist, I’m assuming maybe it’s Zika, or possibly my first encounter with a Dengue strain. But, equally, it could just be the heat or the somewhat questionable terracotta water filters.
Whilst the city of Antigua is a destination in its own right, there’s a hike that departs from here that’s on every Guatemalan itinerary, including our own. It’s to the peak of Acatenango volcano, which looks directly over to Fuego volcano, the one that erupts every 15-20 minutes. Our climb starts from the tiny village of La Soledad and heads up through dry farmland on steep slopes covered in rich volcanic soil. Maize is planted throughout. I’ve no idea how it’s surviving in the heat. It’s so dry that your feet slide as you try to climb the powdery slope. Eventually, after an hour in the exposed sunshine, we enter pine forest and the path passes through a series of tight switchbacks. After around 3 hours, we make it to the overnight camp, having climbed around 1100m in elevation. We’re now at a height of 3300m, which is enough for you to experience altitude sickness, but thankfully nobody in our small party of five seems to have any issues. We settle into camp and watch the Fuego volcano erupting wildly as the sun sets and cloud rolls up its banks. As dark arrives it becomes an incredible show. Huge plumes of red hot magma erupt violently from the peak. Often it’s just a small eruption, but occasionally a bright red, orange and yellow spray jettisons hundreds of meters from the top. First, the light hits your eyes and you silently register what’s happened, then the sonic boom comes and the magnitude of the event hits you. It’s one the most magical things I’ve ever seen. In fact, the spectacle aside, it’s also just something I never expected to see. It’s a highlight of our travels so far.
(Smoke and lava spew from Fuego volcano, Guatemala)
(Lava erupts from the peak of Fuego volcano, Guatemala)
After falling in love with the volcano, I spend a horrendous few hours trying to sleep in a sleeping bag that’s too thin for the temperature, on a camp bed that feels like it wants to torture me. I wake from a semi-conscious state to my alarm at 3:30am. When it gets to 4am, I know something’s wrong, we should be hiking the rest of the way to the peak of Acatenango by now to enjoy sunrise from the summit. I go outside and wake our guide. She forgot to set her alarm. The next few hours are a blur. A quick, and rather unnecessary breakfast, followed by a mad dash to the top of the mountain. The vegetation starts to decrease in height as we climb up on fine basalt powder that slides back halfway with every step up. It’s a brutal hike to the top. We gain almost 400m in elevation in 50 minutes. We summit 5 minutes before the sun rises and watch a man vomiting at the peak from altitude sickness. The sunrise is spectacular and Fuego volcano erupts a few times just to top off the show, sending plumes of thick smoke into the sky.
(The close proximity of humans and volcanos is clear to see as the sun begins to rise on a hike to the top of Acatenango volcano, Guatemala)
(The sun rises over the volcanos of Guatemala)
The climb back down to camp takes less than half the time it took to get up, running down and jumping into the soft powder turns out to be the most efficient method. It reminds me of Mount Kilimanjaro from 6 months before. Like hobbits, we enjoy a quick second breakfast watching the Feugo volcano continuing to erupt and then make the remaining climb down to the bus in the morning sun. It’s undoubtedly one of the best hikes I’ve been on. Where else in the world can you get up close to an erupting volcano on an overnight trip from an accessible city?
After the hike, we return to Antigua, wash off a few kilos of volcanic powder, and collapse in a heap. Our next destination will be Lake Atitlan, which is just over two hours drive away. In typical inefficient style, we decide it would be more interesting to trek there over the next four days with a company called Trek Guatemala. Each day they move a van between each camp to set it up ready for dinner on arrival.
Antigua to Lake Atitlan – Day 1
The trip itself starts about 30 minutes outside of Antigua, and it’s quite a surprise to see so much plastic rubbish by the side of the road as we leave the city. It’s a sight that becomes common over the next couple of weeks. Whilst the main cities and towns seem relatively clean, on the rural roads it’s another story. Similar to Nepal, it’s an avoidable shame.
The tour begins with a brief stop at a church, possibly a temple, it’s not clear, dedicated to San Simon. It’s a very odd affair. Prostitutes sit chatting on the steps out front smoking huge rolled tobacco leaves. A fire breather performs on a patch of scorched cement whilst a shaman creates a small circular offering to San Simon before burning them for whoever is stumping for the bill. Inside the church, the main statue of San Simon sits dressed in a black business suit, wearing a black Stetson hat and smoking a cigarette. It’s a rather confusing sight for a church. Needless to say, it’s not recognised by the Vatican. It’s a strange hybrid of Mayan and Christian religions. We take a few pictures and move on. I’m left feeling slightly confused and unsure by the whole thing.
(A shamen outside a church to San Simon smokes three rolled tobacco leaf cigars, one is just not enough. Guatemala)
(Two incarnations of San Simon, one in Nike trainers. Just outside Antigua, Guatemala)
Our hike on day 1 begins by climbing up steep, cultivated, but powder dry, slopes. After an hour we come across a family taking a breakfast break from harvesting cauliflowers. They’re eating fresh melons but accompanied by litres of full sugar Coca Cola straight from the bottle. The first of our group of 7 people walk around their gathering, but Jess doesn’t realise it’s a breakfast event and walks straight through the middle of the group, much to my entertainment.
Further up we enter forest shrouded in dense mist. We arrive at camp by mid afternoon, greeted by a few stray dogs and one really cute one that’s just beyond being called a puppy. The camp itself would be more accurately described as ‘glamping’. We have a blow-up double bed with duvet, lamps, rugs and hot water bottles. Unfortunately, the shower that was meant to be included is apparently broken, so there’ll be no shower for four days. The food is great, a local dish called Pepian. It’s like a black bean stew with chicken. For dessert, we roast marshmallows over the camp fire and make something called S’mors. It’s a first for me. The jury is definitely still out.
(Jess hikes through the forests and fog. Near Antigua, Guatemala)
Day 2
The second day begins by walking through a small town. Our guide points out the sporadic rows of icote plants, a spiked palm that’s used to mark out the boundaries to farmers fields. At first I think it’s a strange method, but then I remember the classic English hedgerow and it seems less so. We climb down to a suspension bridge where we meet a local guide, Lucio, who helps us navigate the next climb up through coffee plantations with his dog, Tigre. The soil is dark and rich, fuelled by the life and death of a thousand generations of former plants and energised by the minerals of volcanoes. We hike up to a small village on a hill and stop for lunch. The dogs, cats and a horse all look very thin in the dusty poor village surrounded by hills of agriculture.
(Jess celebrates our arrival at a bridge on the trek to Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
As we arrive at camp that afternoon, a group of small children gather. Our guide hands out some toys and a football he brought with him. I play for a few minutes thinking it’ll be fun, but the altitude (just over 2400m) catches me completely off guard. I’m gasping after only a few meters of running.
As dusk approaches, a girl, no more than 10, walks through camp carrying logs on her head, which barely moves as her shoulders sway. A boy no more than 6 walks shortly behind, hauling a single large log on his back, then returns the way he came for more. Children join us on our deck chairs, their faces are filthy, maybe 5 of them. A boy, no more than 6, runs along laughing waving an adult machete as if it’s a toy. He stops and leans on it like it’s a walking stick he’s used for many years. A young girl, less than 60cm tall is dressed like an adult in full decorative Mayan dress. Jess comforts a young boy kicked by one of the others. It’s a cute few hours, but ultimately a sad scene. The poverty is clear to see, and these children aren’t going to school anytime soon. Depressingly, a life toiling in the fields is much more likely.
(A small boy leans on his machete in the hills between Antigua and Lake Atitlan)
Day 3
We start the third day hiking up through sloped fields of peas destined for export. Our guide jokes that they probably go to America, get canned, then end up back here. We reach our highest point of the trek at 2700m elevation before descending slowly, initially through forest rustling with a strong breeze and then down dry slopes before entering a small village and walking along the roadside. The mist sets in as we descend to camp. In a village nearby, two old ladies show us how traditional Mayan clothes are produced using a back strap loom. It’s oddly similar to the exact same device we saw a world-away in Bhutan a few months earlier. We then go into one of their houses and watch them make tortillas. She passes me the soft mixture, like the Play-Doh you’d use as a child. It’s exceptionally hard to flatten into a perfect circle without it sticking and tearing in your hands. It takes me back to learning to bake with my grandma as a child. I’ve always loved the kitchen. Watching her work inspires me to cook more when I get home. Our determination pays off, we leave with a napkin full of slightly misshapen tortillas for dinner.
(Trying my best not to embarrass myself making tortillas. Near Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
After dinner that evening a tiny red dot appears on the skyline in the far distance. The Fuego volcano putting on another performance.
Day 4
On the last day of our trek we wind our way down towards our final destination, Lake Atitlan. As we hike, small kids come the other way carrying logs up on their backs and we move to let them by. Avocado trees, pruned to prevent them getting too tall, line the path. Their round ball-like seeds becoming a significant trip hazard. The people of Guatemala don’t go hungry, they’re just poor. It seems slightly incongruous. They are clearly capable as a nation of complete self-sufficiency. Almost everyone from the age of 5 seems able to grow plants, bending often challenging environments to their will. They are rewarded for such self-sufficiency by being 110th for GDP per capita on the global stage. It seems strange that sitting at a computer is deemed a more advantageous skill in the world we now live in.
As we get closer to our destination, we stop at a coffee processing farm which gives a hint at part of the problem. They explain that in order to export their coffee they have to sell it to a large multinational corporation. The cost of the export license is in the tens of thousands of dollars. It hints at a system of mass exploitation, where profit margins can be maintained by limiting the growers ability to sell for anything other than what the exporters unilaterally agree is a fair, or unfair, price.
The coffee processing facility itself feels a bit like I’d imagine a cocaine facility in South America to feel. It’s a large hard-packed earthen square at the back of a property with a series of ramshackle handmade machines. They separate the skins from the beans themselves, then ferment them for 48 hours, then put them in water and remove anything that floats. They then dry them for 7-8 days in the sun before heading off for roasting. The coffee itself tastes amazing, but it’s fascinating to see the humble beginnings of something that looks so refined and decadent at its final location in the U.K. or the USA.
(A coffee processing facility near Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
(A woman and her son inspect the coffee beans, near Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
The hike continues up to a view point over Lake Atitlan before winding down into the terraced village of San Antonio Palapo. Water irrigation systems run through terraces made from granite stones bound together by dry mud. Chives, onions, bananas; they all grow between houses in every available space.
Once we arrive at the lake shore it marks the end of our four day trek. We take the obligatory group photos and say goodbye to our trekking buddies. We board a small speed boat which heads out onto the water. As the sun is dropping it reflects off the shimmering water whilst hazy clouds shroud two huge volcanoes in the distance. As we sit at the front of the boat as it bounces over the small wind crest waves it’s a perfect end to six arduous days of hiking.
(The view over Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
Like Acatenango volcano, Lake Atitlan is on every Guatemalan itinerary. The lake itself is the remnants of a super volcano that erupted approximately 85,000 years ago. The caldera collapsed and has subsequently filled with water, creating the lake. Our time here is mainly to relax, so we walk over to Santa Cruz La Laguna and hike up into the town. Sitting having lunch on a veranda overlooking the lake it’s hard not to reflect on the last few days and the standard of living of the people in the small houses in the foreground below the cafe. They’re mainly concrete buildings with rusting tin roofs. The wind blows strongly and some of the sheets creak in the breeze. Small dirt paths lead between the houses as faint spirals of smoke billow from the odd house. How lucky we are to have such well made houses, constant access to clean fresh water and a hot shower on tap. A toddler runs out onto her tiny balcony on the building next door. She bangs her hands on a thin sheet of metal strung up poorly as a barrier, the only thing stopping her from falling 20 feet down onto a series of metal poles projecting upwards from the building site next door. How worried I’d be if I had a child here, knowing the security and safety of the home I grew up in.
The lake itself and surrounding towns are varied, San Marcos with its hippy alternative vibe, San Juan with its colourful, umbrella adorned streets, music bands and touristy feel. Santa Cruz La Laguna, where we have chosen to stay, just feels like a small local village on a very steep hill with a couple of hostels and cafes. The main method of transport is by boat. The steep lakeside hills make travel by car borderline impossible. On occasion the boats are completely full, you’re packed in like sardines and get soaked if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction.
(Street art at San Juan La Laguna, Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
(Umbrellas adorn the streets of San Juan, Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)
After a few relaxing days by the lake it’s time to move on, this time into Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula and Belize. After five and a half weeks we re-enter Guatemala from its eastern border to visit the epic Mayan ruins of Tikal.
For those who know anything about Mayan ruins, which before this trip did not include me, Tikal is high on the list of destinations. It’s one of the best preserved and largest city ruins of its type in Central America. Its architecture, I can confirm from others we’ve visited in Mexico and Belize, is highly unique.
Our trip to the ruins started early with a bus collection from our hotel in nearby Flores at 6am. There’s not enough seats and I’m not far off sitting on the drivers lap. We enter the park at 7am. It’s quiet and surprisingly cool in the morning air. We enter the main plaza and I’m blown away. The pyramids are tall and imposing, surrounded by a range of ancillary structures. They’re steeper than others in Mexico and Belize with unusual stone ‘roof combs’ at the top. Work to restore many of the buildings is still underway. As you walk through dense jungle of the 16 sq/km main site, along ancient Mayan roads through dense jungle, you see large mounds of earth, covered in trees and vegetation. Ruined Mayan structures still waiting to be uncovered. Spider monkeys clamber through the trees, a white nosed coati nuzzles its way through vegetation in search of insects for breakfast and an orange breasted falcon sits silently on a piece of wood erected over a millennia ago. I wasn’t expecting an add-on safari. It’s an amazing site to visit, one of my favourites. Climbing the wooden steps of the tallest pyramid (Temple IV, 65 meters high) to get the view from the top; dense jungle extending into the distance with just the tops of Mayan ruins poking above, will remain a lasting memory. Surprisingly, and thankfully, it was also a relatively cool morning. By mid-afternoon, long after we’d left, the temperature hit 42 degrees Celsius (104F).
(Temple I and the main square at Tikal, Guatemala)
(The imposing steps of Temple V, Tikal, Guatemala)
(A spider monkey reaches for fruit, Tikal, Guatemala)
(An orange breasted falcon perches on a Mayan lintel, Tikal, Guatemala)
Unfortunately our trip in Guatemala ends with a low. As I come down for breakfast at the small hotel near Tikal, I see the friendly young dog that’s shown me much affection over the last few days. It’s sitting by the kitchen curled up. I’m about to order breakfast when the hotel owner walks by the dog, grabs it by its front legs and picks it up. It’s yelping loudly in pain. He starts to carry it off by its legs and I can hear it crying as he’s walking with it. I run out of the restaurant, slightly like a mad man I’ll admit, and see he’s holding it by the scruff of its neck, swinging it as it yelps in pain. I shout at him, he turns, but then I realise the language barrier is going to make this difficult. He gets the message though. He walks off holding the dog close to his chest muttering. The women in the hotel, Hotel Mon Ami in El Ramate, think it’s funny that I would care about a dog so much. I’m so angry I refuse to eat there. We walk into town instead and I eat some eggs whilst seething. I hate it when people abuse animals.
Despite the trip being book ended by a rip-off taxi rank and animal abuse, I loved Guatemala. I’m writing this after visiting a number of its neighbours and I think it’s one of my favourite countries in Central America. It has a lot to offer in a small area, and there was plenty more we didn’t see. Its geography is complex, its history long and chequered, and its people delightfully friendly. The high and rugged volcanoes make for some incredible trekking and the dense jungles abound with hidden Mayan treasures. I really didn’t know what to expect from the Guatemala, but I’m certainly not leaving disappointed.
(Top image: views across Lake Atitlan from Atitlan Sunset Lodge)