Volcan Pacaya

Around one I stashed my computer in my room, frustrated with a bunch of open source code that didn't work as documented tweaking configurations, trying different version. Enough!

For my final adventure in Guatemala I elected to climb Volcan Pacaya. Across from the town square in Antigua lie many tour operators and all had a morning tour and a sunset tour that departed at two p.m. A ticket was readily secured for $10 USD, most of the tours are priced in U.S. Dollars, different tour operators give different exchange rates. This operator was charging eight Quetzales to the dollar. I paid my eighty and went next door to grab a sandwich. A turkey salad sandwich should not be a very complicated thing to put together, take an ice cream scoop, place a large plop between a couple of piece of bread, and some lettuce and serve. It took me nearly half an hour. When I emerged the van was in the street and the tour operator urged me to quickly board.



In the back of was a tall square jawed rugged looking guy with a three day growth of hair on his face. He had the appearance of special forces. Beside him was a young blonde woman, his daughter? In the middle row a Finnish girl and an American male in his late thirties kept up a continuous stream of patter. This girl liked to travel but spent no more than three days in a country. We picked up pair of gay women one Mexican and one Argentine, The Mexican had a mullet in dreadlocks, this was not my fantasy pair. We drove for about an hour and a half.

The van pulled into a lot and the door was blocked by eager boys ages six to ten anxious to rent out their horses for the trek. Nobody opted for the horses. The initial assent was fairly steep and the boys crowded us with their horses, perhaps hoping that it would be more comfortable to ride one than be brushed up against one continuously. After about three hundred meters the trail became significantly less steep. The soil was all black crushed volcanic rock. All along the trail were flowers and shrubs surrounded by weed free volcanic rock. The whole trek had the look of a garden. The Finn and the Gringo forged ahead with me on their heels and the rest of the troop sauntered behind me. After about forty five minutes the trail bifurcated, I took the one labeled "Camino Principale", what else. Fifteen minutes later I heard "Jaime, necissito caminando abaho!" "Por Que?" "La necesidad de otro camino." I had taken the wrong trail. Rather than descend to the fork we crossed the face of the volcano easily walking between the widely spaced vegetation with only occasional moments of exertion when the soil gave way beneath the foot as when climbs a dune.

We reached the rest of the party, I passed them and headed up, pausing at the next split in the trail until I was given directions. Soon we were in the clouds, the mist swirling and blowing, visibility was in the tens of meters. So much for the sunset view. As we neared the summit the guide threw down some sticks he had picked up along the trail and within 30 seconds they had burst into flames. Vents spewed forth steam which commingled with the cool mist in a most surreal landscape. After fifteen minutes we found an opening in the rock, ten feet below the magma glowed red, molten rock near two thousand degrees. I appraised the span of rock near a foot thick and stepped out onto it to take a picture to be quickly chastised by the guide.

The Finnish girl's attention span had been exceeded. After a two and a half hour journey she wanted to spend no more than ten minutes at the summit. We walked into a cave, experiencing the heat took some shitty photos and started our descent. Descending in flip flops the Mexican woman asked if anybody had a spare pair of shoes. I turned my pockets inside out and shrugged. The others laughed but she did not find it amusing. She traded one flip flop for one of her partners shoes. We descended in the dark, stumbling and sliding.

Finally we reached our starting point, grabbed some beverages and waited for the van. I assumed shotgun and we headed out. Not far down the road the driver met a friend and pulled over and chatted with the guy through the window. After ten minutes I told the guy to telephone his friend; he bade him goodbye and we started off again. Next the driver pulled out his phone and started reading an incredibly long message while driving down the pot holed dirt road at about three miles an hour. After ten minutes of this I asked him to read his message later and to just drive. Just over an hour later we were dropped off at the town square in Antigua. All these tour companies pick you up at your hotel but just drop you off in the middle of town. No big deal, my hotel was only seven blocks away.

A large portable light had been set up illuminating a hundred meters of cobblestone road that had been covered in pine needles. People crowded at either end looking at nothing. Around the corner colorful sand art had been created using stencils. Shortly there after the sound of fireworks filled the air. For seven minutes the firecrackers popped and worked their way down the street toward us. People in costumes bedecked with firecrackers danced down the street in a series of explosions. Nuns and monks, incense, gun powder, but no parade. Strange little event.