TheBanyanTree: More from Guatemala

[apmartin at canada.com]

First... a quick thanks to those of you who have
responded/commented on my stories.  I appreciate
hearing from you.  I wish I had more time to respond to
each one of you individually but I am short on time...
so much happens every day that I can't get all of it
down.  This time in Guatemala is a wonderful experience.

              A Full Week and then some


It was Sunday, the start of a new week and we were glad
of it.  The previous Wednesday, while returning to Casa
Hogar after visiting the bank, Andrew was brazenly
robbed while on the bus.  When he stood to disembark he
was pinned between two men and shoved off-balance. Now,
that in itself wasn’t uncommon, in fact, the chicken
buses are routinely overloaded and people are always
pushing in the aisles.  Only this time, after cheerily
thanking the driver and stepping outside, Andrew
realized his wallet containing $US225.00 was missing.  

It took an expensive lesson to remind us we had become
complacent.  For our first three weeks in Guatemala, we
carried the bulk of our money in our socks (that’s what
many of the locals do) or in a money belt under our
clothes.  More recently, we started carrying it in our
wallets again because we hadn’t had any problems.  I
kept mine in my backpack and when we were in high-risk
areas, I carried my pack on my front with my arms
crossed over it.

Andrew carried his wallet in his front jeans pocket.  A
week earlier I reminded him of our warnings about
pickpockets and he assured me he would feel it if
someone tried because his jeans were tight and he
usually rested his hand in his pocket.  He hadn’t known
he would be the victim of an orchestrated attack by
professionals.

Now, a new week was beginning, and Andrew decided to
treat himself to a massage.  We had read in the Lonely
Planet about a place in Jocotenango, a village near
Antigua, that only charged 65Q (approximately US$8.00)
for 45 minutes.  It wasn’t hard for Andrew to convince
me to join him.  

We caught the chicken bus outside Casa Hogar, arrived
at the terminal in Antigua twenty minutes later and
spent the next half hour walking to Jocotenango.  Once
we left Antigua we were the only gringos on the street.
 Here, there were no foot police on patrol.  I felt
uneasy and my fears were confirmed when I noticed a man
following us.  

“I think there’s someone following us,” I whispered to
Andrew.  “Let’s stop and see what he does.” 

We stopped, hoping the man would pass us.  Instead, he
quickly ducked into a store behind us.  

“I was right.  What should we do?” I asked.

“Let’s cross the street,” Andrew said.  “At least there
are quite a few people around.” 

We waited for an opening in the traffic and scooted
across the road.  When I looked back, I saw the man
staring at us from the store’s entrance.  I stared
back.  When he realized we were not easy targets, he
gave up.

“Let’s take the bus back to Antigua after the massage,”
I said with a wry smile. “If we come here again, I’m
not going to walk.”

Before long, we found Fraternidad Naturista Antigua and
booked in for a massage.  A young man led us through a
pretty courtyard of palm trees and indicated the door
to the women’s massage area.  I heard loud slapping
sounds coming from inside.  

“Listen to that,” I said to Andrew before he was led
off to the men’s.  “That’s not like any massage I’ve
ever had.”

Inside, in a large common area, four women masseuses
worked on four nearly naked women.  This was unlike any
massage I had in Canada.  There I was alone in a dimly
lit room and a sheet covered most of my body.   

When I lay on the table, my masseuse slathered massive
amounts of oil on me.  She smoothed and rubbed every
part of me including my fingers, toes, face, and scalp.
When she slapped the back of my thighs rigorously, I
felt like a piece of steak being tenderized.  Still,
when I stood up at the end, it was hard to place one
foot in front of the other, I was so relaxed.

When we left, both Andrew and I melted onto the street.
 Nothing could get us to move quickly.  We would have
been prime targets for ‘ladrones’ (robbers) but fate
was kind.  We returned to Casa Hogar safely with all
our cash.

On Tuesday, as part of a team building exercise, Camino
Seguro organized a trip to Pacaya, an active volcano,
for all teachers and interested volunteers.  Pacaya was
on our ‘to do’ list while in Guatemala so both Andrew
and I eagerly signed up.  I envisioned well-constructed
trails and steps to the top.  Although I knew the hike
would be strenuous, I felt up to the challenge.

Everyone met at the Camino Seguro office in Antigua as
requested at 6:45 am but it was close to 8:00 am before
two rented chicken buses full of staff and volunteers
started the hour and a half drive to the base of the
volcano.  Events in Guatemala seldom start on time. 
For those used to punctuality and a structured
lifestyle, it can be quite frustrating.  

As we neared the volcano, we began our ascent on a
narrow dirt road that resembled a dry riverbed.  It was
so rough I was surprised the bus was able to make it to
the start of the trail.

There, the organizers counted heads and paid admission
for 70 people.  Nearby, a cardboard sign next to some
rangy saddle horses advertised they were for rent. 

Hanley Denning, the founder of Camino Seguro, thanked
us for our work with the Project.  Several other
teachers made similar speeches.  One divided our group
into several teams and distributed nametags.  The first
team to reach the top would win a prize.  She
emphasized we needed to stay together at all times for
safety reasons. When we set out, a boy on horseback
followed, hoping one of us would decide to rent his
horse.
  
At the start, a steep trail wound through the woods. 
Most people were in their early to mid twenties and
they walked quickly.  We passed a man leading a
heavily-laden donkey up the trail.

Before long, I was having trouble keeping up.  Andrew
offered to carry my backpack and I gratefully handed it
over.  Carina, a volunteer from Finland, became dizzy
and had to sit down for a few minutes.  When she tried
to walk again, she only made about ten steps before she
collapsed onto the ground.  A few of us volunteered to
stay with her until she felt better.   We gave her
fruit juice and chocolate.  As we waited, two of the
teachers passed us on their way down.  They had already
realized they couldn’t make it.  I was glad to rest
with Carina.  I needed it nearly as much as she did.  

When we continued, we passed a man herding four black
and white cows down the narrow path.  By now, most of
our group had gone on ahead.  A few stragglers from
other teams joined us.  

On our trek through the forest, armed police stood
guard at several locations on the trail.  By the time
we came out of the trees an hour later, we had seen ten
of them.  The path to Pacaya is a favorite locale for
robbers and we met a few unscrupulous-looking men along
the way.  If we hadn’t been in a large group, I
wouldn’t have felt safe, even with the police nearby.  

When we came out of the forest onto a grassy plain, I
finally saw the volcano.  I couldn’t believe we were
going to climb the black lava cone in front of me.  It
was some 500 meters high, extremely steep with no
vegetation.  But I had come this far; I wasn’t going to
give up now.

As we neared the cone, the grass disappeared and
patches of low, thorny plants with yellow flowers grew
in the lava.  To get to the cone, we traversed a narrow
ridge that fell off steeply on both sides.  If one fell
here, it would be likely be fatal.  I realized then
that my vision of the climb was nothing like the
reality.  This was no touristy locale with easy access;
this was the real thing and it wasn’t for the weak of
heart.  I focused on the path ahead of me and did not
look at the cliffs on either side.  A rush of adrenalin
sent a tingle through my body.  

After the ridge, the real climb began.  The volcanic
rock was loose and with every step up, I slid
backwards.  I wasn’t the only one in our small group
who was afraid.  Several women voiced their fears along
with me.  We encouraged each other and did not look
back.

As we climbed higher and higher on the near vertical
slope my fear threatened to paralyze me.  I was too
afraid to go down and too afraid to go up.  A fall
would mean death.  Martin, a volunteer from Britain,
came to help.  He held my hand and reassured me.  He
seemed so sure of his footing that his confidence gave
me the strength to keep going.  

As we neared the top, vents of steam seeped from
fissures in the rock.  Finally, after more than 30
minutes, we joined the others at the summit.  The group
stood on a small, gently-sloped area next to an
enormous crater that rumbled, boiled and burped
sulphur-smelling steam.  It threw lava into the air.  I
was too afraid to go close to the edge for a better
view.  All I wanted was to make it back to the bus
safely.  I wondered if I could.  I was so tired I
didn’t know where I would find the strength to make the
trek down.  By now, clouds had rolled in and visibility
wasn’t nearly as good. It was time to get moving
because a storm was coming.   

To my surprise, the descent was much easier.  We took a
different, gently-sloped path where the loose lava was
about a foot deep.  I was glad that cloud and fog
obscured the steep drop-offs next to the trail.  Jacob,
a volunteer from the USA, gave me a walking stick to
help me.  After a couple of falls, I learned to dig in
my heels first and to move quickly.  Descending the
volcano actually became fun.  By the time I reached the
ridge that had terrified me on the way up, I was too
exhausted to worry.  I planted one foot in front of the
other like an automaton.  

Was I glad I climbed Pacaya?  I was too physically and
emotionally drained to care.  Would I ever climb
another volcano?  Never.  Any feelings of
accomplishment were overshadowed by my feeling of
relief that I hadn’t been injured or killed.  

On Friday I made a trip to Antigua to telephone my
father for his birthday.  While there, I made
arrangements for Andrew, me and four others:  Natalie,
Katy, Carina, and Carina’s friend, Helen, to travel to
Monterrico, Guatemala’s best beach on Saturday, stay
overnight at El Delphin hotel (our friends wanted to
stay in a cheap place) and return to Antigua on Sunday
afternoon.  I had woken up with a mild sore throat and
cough but was so keen on going to Montericco that I
ignored it.

Saturday morning, a shuttle picked us up in San Pedro
for the 2 ¼ hour drive to the Pacific coast.  After the
cobblestones in Antigua, it was wonderful to be
traveling on a smooth, new highway.  As we descended
from the highlands, the temperature and humidity rose. 
The driver pointed out some small volcanoes in the
distance.  We passed sugar cane fields and grassland. 
The vegetation changed and palm trees lined the sides
of the road.  We took a tiny, two vehicle ferry across
a muddy channel for the last part of our journey to
Montericco, located on an island.  

Small stores and restaurants lined Montericco’s dirt
streets.  When the driver let us out, he reminded us to
meet him at 3:00 pm the following day in the same
location.  Monterrico has no banks and most businesses
don’t accept traveler’s cheques.  This small village
was nothing like any tourist destination I had ever
seen.

It was a short walk to our hotel.  Once I saw it, I
entered it reluctantly.  I didn’t have a good feeling
about it but I also didn’t want to spend time walking
from hotel to hotel trying to find a better place for
the same price.

We walked past a couple of vacant hammocks to an open
courtyard with a restaurant and a desk labeled,
‘Oficina’.

Before the desk clerk arrived, I said to the others,
“Let’s have a look at the rooms before we decide.  I
haven’t paid and they don’t have my credit card
number.”    

The clerk led us down a corridor.  At the end of it, we
could see the surf crashing on the black sand beach. 
He showed us our rooms.  They contained three single
beds, each with a mosquito net, a mirror and a couple
of shelves.  Because the others in the group wanted to
keep costs down, I had reserved rooms with shared
bathrooms. Two young women entering their room across
the hall said, “It’s a good place.  It’s quiet.  The
food is cheap and it’s good.”

I said to the clerk, “No cockroaches?”  

He laughed and shook his head to say no.  “We make soup
out of them here,” he said.

Andrew said, “We’re not going to use the room except
for sleeping anyway.  It will be okay for one night.”

I said, “What is the group consensus?  Do you want to
stay?  We don’t have to.”

Everyone indicated that it would be okay for one night
so we returned to the front desk and paid.   After some
discussion, we also signed up for a tour of the
mangrove swamps that left at 5:00 am the next morning.

We spent the afternoon tanning, resting and reading. 
The surf was very strong with a dangerous undertow so I
only spent a couple of minutes in it.  Later I swam in
the hotel pool.

The highlight of the day came at dusk when we walked
along the beach to the Tortugario, a project to save
three species of endangered turtles.   Every Saturday
evening, baby turtles are released just after sunset so
they have a better chance of survival.  At that hour,
the pelicans can’t see them.  A crowd had already
gathered when we arrived.  Natalie and I paid 10Q for a
ticket to enter the turtle race.  The fee was a small
donation for the project.   A worker from the project
drew two lines in the sand parallel to the surf and
roped off the area.  All entrants lined up at the rope.
 

A woman with a large bucket of baby turtles arrived.  I
handed my ticket to her, dipped my hand into the
wriggling mass and chose a likely contender.  I named
mine ‘Hope’ because I hoped he would survive; very few
do.    The baby turtles were agitated.  Some instinct
demanded that they reach the ocean immediately and they
struggled in our hands.  Surprisingly, when I turned
“Hope” away from the ocean, he calmed.  About fifty
entrants put their turtles on the sand and waited for
the count of three.

Once the race started, it was hard to keep track of our
turtles.  It was getting dark and they were the same
color of the dark volcanic sand.  Hope didn’t win and I
lost track of him when I briefly looked at the winner. 
The young girl who set him free won a t-shirt.  
Afterwards, the rest of the turtles from the bucket
were released and we watched as they all made their way
into the sea.  

We went to the Hotel Pez de Oro for an excellent meal. 
I had garlic prawns with rice and vegetables.  For
dessert I had tiramisu and two cups of excellent
coffee.  It had been two months since I had enjoyed a
gourmet meal and I couldn’t have been happier.  To my
surprise, the four young women with Andrew and I opted
to return to the hotel after dinner in order to go to
bed early for our 5:00 am field trip.    

It wasn’t long before we realized that the two women
who told us the place was quiet must have been paid by
the hotel to say so.  All night there was music and
loud voices.  I probably only got two hours or three
hours sleep before it was time to rise at 4:30 am.  

We found out then that the others had even a worse
night.  They discovered cockroaches under one of the
mattresses and two of the women had slept together in a
single bed.  None of us were energetic as we met our
guide in the hotel’s dark courtyard and followed him
through the streets of Montericco.  It surprised me
that many of the locals were drinking coffee and
visiting at 5:15 am in the morning.  A ceremony was
going on at the Catholic Church on the main street and
it was decorated inside and out with sunflowers.  


To be continued