Tajumulco is an extinct volcano and the highest point in all of Central America. These two facts were enough to entice me to climb and for the desire to become overwhelming. This became especially pressing following my failure to successfully arrange the hike of two volcanoes at a price acceptable to me. Since I was not able to satisfy my urges through volcanoes quantitively, I decided to satisfy it qualitively, by reaching the summit of the highest one.
Unfortunately Tajumulco is not one of the most popular attractions in Guatemala. Even with a large notice along the whiteboard in Casa Shekina, nobody emerged to enquire about joining me on this trip. This did erode my desire in the slightest even when nobody at Maximo Nivel could give me any helpful advice. However some quick and painless research throught the Internet yielded me an organisation called Quetzaltrekkers, which specialised in all sorts of hikes, volcanoes, single or multi-day. They are also a non-profit organisation which donates all their profits towards charities, such as one that funds a school for street and at-risk children. They also offered what I considered a great deal; 50 dollars for a 2 day hike with all necessary gear and meals provided. The plan was that the first day was used to reach an altitude of 4000 metres, camp out for the night, climb the final 200 metres just before the sun rose and watch as the sun rose from the summit. The trip was well described on the site and proclaimed that you did not need to be a fitness fanatic to successfully climb up to the summit. This was all I needed and I proceeded to swiftly pay the deposit fee for the equipment and book a shuttle to Xela where Quetzaltrekkers was based.
The drive to Xela was uneventful except for the inability of the bus drivers to find Casa Shekina as the slightly grumpy lady informed when I boarded the shuttle bus. After 2 changeovers the bus dropped me off at a building wit a wall painting of random volcanoes and with 'Casa Argentina" written on top. I felt like I was at the right place but this feeling started to drain away once someone let me into the house. The first room I saw ad posters and boards advertising Quetzaltrekkers, but the room on which these notices were pinned covered in curtains and generally seemed uninhabited. Waiting for a few moments I decided to proceed towards the noise that I heard further along the corridor past a turn. I encountered a woman speaking on the phone, who after looking up at me briefly, proceeded to continue her conversation. Since I could not see another single living soul, I decided to wait, even though she seemed in no apparent hurry to finish her conversation. Finally she put the phone back in her pocket and turned in my direction. I told her I was here to speak to Quetzaltrekkers, at which point se immediately sprang into action, ran into a neighbouring room, extracted a key and proceeded to show me to a room. I had not requested a room, even though I was intending too. Having handed over the key, se departed leaving me to settle in my room. At this point I did not know if accomodation was included in the fee for the hike and even if not the price of less than 5 dollars per night for a private room gave me no reason to protest her actions.
I proceeded to explore the courtyard further. The hostel was organsied into rooms on ground floor, with a flight of stairs leading up to another row of rooms on the second floor. Tere was acourtyard below at the end of which was several offices and a fair trade shop. More posters of different hikes were there, with pictures and photos of the different hikes. Even tough there was nowhere else to go and the offices seemed like they belonged to the organisation, silence and cshut doors was all that greeted me. Just behind me, in one of the rooms a group of Guatemalans seemed to be having a good time, shouting and laughing. Having nothing else to do, I browsed the bookself for some non-fiction book that would pique my interest, and having selected one, proceeded to read it. I was a good 20 pages in when Guatemalan woman approached me and asked whether I was a guide or a client. Hearing me answer that I am client she sighed and suggested that we wait for another 20 minutes during another man also approached and asked me where everybody was. Finally around 10 am, a solitary woman walked up to me and asked what I was up to. I introduced myself and told her I was here to sign up for the Tajumulco hike. After sorting out the necessary payment, she told to be back at the hostel at 5pm. I took this as a subconscious suggestion to go out and explore Xela since I had nothing else in particular to do.
Xela seemed to be like any typical Guatemalan town, only bigger and with more rows of houses sprawling diagonally insted in rows and columns like in Antigua. The houses were also lower an more dilapidated in general with a huge number of small stores proliferating everywhere, some better stocked than others. What also was a curiosity was the existence of several larger stores solely dedicated to alcohol of many varying types. This was surprising for me since Guatemala was meant to be more religious than a typical Western country but it seems that machoism and the need to drink to prove it trumps any religious sentiment.
After walking in many different directions away from the hostel I was able to reach a square of some sort, with a large avenue and church surrounding the square on both sides. I had had breakfast in a small restaurant, which seemed much bigger on the inside than it did when viewing from the outside. This illusion was created by the fact that the entrance was narrow while the room itself was more like a cavern within the building it was located in. I wanted to try a different restaurant for lunch so I kept browsing the streets for something acceptable. I eventually settled for what seemed like a very fancy restaurant, or at least one with a certain status since only Guatemalans were present and who all proceeded to stare at me, even the waitress. Waiting for a few seconds, I approached the waitress herself and asked for the menu. Seeing no English in the menu and wanting to ask what I would be getting for what was high prices by Guatemalan standards, I peppered the waitress with questions. Her accent and diction, choice of vocabulary left me all puzzled and unable to comprehend the answers. I tried asking my questions in different ways but found no respite. Finally feeling obligated to have a meal after using so much of the waitress' time, I asked to be seated. Despite only knowing the word of salad in Spanish out of the choices presented to me for entrees, I was able to order and feast on a magnificent platter of grilled fish.
I returned in time for the pre trek meeting. We were all handed things that we would carry in our backpacks up the volcano and for which we were responsible for. I would carry up parts for an outer tent, trailmix which I had to ask what it was, plate with spoon along with things that I would need personally. This included a rain jacket, sleeping mat and bag, fleece jacket which was my own, poncho, flashlight, gloves and touque. We parted with a warning that were to head at 5am the next morning and with the request to not be late since we would be holding the rest of the group.
I had set the alarm for 4am but was only able to roll out of bed by quarter to 5 at which point I had to hurry to make it in time. My backpack was fully packed and tried wearing it for the first time. The first 5 minutes did not clarify anything for me and since I had never before worn a backpack, I had no idea whether I would be able to continue carrying it after 2 days of hiking. Still me and another 10 people headed out into the dimly lit streets, boardingthe back of a lorry. As soon as someone commented that we looked as if we were preparing to be smuggled across a border, a police car pulled up behind us and accompanied us for several minutes. Someone broke the momentary tension by waving at the police car.
We arrived promptly at the bus station pulling up behind 2 buses. We switched the lorry for the bus and were just staring to stretch our legs on the bus when the most bizare thing happened. The bus driver was approached by another man who without further adue proceeded to launch a barrage of hooks and uppercuts on the driver. The driver could only shield himself but the barrage thankfully for him lasted only a fraction of a minute. The attacker proceeded to step outside of the bus and was followed by the bus driver who apparently wanted to get some payback. After only some marginally loud yelling, the two men grappled once more with the bus driver being lifted and then dropped on the floor, only to be then separated by cooler heads. The whole incident may have lasted just under a minute but it certainly gave everyone something to talk about. The rest of the bus ride was filled with conversations of people getting to know one another, finding something to mutually admire and building rapport.
After a sumptuous breakfast and a switch to a minibus, we proceeded past San Marcos towards the foot of the volcano itself. Several times we heard a loud thud which was eventually determined to be a tire, which was removed. Such was the hole on the removed tire that I could see it from 2 metres, which knowing the strength of my vision means that either I was squinting very hard or the hole was quite large.
Eventually we were dropped off at the side of the road and told that we would walk for 10 minutes towards the start of the trail before taking some time to really prepare for the gruelling challenge ahead. We reached a grassy patch just past the sign which heralded the start of the hike. The summit could not be seen, which did feel disappointing, since the presence of a material and visible goal would help motivate me. Nonetheless I and my co-hikers gathered round a lazily sleeping dog which usually followed different treks up the mountain, hoping to snag some goodies. We all introduced ourselves, told what our superpower of choice was and listened to how the hike would proceed, some basic rules and the schedule for the day. We were to have breaks every 45 minutes, with the aim of the day being to reach base camp at 4000 metres from our current altitude of 2300 metres. We would be accompanied by 3 guides, Andrew, Miriam and a local guide called Lorenzo. They took up various positions along the group with one guide also being behind everyone else.
It immediately became apparent to me how unaccustomed I was to the altitude which I kept climbing. I have lived the vast majority of my life at sea level, literally just by the sea. It is usually advised that you spend some time in Xela before attempting the hike to allow for acclimatisation. I did not do this and could feel the impact. Every step upwards at any incline started and began with a deep gasp with panting in between. The higher I climbed the deeper I had to breathe and the more I struggled. I tried talking to Miriam, hoping it would distract for my increasing lack of oxygen but she seemed to be having a harder time than I was, being unable to respond to my questions except when she would stop for a break. As I became more and more fatigued, it was if I was just saw the path immediately around and everything else had disappeared. Speaking to others who struggled as I did, they told me that kept telling themselves to go judt that one step. For me most of the time was just blank. To motivate myself I would say that after a certain steep hill, I would have a break as a reward. Returning was never an option but at only the thought that I would succeed flickered in my mind. The certainty and the image of me recounting my adventure on Monday when I would be back in Antigua. But overall I made one more step, gasped, made another. Having done this I would likely the courteously disagree with the person who said the first step is the hardest. The next 10000 are.
Right after we had breached the clouds on our way to base camp the sky became grey. Just as we preparing to keep walking after a typical break, it began to rain a little, giving me a chance to try my poncho. The rain stopped fairly quickly and becoming hot in it I took it off. 10 minutes later I regretted this. There is a moment just before it starts to really pour when you can almost hear what is a flood of water about to descend from above. I immediately grabbed my poncho but in my rush put it on awkwardly. My head was covered, my one arm was sticking and everything below my waist was exposed to the element. usually in Antigua the rain will be strong but it will not last past an hour. Here however the rain continued for the last 2 hours that it took me to reach base camp. And not only did it rain but an intense hailstorm also commenced. Overall my last 2 hours were spent trying to shield my face from hail, feeling the hail hit my back, avoiding puddles that were becoming lakes and streams that were becoming rivers. All this while climbing narrowing trails on the side of the mountain where one tumble could send you rolling down the mountain. Such was the intensity of the rain that I met the group of hikers who were far ahead of me, hiding beneath a temporary cover made by combining several ponchos. They just simply could not proceed.
Thankfully, the camp was not that much farther from that point. Unfortunately I was completely soaked and only had clothes to change my clothes above the waist since I had completely not anticipated how soaked my jeans would become. I had brought an extra pair of socks but had lost them on the way. And as I stopped moving I became colder and colder. Breakfast seemed like a sweet and distant memory as I began to shiver and shake somewhat violently. Trying to get some warmth I brought my stuff to a tent and curled up. I knew that we would be having lunch and dinner at some point and I hoped this would allow me to warm up. I was hoping that my body would adjust naturally and start to warm up just like one time in St John's where after being splashed head to toe by a car I dried myself using only my body warmth. But today this was impossible. A chilly wind was blowing, my socks and shoes drenched and I kept shivering. Sitting still only made it worse.
The tent which I had chosen as my shelter for the night was leaking and cold drips of rain kept landing on my feet. Feeling no warmth in the tent I moved to the cooking site. Water was being boiled and I hoped I might warm up, or at least my fingers which were starting to feel numb. I did have lunch, eating some bread, cucumbers along with some hot water and chocolate and warmed my fingers on the hot cups. But in the meanwhile I overheard the guides admit they had never been this cold before and that they were genuinely suffering just like us. While it is more comraderly to share our misfortunes it did feel some worrying that the guides who were supposed to know better were faring marginally better than we were.
Dinner was marginally better, 2 servings of pasta with some sauce, and what was particularly delightful, delivered to our tents. The guides had noticed that I was shivering and told me that the warmest I would get would be in my sleeping bag without all my wet clothes. They were right and wrapping myself in the sleeping bag was blissful and not having to leave to eat dinner made it even more so. There was 7 of us to a tent, all squished together, several people resting on one person's legs or with someone else's legs protruding against someone else. It is hard not to get know people and socialise in such an environment. Generally at this point in my travels and particularly after this trip I can classify the general mass of foreigners in Guatemala into 2 big groups. Obviously these groups do not define an individual and there is much complexity in humans, particularly people who travel, but there certain things that stand out.
Whenever I travel on weekends outside of Antigua I'm particularly exposed to the group that would label simply travellers. This is a vague term and amongst them particularly prominent are nomads; people who take years out of their lives to travel the world, not staying in one place for too long, not more than 3 months. They are usually older with some work experience and have put careers and lives on hold, just to travel, because they feel burned out back home and they feel like they are running out of time to exploit their relative youth and health to travel. They also have a solid travel history but often do not know a language past basic communication. And despite the fact that they will have a substantial career gap at a time when one would think they could least afford it, they appear calm and enjoy the moment even though post-travel life is often on their mind. They feel content to be free of the rat race that they feel stifles their ambitions and dreams.
The second group I encounter most in Antigua which makes sense, since the people I socialize with predominantly in Antigua are volunteers. This group just like the previous group is mostly composed of people from the US, Canada, Western Europe or at least having spent a great amount of time there. Typically volunteers are separated by degree of commitment to their placement. Quite a lot of people misunderestimatedtheir resolve and desire to actually help and get sidetracked by other things, travel, partying etc. Some of them even say that they were shy back home and that they did not go out much but that their presence in a foreign country has inspired them to change and really live out that lifestyle abroad, because hey how often are you abroad. This somewhat disappoints me just because Antigua is so saturated with foreigners that all entertainment is catered to them. Going out can be fun of course but it is nothing that will not have seen back home so prioritise this over genuinely authentic Guatemalan experiences is mindboggling. Most volunteers of course also travel at least in the weekends but just cannot match the canniness of actual travellers. Because most of them are here for just several weeks compared to travellers, they overspend and value absolutely insured and guaranteed experiences over taking time to find the best deals and experiences. Also because they can only travel in the weekends they will arrange standard type trips that everybody does, which although allows them to see some highlights, means their trip is fairly common. On the side of the scale are volunteers who are ultra commited to their placement. They feel that 4 hours a day is inadequate and rarely if ever skip a day of placement. They typically also tend to be very conservative and religious and are driven by a sincere desire to help and learn.
Anyway back to the story at hand. Everybody went to bed quite early Saturday night, as early as 6pm. I tried to do so too because I knew the next day would start at 5am at which point we would reach the summit in time for sunrise. I say try because I did not sleep very well or better put at all well. It became progressively colder at night and the cold started to seep through my sleeping bag, making me restless. My head was not elevated and rested awkwardly on someone else's sleeping mat. On my sides, front and back people were shifting, moving and turning as was I. This was also my first camping trip and by extension my first time sleeping on the ground. I had slept in some weird places and in some awkward positions, for instance my last night in St John's in April I slept on a table in a graduate student room in the engineering building. But at least I had a pillow then. The most I could achieve was perhaps to doze momentarily in uneasy sleep. At one point in the night I could hear coyotes howling, presumably because they were having as bad a night as I was.
Eventually Lorenzo emerged into our tent whispering gently to Andrew that it was time to wake up. We roused slowly reaching for our clothes and trying to make ourselves as warm as possible for the impending hike. My problem still remained, no dry pants, socks or shoes. Andrew tried to help and brought me his pair of pants which he said would dry fast but were actually just slightly drier than mine. Anticipating and dreading the prospect of putting on wet socks that morning I had slept with my socks, in my armpit or beneath my back. They had not dried but at least now were warm. I put on my socks and just as I was about to put on the pants, Andrew stuck his head in the tent and said Femke, a Dutch woman, was going to lend some of her pants. She had loaned out her sandals out to anyone who needed to step outside the tent to go to the toilet, a luxury I had used the day prior as well, albeit having to go in boxers out in the cold and foggy environment outside my tent.
Despite everyone warning me that were pants designed for women, they were warm, dry and that is all that mattered to me. They also matched my somewhat slimmer figure and gave me a colourful outfit for the day; red jacket, blue pants, black socks and green sneakers. Since it is always darkest before dawn we had take falshlights and walk pretty much in a uniform line to avoid losing anybody. I usually see little in the dark and even though I had flashlight, the terrain was rocky and becoming increasingly inclined to the point that more climbing than hiking was being done. Not all the rocks were completely sturdy and carrying my sleeping bag in one hand in case it was very cold at the summit left with only one free hand to balance myself.
The last part of the hike at least had more of a visual target, a point that you could see above you. Although motivating, once you realise that there is actually much more to climb, terrain hidden behind what you had thought was the summit, this can be quite disheartening, knowing you are trapped in an optical illusion with no end in sight. And lest we forget I was climbing up the air was not getting any more oxygen rich. I found needing stops every 5-10 minutes and having to breath as deep as I could even while resting. Fortunately I persisted and the incline bcame gentler. The final 50 metres was almost like a gentle walk along ground littered with pebbles, rocks and massive boulders. I and a couple of other guys had created some between ourselves and the guides who were delayed by the need to help one particiapant down to base camp. There was a lot more light than at the start of the hike and not knowing how close I was I raced ahead wanting to beat the sun to the top. I trudged faster and faster as the ground became flatter and flatter.
Walking past some rocks that were positioned to make a word, I finally saw the Guatemalan flag that signified the summit. I was at the highest point of Central America and had survived everything it had thrown at me. Looking out to see the view, resplendent volcanoes that surround Tajumulco feel like they are bowing to you, a conqueror of the toughest amongst them. Looking out from where I had come I could see clouds beneath, forming a whirlpool in the sky, with the obligatory patch of sky in the middle. On the other side, is the Pacific Ocean along with land parceled into different shapes and colours. From the sides the view was filled with clouds of various sizes with peaks of other volcanoes protruding through them, standing tall and proud. Standing out there made me look back on my journey to this point. How I had intended to go to Newfoundland, living in doubt for 18 months, not knowing if everything would come together to allow me to leave a country where it is so easy to become trapped. But I had emerging out of the other side of the rabbit hole and nowhaving made a conscious decision to do something different than everybody else in my engineering year, volunteer, travel and put all my savings on the line into just 3 months instead of getting work experience, earning money and laying the foundation of my career in Canada.
But I pulled off for as a wise man once told me, you can anything in life that you want but not everything. No matter what the odds against you are, the societal and peer pressure that you face, the soulcrushingly dull and horrific environment you are, others have been in you shoes before and they made and so can anybody. You just have to keep walking, sometimes in despair, hopelessly but keeping in mind that every journey has an end and most suffering earns you your just reward.
We stayed on top of the volcano for maybe an hour or 90 minutes. The wind was so chilly and fierce that both Miriam and Andrew got in their sleeping bags and rested in a little alcove of rocks that shielded them against the ice-cold and merciless wind. I would join them on ocassion, resting against the rocks, warming my hands for which I had no warm gloves, before dashing off to take it all in again and running around the crater of the extinct volcano. The volcano had played a final trick on me; my camera which was a bit moist, died after only 4 photos at the summit. It had taken a bit of beating since I arrived in Guatemala so I could not begrudge it.
Just before we headed down and took a team photo the guides realised that Moosa, a Dutch national of Afghani descent was missing. He had been complaining since day one in a somewhat funny but despairing way, lamenting the somewhat difficult conditions of our overnight stay. Having made it to the top he was immediately suffering from the cold as he was still wearing wet clothing items. As it turned out later he had simply returned on his own but there was always a worry that he could have tripped and fallen down the side of the volcano. We elected to head down to basecamp to ascertain that he was there. The descent was no less steep, but still exciting since we had taken a different route. Ice covered the steps, requiring me to be extra careful, since several times having stepped on it, I lost grip with the ground and felt almost ready to tumble down the trail.
Eventually we stumbled back to base camp and to what was a gloriuosly sunny morning. Everybody immediately took their stuff to dry before packing up to head back down. Going down was much easier than climbing up and I was finally able to look up for extended periods of time. What I saw was amazing, green valleys dotted with villages and tree filled hill tops. Much more often we would take picture breaks just to capture the expanisve vistas opening up to us. We made to a restaurant where the cool OJ was the best OJ I have ever tasted in my entire life.
The last part of what turned to be an amazingly authentic Guatemalan experience was the first chicken bus from Tajumulco to San Marcos. Chicken buses out in the countryside can end up pretty crowded in a Guatemalan way. Chicken buses rarely admit that they are full so after all the seats, 3 people to a seat, are taken, the aisles become blocked, and then people are allowed to ride on the roof. That is illegal so at times people on the roof have to climb down to pretend they are actually in the bus for the police. In one such instance I saw a pair of feet clinging to what was the narrowest of ledges on the outside of the bus while simultaneously shifting himself across the bus towards the door. In the meantime Moosa was forced to sit next to a man who was completely out of it, probably in a very intoxicated state. This was on the seat directly to my left so I shared his concerns that something unpleasant may happen. Sure enough the man began to relieve himself directly onto the floor, with the urine spreading rapidly all of the adjacent sections of the floor. While this happening directly to my left, directly to my right a young Guatemalan was flirting gently and getting to know a young Guatemalan girl. In what other part of the world would it be possible to have such contrasting experiences happen at the exact same time while only having me as a buffer? If there is another such place I want to visit it too.
Dedicated to M.T
