The Plunge

It seems like we’ve been walking forever.
Round one bend, then another. Stumbling over rocks and roots as we manoeuvre ourselves through the darkness. Finally, we emerge from the thickets of trees to the open air.
My rattling breath catches in my throat as I take in the scenery. We are atop a cliff, at least a dozen metres high, overlooking the vast expanse of water that is Lake Atitlan in the highlands of Guatemala. The sun went down long ago, and in its place the moon is glowing in the sky, surrounded by a smattering of stars. The silhouette of San Pedro Volcano seems monstrous as it emerges from the landscape in the distance. I can hear the water as it gently grazes the rocks far below. That aside, it is just our breathing that pierces the silence of the night.
I shake my head in awe, wondering how I got here.

Just hours earlier, I sit alone on the curb of the San Marcos streets, waiting in vain for a bus. A local girl, adorned with a colourful, hand-woven costume typical of the local Mayan people, approaches me with a basketball in hand, smiling shyly. She whispers in Spanish, ‘Do you want to play?’. I take one last glance up the street to see if my ride is on its way. Nothing. So, I put my backpack aside and jump up. As we play, some strangers approach. One asks me to join them painting the local primary school. So I do, dragging my backpack along.
The walls of the classrooms are grey and grim. As the delighted school principal hums ‘Lambada’, we do our very best to give the faceless students of this class a bright and colourful space, with the hopes that this would encourage a bright and colourful future.
Dusk falls.
Covered in paint, we descend down the dusty, windy path that leads to the docks. 7 o’clock strikes, and the songs from the local church are heard, the wind carrying their chants through the canopies of trees. We arrive at a restaurant where a man from Livingston sings. Another man joins him, his talent for percussion to complement the flamenco style guitar. Dancing, playing, eating, loving. Guatemala. It is here, amid the San Marcos energy that incites possibility, passion and happiness, where my big adventure to the cliff begins. After dinner, we walk.

And now I am here. But suddenly, I’m alone. I hear a splash. I approach the edge of the cliff, where a man-made platform has been built to facilitate those daring enough to plunge into the deep water from such a height. It is too dark to see anything below, but I hear my companion calling. With a rush of intense adrenaline, I leap from the edge. Falling, falling. I hit the water. Comfortably cold, the lake wraps me up. I float on the water and laugh. Then, we climb the cliff-face to the top. And do it all over again.