Our last day in Antigua before catching a flight to Flores and Tikal, Mom & I decided to get a touch adventurous and climb Pacaya Volcano.
In the grand tradition of Developing Countries' Dubious Safety Protocols at Major National Treasures (see: Nepal, India, China, SE Asia) - up until the previous year tourists could venture as close to the lava pools as their technical sandals would allow before melting the soles.
(And in technical sandals, that's pretty close!)
What had changed? Don't be silly, not safety regulations.
Sadly for both the villages it affected and the gringos that missed out, after a recent eruption Pacaya was simply no longer active. Still worth a day trip, though, it's an interesting hike and a bit of activity after spending hours on end having our bones jarred around as we transited the country in vans with questionable maintenance records.
The hike was about 90 minutes, mostly uphill. Mom is fitter than I am but she is 60, and I told her there was absolutely no shame in taking one of the many horses on offer in lieu of trekking the top of the volcano.
"No, I'd like to try it."
After an hour-long bone-jarring ride in a van with a questionable maintenance record, we arrive at the town at the base of Pacaya.As with all good towns at the base of a tourist attraction, this place, too, had kids selling things - this time, large walking sticks to help you along the uncertain volcanic sands. My considerable trekking experience let me to quickly recognize that this was a good idea and I grabbed one. Just after the transaction was completed, Mom appears, proudly presenting 2 walking sticks.
As previously mentioned, by this time she had had a number of lessons in the complexity and nuance of negotiating travel and transport in a developing country, but hadn't yet been game enough to try it herself.
So I wasn't going to take this away from her - to spoil the child I offer the spare rod to another of our group. Off we go.
The dudes with the horses latch on to us immediately.
Not that I think we were special - I'm sure they say "horse? horse?" to all the girls.
That he was wearing a t-shirt from my alma mater still didn't sway me. But in Mom they did see something special. As we progressed up the path, the 4 or 5 guides that follow with their horse from the start begin to accept the fate of unrequited commerce. Yet one tenacious horse-guiding local remained. He was certain that this was his woman.
And he'd be right.
We were maybe 30 minutes from the top but Mom had had it. It just took that last, hesitant "horse?" and she paused, turned - "OK, yes, you're on."
Before I could jump in to attempt some kind of negotiation, she had jumped on - relief washing through her face as the pain of trekking was officially over.
I turn around in horror.
"Mom - how much did you agree to pay for the horse?"
"I'm not sure. I think $20. And worth every penny."
My eyes bulge and my palm hits the top of my head.
.You.
.paid.
¡¿WHAT!?
Mom enjoys her pony ride. Sarah facepalms. The rest of the hike I just shook my head in bewilderment. I was so bitterly disappointed in my protégée - it flew in the face of all my careful and patient tutelage. I thought Mom was getting the hang of developing country travel. She seemed to understand the concepts. Yet here she was - paying more for a horse to the top of the volcano than the two of us
combined paid for the whole day tour.
She accepted first price!
She waited until he could have named any ridiculous figure and she'd have had to pay it!
And wasn't even the full trek! We were nearly there! A few breaks and she would have made it! And saved herself $20!
One of us was walking down this path, the other was taking it at more of a slow trot. Every once and a while I'd look back at her, smiling wryly with pursed lips, head still shaking:
"Enjoying your pony ride?"
"Yep!"
Mom just didn't subscribe to the backpacking manifesto: thou shalt forever be embarrassed to confess to fellow travellers that time you were a complete sucker.
At a point halfway down, I slipped - despite now employing 2 walking staffs to steady me - and cut my palms on loose volcanic gravel that does indeed provide for uncertain footing. I briefly reconsidered the wisdom of a pony ride.
Nah, for $20 I'd still rather trek.
