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This part of our trip has taught me 4 things:
1) I have quads…
2) …they hate me.
3) Love is spending a week doing intense and largely uphill hikes.
4) Guatemala could give Alpine Europe a run for its money in terms of breath-taking landscapes.
The title of this blog makes it sound more serious than it actually was, but Mike and I did indeed do a fair bit of trekking in Guatemala´s western highlands. After passing fairly uneventfully through border control (the Mexicans were strangely affronted by my stolen passport story and emergency travel documents) and a 12 hour shuttle ride (which introduced us to the concept of Guatemalan Time - 3-4 hours later and slower than predicted), we arrived in Xela, also known as Quetzeltenango. Most people we´ve met in Guate haven't heard of it, but the many travelers we met here did what we did: intending to pass through, spend maybe 1 or 2 nights, we in fact passed an enjoyable week in and around the city, and later returned… But that´s another blog entry.
First of all, I need to talk about our hostel, Nim Sut. Booked for its central location and cheap private rooms, it was a large deciding factor in us staying longer. Family-run by an American ex-pat, his locally-born-and-raised wife and a few of her sisters (she comes from a family of 13), plus their son Christopher (2.5-years-old who yells indecipherable Spanish at us to which we nod and respond, "¿Ah, si?"), it´s a really warm and inviting place to stay. Practicing our Spanish with them as well as taking lessons with Michaela, one of the sisters, has seen our conversational linguistic skills improve by leaps and bounds as they patiently correct our fumbles, swap daily plans in the morning, recount them in the evening, and force us to converse with ever-excitable Christopher.
They also introduced us to Ixchel food: a sweet, sugary soup of pumpkin and corn that is traditionally made for Dia de los Muertes and is exceptionally comforting on the cold nights.
Next, our reason for staying is titularly obvious; trekking. We found a charitable, non-profit organization called Quetzaltrekkers which runs numerous treks and rock climbs to fund a local school and dormitory for children otherwise unable to access an education in Xela and its surrounding villages.
Our first foray with them was up Volcan Tajamulco, the highest peak in Central America at 4220m. A steep and unforgiving hike up to base camp was tempered by the enthusiasm and unbelievably tasty trail mix of the volunteers, as well as a great group of 14 others, equally enthusiastic and keen to swap stories and travel plans. As we left the last village we picked up Doris, the resident trek dog who goes up with every group, and gave birth to a litter of pups at base camp a few days before.
Base camp was at 4000m, where we put on a few extra layers as the temperature dropped to just above freezing, pitched up the tents, and ate a huge and delicious lunch that we´d carried up with us. Then we all napped. Dinner was another huge affair which put a bigger dent in the load we had to carry down the next day. Then, at the late hour of 7pm, we went to bed.
By 4am the next morning, we were off. Loath as I am to admit it, Mike was right; I need a headtorch. My very serious wind-up penguin-shaped torch didn't quite cut it for hiking in the dark. On the plus side, it meant I could look up at the stars without fading them out, and they were stunning. Cloudless skies meant we got a whole canvas of pinpricked light above us, and a nearly-full moon beamed at us with astonishing brightness. It certainly helped to wash away some of the early-morning grump I could feel setting in.
Breathless at 4220m, we made it to the top. Still dark with only a faint slash of pinky-orange in the east, we settled into my sleeping bag ready for the sunrise. Clouds sat just below us covering the lights of nearby towns and cities so it felt as though we were the only people alive, or at least awake.
Then, of course, altitude sickness struck. Because who wouldn´t want to watch the sunrise through a haze of pain and rolling waves of nausea? I´m not going to lie, it did a lot to kill the mood. The sun rose, and so did my gorge. Santiaguito, a nearby active volcano, erupted a plume of thick smoke to mark the new day´s arrival, and I pretty much imploded into a sniveling ball of shivers and patheticness.
Still, though, the English Literature student in me kept nattering away at the back of mind: how Sublime is this? Forget Mont Blanc and daffodils, I´ve got a volcano grumbling away to the right of me, and a perfect sunrise dead centre while the sky behind is still blue-black and star-speckled.
After a looooong climb down, with me stopping every 2 minutes to gasp for breath and curse Mike´s boundless energy and enthusiasm, we ate breakfast (me after some dramamine) and carried on all the way down. After an hour and a good few hundred of metres, I felt right as rain.
This was our Tajamulco hike, and despite the altitude sickness, we enjoyed it so much that we immediately booked the 3-day trek to Lago Atitlan, east of Xela. It was a small group this time: our 2 guides, me and Mike, and a German walking enthusiast.
Our first day saw us pass through meadows of tall, soft grass and big yellow flowers that unnervingly made me want to belt out a few tunes from Sound of Music. We walked through a few small farming villages (corn and legumes are the main crops) and a cloud forest along a ridgeline, eventually stopping in Ixtahuacan, a tiny village with a community centre which was to be our home for the night. We were then pleasantly surprised by a performance from the locals! Setting up with flutes, drums, a turtle shell, rain stick and two girls tied together by a pair of huge wings and a massive papier-mâché bird head, the small group began enacting the origin of their village. Mostly interpretative dancing, and a few bits of Spanish, we didn´t really understand, but it was fantastic nonetheless, and they agreed to do it for every group that passes through.
In the village, we also had access to a temascal, a traditional Mayan sauna that consists of a fire, burned down to embers, in a 3-foot-high tin shed, with a bucket of hot water and one of cold water. After a sweaty day of 8 hour trekking, it was surprisingly refreshing and certainly integral to loosening my angry quads.
The next day was Record Hill day. Early on there is a hill. It is steep, long, and difficult. And Quetzaltrekkers like to race it. I´m not ashamed to say that I didn't attempt a record (Mike got 14 minutes - the record is 9, and it´s acceptable to do it in 30), but still got just under 20 mins, probably due to the German woman walking with me (I don´t really need to say more, do I?). After 9 river crossings, ice cream, and the Corn Field of Death, we reached Don Pedro´s. Like the night before, we were 2 hours ahead of schedule (remember: the German woman + Mike), which gave us plenty of time to shower and get the fire going before the rain hit. Don Pedro gives his spare room up every week for trekkers, and feeds them great food, too.
Now, before we left for this trip, whilst climbing Tajamulco, we´d heard of a few gunpoint muggings that had occurred in the final stage of the walk, at a Mirador overlooking the lake. Our guide had been in the group that had been attacked the week before, and they´d arranged for police guides for the 4am walk. We´d been told that, much to the gratification and amusement of the mugged group, the gunmen had ditched a thorough strip-search of the group after uncovering a video camera bag. What makes this wonderful is that the old, heavy camera bag is in fact used to store the trek´s load of spices - powdered milk, chocolate powder, coffee, salt, pepper, etc. Grabbing what they thought the motherload of a group who had only carried what they needed - spare clothes, sleeping bags and raincoats - the muggers had run off with a bag of depleted spices.
Anyway, walking to meet our police guides at 4am, we passed dozens of men armed with machetes, waiting for a lift to work by the side of the road. It´s funny but, despite the size of the machetes and the complete solitude of our little group of 5, none of us felt the least bit threatened or concerned by these armed men. Instead the gaily waved us good morning and probably laughed at the crazy gringos, willingly awake at such an ungodly hour.
Arriving at the lookout point before the sunrise, the police hid themselves in the forest keeping watch, and we heated up some hot water for drinks. By the time the sun rose - another spectacular sight, catching the still lake and turning it from silver to pale yellow and casting huge shadows from the ring of volcanoes surrounding the lake - we were warmed up and the police had left their posts to take photos on their phones, and join us for coffee and breakfast.
We walked down into San Juan, a small town skirting the lake where we had fresh coffee from the local cooperative, an amazing lunch in a comedor hidden in the back of an artesan shop, and then headed back to Xela.
The next day - our last in Xela - we treated ourselves at Fuentes Georginas, natural hot springs from the volcanic mountainside which did a lot to soothe any lasting stiffness or soreness.
Before I forget: chocobananas.
Introduced to us by Quetzaltrekkers, and a Guatemalan treat, most tiendas sell frozen bananas coated in chocolate on a stick. Only 1.50 quetzales (less than 10p), they are banana-y heaven, and I´m bringing them home to England with a vengeance even though it´ll be Christmas and cold.
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