Rare Reason to Rise at 3am

The view that sold me on Santa Maria.

I've seen 3am from the top a number of times, but have seen few reasons to wake to meet it from the other end. But I wanted to climb a volcano and was struggling to find accomplices for the two day trek to the top of the biggest one in the country. After getting a satisfying view of another local one, Santa Maria, and meeting a French guy at the hot springs who sounded eager to make that ascent, I chased him down via a tour company and we committed to the early morning venture despite a foreboding morning weather forecast. When I heard it dumping rain at 10pm that night, I remained hopeful, figuring that a downpour might be our best bet to clear it out for morning.

View from the trail at around 5:20am.

We met at 3am and rode a half hour to the trail head, meeting our guide, Edgar, ready in shorts and a winter hat, looking strikingly similar to Nepalese guides in the Himalayas. Climbing by headlamps and looking up at the stars, we muddled our way up the trail with no idea of the appearance of the surrounding landscape.

View at around 5:45am.

At a little past 5, about halfway up, we had our first hint of daylight. At around 6, our guide handed us masks to cover our faces since we'd soon be passing a dead horse, ridden too high by irresponsible riders, succumbing to the cold and thin air. It wasn't a pretty sight, and I was none too pleased with the otherwise lovable pair of dogs that accompanied us to see them feeding on the carcass. And while I have tendency to photograph dead things, I much prefer skeletons to corpses and skipped this op.

The day turned out to be beautiful, with cloud cover hanging over the various neighboring volcano peaks, but with bright blue sky and gloriously warm sun.

Other volcanoes, including San Pedro from the town by the lake.

My co-conspirator, Andreas, and a dog that can eat a horse.

Santiaguito readying to blow.

We were fortunate to find stellar views of the much shorter, yet far more active nearby volcano, Santiaguito (Little Santiago), which was kind enough to erupt repeatedly in the hour or so we spent on the peak. We could hear the fuming eruption and the sound of crumbling rocks rolling down the slope of the volcano. Santiaguito spews rock, dust, and vapor instead of lava and used to be a part of the larger Santa Maria before splitting off during an earlier, much larger eruption.


Apparently, the locals are quite pleased so long as Santiaguito keeps erupting regularly, since it's when it hasn't blown its top in some time that the next explosion is the greatest risk, threatening to throw more payload farther and therefore more dangerously.

Bother from Other Mothers

Top pool, too hot to soak.

Having landed in the rather dumpy second largest Guatemalan city of Xela (pronounced "shayla," short for Quetzaltenango, obviously), I found little to do than wonder why in this particular town most of the foreign travelers (read: whites) seem to ignore each other on the street, dodging eye contact or acknowledgment. I made it a game to stare hard at them while smiling as they passed. Didn't faze any of them.

Lower pool, fed by hot upper pool and cooled by another stream and Moms.

So I sought out of town entertainment, taking a morning bus tour up to Fuentes Georginas, the local hot springs that had suffered a mud slide last year but had recently reopened, largely rebuilt.

Reverse of lower pool, and tropical mountain forest beyond.

I knew that it was relatively quiet during the weekdays, though I had not been informed that it was Mother's Day in Guatemala, where they hold to the date of May 10th, with none of the Sunday guarantees that we American rely upon. So instead of sharing the pools with 8 other people, I had all the local Moms, their kids, and a fair smattering of Dads.

Series of tubes.

Back in Civilization

Wow, it is very hot in the jungle, though surprisingly less hot than in Flores, the town from which I launched and to which I returned after the trek to El Mirador where the "real feel" temperature before I left was 116F. For the moment, I'm mainly checking in to say all went well in the jungle. We came back a day early choosing to walk more instead of spending a half day doing nothing at the main site. Unfortunately, our guide knew very little about the ruins so wasn't much more than a trip leader, but the long walk in the humid jungle provided frequent monkey sightings and extended periods of daydreaming bordering on hallucinations. After returning today with just a couple hours of hiking (our longest day being yesterday at 8.5 hours) and a slow minibus ride back to Flores, it was all about cold drinks and slow recovery. In the morning, I will head to Rio Dulce (Sweet River) as I head into the last few days of adventure before flying back to the States.

Behind but on hold

Edgar (guide, left) and I atop Santa Maria Volcano.
That rising cloud to the left is from an erupting volcano far below us.

I've been too busy to keep up to date here and head off tomorrow for 6 days of trekking in the jungle to the remote Mayan site of El Mirador, close to the Mexican border. I will be out of reach for that time, hiking and camping in the wilds with a bunch of rowdy young Israelis, a guide, a bunch of mules, and possibly an Austrian. The mules will be fine, we'll see about the rest.

Be back next Friday or Saturday...

Head cases

There is a common practice for the local women to carry things on their heads. We're not sure why, if just to keep the hands free or if they feel naked without it, but it's quite common. This, along with the trend for very young girls to wear Western modern clothes, switching to the traditional dress in their teens, led Winston and I to wonder if there are arguments between mothers and daughters about carrying things on their head much like equivalent disputes Americans might have about wearing sufficient clothing. "You're going out like that?! At least put something on your head. Here, take this sweater!"

Maybe she was going to be out all night and need the sweater.

Is she telling secrets to the headgear?

Winston, I don't think we're in Toto anymore

The Statue of the Apparition of Saint Michael the Archangel.

There's a better Wizard of Oz joke there somewhere, but I can't grasp it. After San Pedro, I set my sights on the mountain town of Totonicapan (fun to say if you can get it right, faster is better), where they were celebrating the festival of the Apparition of Saint Michael the Archangel. Now, for all you eager Catholic school alumni, everyone knows that late September is the usual time for such revelry, but this is all about the apparition, the various inspirational appearances of Mike's ghostly self that inspired such great things as the Mont-Saint-Michel in Normandy. Apparently the Lombards of Sipontum defeated the Greek Neapolitans on May 8, 663 thanks to Saint Michael and it became a holy day. The Pope later declassified it but the Guatemalans don't give up that easily.

New game. Where's Winston?

Winston and I had the good fortune of finding a true local fest, with mobs of indigenous people out to drink, eat, and be merry, and very few tourists bothering to attend (we counted 3 others).

Lalo Tzul (on the right, obviously) and his horns.

The main event was a performance by Lalo Tzul and his Manzaneros, a marimba backed band with horn section and the inimitable Lalo as frontman. The guidebook promised traditional dance and fireworks. You get fireworks all the time in Guatemala, usually as frightening bomb blasts from no particular source in the middle of the day. While we did see some fireworks when they trotted Michael out of the church, and I caught a pic or two of fireworks behind the band, I'm not sure we even caught the prime show, or if there was one.

This one, possibly drunk Mayan lady was the "traditional dancing."

Unless you count these definitely drunk guys.

Last of San Pedro

San Pedro statue and volcano.

On my final morning around San Pedro, I enjoyed the morning light and snapped some pics of the town.

Closer shot of Saint Peter's rarely mentioned trusty chicken sidekick.

Classroom at San Pedro Spanish School.

Tuk-tuk!

Tuk-tuk threatening man in narrow roadway.