Bo's Journal--Saturday

Saturday
The 6:45 volcanic belch was on time, apparently it’s not just a M-F phenomenon, as Saturday’s eructation was not only timely but bigger than any prior. Breakfast alfresco as always (we’ve had good weather) featured not only bean paste, but also beans-n-weenies, a bunker buster combo, or dirty bomb, we couldn’t decide which, both lethal especially considering the minibus we would be crammed into this morning. Before wedging into the vehicle, we said our good-bye’s to Kelly who was returning to the US today. Had she known what lay in store for the rest of us, I’m not sure she would have rather stayed.
We had, the previous evening, decided to go to Volcan Pacaya, rather than the volcanic lake, as we had learned of road construction that would have turned the lake trip into a four hour enduro each way. Arriving at the park entrance without Jamie being car sick, we paid our fee, then played tour guide lottery. Four or five candidates eagerly jostled for selection, all broadcasting their English speaking abilities, but Pedro won, being the only one who actually could speak English. Back into the van with an added Sardine, we wound our way up the mountain, all eyes forward; feeling that to actually look to the side, on this gravel and dirt road without a guard rail would propel us off the side. The one person who actually did look, Nolan, of course, said, “Wow, that’s almost straight down!” Maybe the evening devotionals this week had helped, as we arrived safely to the area where we would unstrap the van and get on horses for the rest of the way up (who thought this through?). So far all sphincters had held, but soon were to be tested again. The SD group had taken the trip the week before and had advised us to take the horses to the top, rather than hike. Proud of our negotiation abilities, we procured a rate of 200Q (about 27USD) for up and down vs. the SD group who paid 20USD each way. The fiends, however, never mentioned what awaited. Mounting up provided for a moment of hilarity as the horses were not much bigger than large dogs – OK, maybe the size of donkeys. I think I outweighed mine. Randy, Tony and I didn’t have to mount up, rather just let the horse walk under us and sit down. I think I heard Dennis’ horse curse. The tack was on par with what we expected in a third world country – wooden saddle with a very, very thin pad, which prompted Randy to later exclaim, in a much higher voice, that the saddles were like a cheap hotel – no ballroom.
My equestrian experience is rather limited in my lifetime and very few of us were avid horsemen or women, so it was fortunate that each horse was accompanied by a Guatemalan handler. Some were also equipped with a small boy who would hold onto the horse’s tail and whip it on the ass to encourage the horse to advance up through some of the near vertical sections of the trail. The SD had thoughtful left certain details out in their retelling of their adventure, this one of them. From the trail head to the top included nearly 2,000 feet of vertical climb. While having the horses do the climbing certainly helped save our lungs and legs, we all agreed that the ride could be included on Fear Factor. To say it was thrilling would be masochistic, unless you include in your definition of thrilling being on a slipping, sliding horse on a narrow path frequently bordered by steep slopes (we call them cliffs). To help keep help keep the horses on the trail, the Park service had included sections with two strands of barb wire (a real safety net) which Gary’s horse let him test for sharpness. By the time we reached the lava fields at the top, Dennis’ horse was bug eyed, mine was wheezing and Matt’s had fallen once. Of course, Nolan was having a grand time. Stopping for a few minutes to allow us to reset our sphincter tone, we traversed the final 1,000 yards across the lava field with an initial 200 yard descent (steep of course), then an 800 yard more gradual ascent through both loose sand like pumice and sharp, boulder-sized lava rocks. Matt’s horse said enough, dropped to his knees and Matt rolled off the front onto his back. Fortunately, it was the sand-like area and he was unhurt. However, he vowed to walk back down when we finished at the top. I agreed to join him, as I had run out of adrenaline and had not brought a change of underwear.
Dismounting at the top, we reacquainted our knees to gravity and walked about like a support group for thrombosed hemorrhoids. In the middle of the lava field, the view was spectacular, Dennis limiting himself to 500 photos, and one could follow the lava flow all the way down into the valley below. From our vantage point, we could also see the three other volcanoes that ringed the lake we had originally plan to visit. The trail’s end was still approx 1,000 vertical feet from the top of the volcano, but visitors were not allowed at the top, as there was still active lava flow (which we could get a glimpse of when it spilled over the edge). We did climb a little farther up, the others to experience the effort of climbing a lava field (kinda like trying to walk up a steep snow covered slope), me to look for a private place to pee, accommodations over-looked by the otherwise comprehensive park service. We were freaked out a bit when our guide, utilizing a walking stick (thoughtfully provided for $1 by the ever enterprising youth of Guatemala), jammed it into the sand-like area next to the recent flow boulder field (where we had just been climbing) and revealed a bright orange glow beneath.
Regrouped, we headed down, both my horse and I relieved by my decision to walk. Jamie, her adrenaline depleted as well, and Dennis had joined Matt and me. After climbing the final 200 yards of the lava field of loose pumice, Dennis arrived on terra firma with an Apgar of 4. With no AED in sight, he decided to climb back onto his horse, much to its dismay. Jamie picked that moment to declare that her micturation urges could no longer wait, picked an appropriate potty bush and new hallowed ground was anointed where she joined the Guatemalan outdoor team. All the appropriate comments made, we continued our descent back to civilization. With aching knees, but clean shorts, the trail end was reached. Refreshed by two Gallos and proper facilities, we paid our guide and boarded our van for the trip back to Antigua; Nolan properly restrained and gagged to prevent further commentary to our proximity to the hereafter.
Off the volcano without further incident, we asked the driver to find us a typical Guatemalan place for lunch. He chose Guatemalan Denny’s. Hamburger cravings satisfied, we climbed back in, experienced the only rain of the week and were dropped off at the Mercado in the center of Antigua, his work with us completed at 5pm.
A delightful hour was spent negotiating for trinkets, souvenirs and cigars at the open air market place. A sea of people, we were not hard to spot as Gary was a head and shoulders taller than the crowd. Successful in our effort to stimulate the local economy, we gathered at a previous agreed meeting spot for our return to Dona Isabela. Guatemalan Elmer showed up to engage us in debate, bummed a cigarette from Tony, and tried to conn us out of a contribution to his spiritual wellbeing. He even proudly showed us his driver’s license, but when asked about his car, he said he didn’t have one, thank God! Several truths emerged from our discussion. First, no 10 person cabs or vans were to be had; second, none of the cabbies knew where Dona Isabela was. Complicating this further was the fact that none of our group had brought the phone number or address of the hostal with them, nor the numbers for Jeremy, Jennifer or any other native who could give them directions. From a standpoint of sport and the desire for one final adventure, we decided to rent Tuk-tuks for the return to the hostal, having found a driver who thought he knew where it was.
I should first explain what a tuk-tuk is. A tuk-tuk is a three wheeled vehicle with a front seat behind motorcycle like handle bars to guide and control it, a bench seat behind, that could seat 7 Guatemalans or 2 – 3 average Americans. This is all enclosed in canvas covered frame and powered by a 50cc engine that might produce 30 horsepower.
We hired four of them, proud again of our negotiation skills. Each driver, after receiving general directions to Dona Isabela in precise Spanish, was grinning in anticipation of the upcoming competition. Revving their engines, the last of our group barely into his/her seat and we were off!! In a scene reminiscent of the original Pink Panther, neck and neck, we careened through the narrow cobblestone streets of Antigua, accompanied by a high pitched carnival scream we recognized as Jamie. At the next intersection, the tuk-tuks broke formation, each off in a different direction. Matt and I looked at each other, bewildered as we stormed through the intersection maintaining our course, our drivers hand firmly on the horn. Two blocks later, now in a very quiet, dark section of town, a tuk-tuk we were sure contained Leighanne and Jamie, based on the Doppler affected screams, passed through the intersection ahead. We surged straight through. About 5 blocks and two turns later, suddenly all tuk-tuks converged for the last 100 yards, screeching to a halt in front of Hotel Isabela – a place no one in our group had seen all week. A stunned silence ensued as our predicament slowly dawned on us.
Praising AT&T for their world domination and useable signal, we called Memorial ER, spoke to Angie and got Peggy’s number, who was able to google Dona Isabela and get us directions. To avoid further miscommunications, we spoke louder and added an “O” to each word. Realizing that the new location laid considerably in the other direction, the drivers demanded a renegotiation of their fee. Coming to agreement and anxious to get back to somewhere familiar, not wanting to be tomorrow’s headline – 10 AMERICANS MISSING IN CENTRAL AMERICA, PRESUMED KIDNAPPED – we caved, giving up all gains from previous battering. Back in the tuk-tuks with our soon-to-be-affluent drivers, we swarmed like bees through the back roads of Antigua, buzzing along in a cloud of dust. The rear wheel of the tuk-tuk ahead got at least 1 ft of air on one occasion, but righted itself quickly on one bounce. Back on the highway for the last two miles, Gale and Tony had their life flash before their eyes as a pick up tuck overtaking our little train almost side-swiped them at 50mph (our top speed). Like fighter pilots in formation, we peeled off into the entrance and through the gate of the residential area that contained Dona Isabela, stopping in front of the correct place this time. Jamie sprang out, throwing money at her driver for delivering her alive. Matt & mine missed out on his bonus, earned had he won the race.
Nearly an hour late for dinner, we were dirty, grimy and sweaty, but thankful that we were still among the living. Bless Lidia, as dinner had been held and we quickly cleaned up for our final dinner at Dona Isabela – chicken. Randy commented that the only thing more dangerous, to complete a trifecta of fear, given the day’s events, he would have had to have unprotected sex with a Guatemalan hooker. Later, I thought I heard Dennis on the phone, “Hello? Mamacita?” Just kidding.
And so the last day, closed with a glass of wine and an authentic Guatemalan cigar. Not bad.