Volcán Pacaya

While still in Antigua, we celebrated the end of our first week of school by getting up at 5:00 a.m to climb a volcano. It was the third time in the past month that we found ourselves up, dressed, and ready to go long before sunrise. We had signed up for a tour package in one of the bazillion tour agencies in Antigua, and promptly at 6:00, a van driver knocked on the door and we were off. Well, off to three different hotels, picking up other participants, and then off to a coffee shop for a light breakfast. Then we were off, to Volcán Pacaya.

The van drove up and up, first on nice smooth tarmac, and then on rough dirt roads, and then on spine-jolting roads comprised entirely of ruts. At last, we came to a halt and were disgorged at the entrance to the trail. We were introduced to our guide, whose name I promptly forgot, because it was still only about 7:00 a.m., and because we immediately set off at a sprint on a nearly vertical path.

Within about ten yards, I was gasping for air. The entrance to the park, in the village of San Francisco de Sales, is located at 1852 meters of altitude. Clearly, adjustment was taking a bit of time. And although the other members of our group did not appear to be Ironman triathletes or Channel swimmers, they did all have the advantage of, shall we say, fewer years on the planet buckling under the weight of gravity. It was one of those times when I am solidly within the category of “Middle Aged Lady.” I tried to put up a brave front, but I had to take a rest every five minutes or so, in order to prevent my lungs from bursting out of my chest.

Periodically, but not often enough, the guide stopped to explain something to us in an utterly incomprehensible combination of pidgin English and sign language of the medieval dumbshow type. When asked to speak plain Spanish, he would repeat his lecture word for word and gesture for gesture, using Spanish words. One of his stories involved the word for cow in both languages, two fingers jumping around, and a slashing motion against his leg punctuated with exclamations of “Broke! Broke!” We took this to mean that he had broken his leg in an accident that somehow involved either riding a cow or Minoan bull-leaping. He would then check on my status (“Okay, Madam?”) and resume the hike at the same brisk pace.

But, oh, the view!

Pacaya is one of 28 volcanoes in Guatemala, about eight of which are active. Pacaya is one of the more active of the active volcanoes; it last erupted only two years ago. Tours here are very popular, and lots of pictures show rivers of lava and spewing ash.

The tour literature says to wear thick-soled shoes, so they won’t melt, and long pants. Here, therefore, is what we were expecting:

And here is the volcanic activity we actually experienced:

Nevertheless, it was very beautiful.

And, exotic as it was, the volcano still reminded me of home:

We arrived back in Antigua by noon, just in time for lunch and a very long nap.