Central America, Week 1

It’s summer time and adventure time once again. Back in the air, squeezed between an Asian man who doesn’t speak English and a small American boy called Carter, who wails for half an hour because he doesn’t want to sit next to me. Not the best foundations for a new plane friendship.
After 10 hours we arrive in Texas. It’s clear we’ve landed in America. The first thing I see is a couple of extra wide wheelchairs waiting to assist extra wide passengers. The airport workers wear cowboy hats and the custom officials have handguns (I discover after waiting in line for about two hours). The next stretch is more interesting. As I practice a bit of Spanish I find the two men sitting next to me are doctors returning from a WHO (World Health Organisation) conference.
Arrive in Guatemala City and wait sleepily for my rucksack which never comes. Fortunately my taxi man waits among the rabble of men shouting and wiggling signs outside the entrance. I know I’m back in the developing world because there is a distinctive burning smell in the air. Light is only invested in illuminating towering billboards which promise a different kind of clean and smiling world to the dingy, stray dog littered pavements below.
Antigua seems a more lovely place than the capital altogether. The town is lit by warm wall lights which bounce off the cobbled road. In a few minutes Kate’s head is poking out from behind one of the heavy wooden doors – I’ve made it. The hostel we stayed in was protected by a great Great Dane and comfortable. All the same posters in the toilets read –“If you’re standing in water, the office below is getting wet” and we had to brave an electric shock in order to adjust the shower temperature. And apparently “toilet paper makes Guatemalan toilets explode”. Like Thailand, you need to put it in a basket you see. This doesn’t make for a pleasant tooth brushing experience when you’re breathing in the smell of a full night’s worth of toilet visits.
In the morning I discover the full beauty of the town. It’s surrounded by forested, cloud tickled volcanoes. The tiled buildings are painted in earthy terracotas, mustard and bright aqua colours. However, the wrought iron bars across every window are a little reminder of the crime that exists behind the civilized, colonial exterior. I go along to my clinic appointment where I’m give a “stool collecting kit” and a diary to fill in on the details of my bowel habits. Right, that’s my toilet talk ration used up. To more interesting matters… roasting marshmallows over a volcano.
Yes, this is something that can now add to the list of experiences. Promised accompaniment by armed tourist police we end up with a 16 tear old in a high vis jacket carrying a stick instead. He guides us around the base Pacaya, which erupted as part of its 30 year cycle a few weeks ago. The solidified lava sprawls onto what could otherwise have been a very British meadow. It is spongy in appearance but brittle and sharp to the touch. A faint smell of sulphur hangs in the mist and wafts of heat ripple the air. All green and signs of life disappear as we clamber further into an atmosphere which seems off this planet. There are a few nooks where you can see lava deep down still glowing a dull orange and set your walking stick on fire instantly.
Now we have moved onto to San Pedro, by Lake Atitlan. I am still without my bag but have just read an email which gives me hope I’ll be reunited with it in a few days, horaaay!
Our journey here was quite eventful taking 6 hours instead of 2. So a) wait for an entire half marathon to run past b) engine overheats and we have to swap buses c) Mums and Aunty Vera stop reading here until the word San Pedro. You’re still reading… c) seemingly narrowly miss a landside. As the bus slowly maneuvers around some freshly fallen rocks (one the size of a dishwasher) there are shouts of “GO GO GO” from passengers behind because sand is trickling down the cliff and a crack is growing in an overhang the size of our vehicle above us. Thank God for his protection. As Bil sits there eyes wide and mouth gulping I joke “you will be religious by the end of this trip”.
So, San Pedro, yes, a small laid back hippy town filled with baby animals, drunken old men and hummingbirds. I really wish I could speak Spanish for banter with the locals who are friendly and giggly. We went on a jungle horse trek yesterday which felt like proper adventuring. It started to pour down so we were handed colossal ponchos which made us look like a wetter and slower version of the night riders.
I think that’s me done for now. A pretty long ramble but as always so much to fit in. Hope that’s given you a taste of my first week here in Guatemala. Adios amigos.