5:30 pm
The Indian Nose is shrouded in a thin layer of mist, as mostly around sunset. I'm not sure if clouds are moving in then, or if this is due to the smoke rising from the many cooking fires in the valley. We've returned from an interesting day at the market, with many new impressions.
We have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, even though it was a bit painful to walk today - and going up and down any steps was like torture. Back to the cause of this, then: back to the volcano.
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Juan, who speaks only a few words of English, points out the path we will take. It leads into the coffee plantations surrounding San Pedro. Coffee is one of the main crops grown by the farmers here. The farms are small, no bigger than two hectares usually, and the people work hard to cultivate their crops on the steep slopes. Harvest has started and will last until March. Here, coffee plants are not shaded by bigger trees like avocado and banana trees as in the coffee plantation we visited on the outskirts of Antigua; this side of the volcano is in the shade until the afternoon, so that seems to be enough.
For the little while we climb slowly but steadily, coffee plants in neat rows on both sides of the path. It is cool enough that we need our jackets, and everything is covered in dew. Slowly the grade increases, and coffee plantations give way to an open forest. Here, avocado trees can be found, among others. After almost an hour we pass through a few corn fields – amazing, how high up they grow! The rustling of dry leaves accompanies us here; mostly, the cobs have been picked. Juan explains that beans have been growing between the corn, but they, too, have been harvested, the plants pulled.
Along the way, small stacks of firewood are waiting to be carried down to the town by men, women and children. People get their wood here, cut with the machete, hacked into pieces of equal length. We have seen it stacked neatly beside the houses, the diameter of the sticks sometimes no more than an inch or two. It is used for cooking, but not heating: it rarely gets cold enough to make that necessary.
The path gets steeper, and when we reach the “Mirador”, a two-story wooden platform with a roof, after almost two kilometres of hiking we are happy to take our first rest. We have now reached an altitude of 2,168 m – another 850 m of altitude gain are awaiting us over the next 2 km. It is a little after eight, and we have a nice view of the lake glowing in the early morning light.
Soon after our rest we leave the last corn fields behind us, and now climb steadily through the forest. We go slow, the guide bringing up the rear: we'll have to be careful not to over-exert ourselves at this altitude, and we can feel already that the air is getting a bit thinner – we are no spring chickens anymore, after all!
For a little while longer we have a dirt path under our feet, but then steps outlined with logs replace it. They are of different height, some just right, others very high; sometimes roots of trees are part of the stair system as well. Except at the very beginning, still in the coffee fields, we have not seen a rock: the volcanic soil, rich, fertile and of a beautiful dark brown colour, forms a thick layer over the rocky body of the volcano.
Amazingly, the vegetation doesn't get more sparse, as happens in the North American Rockies at higher altitude, but ever more dense. We have reached the cloud forest. Here, the mountain is shrouded in a layer of cloud and mist much of the time. Huge old cypress trees, cedars and a kind of oak grow here, green with moss, lianas hugging trunks and suspended from branches. Bromeliads use the trees as hosts, and vines grow everywhere. It is a mythical place, the air sated with moisture and the scent of an old-growth forest. Birds, though not easy to spot, suddenly seem to sing much louder.
Still we are climbing, step by step. Sometimes the stairs are a bit slippery, but on the whole I find it easier to use the steps than a slippery path. I imagine it is much less pleasant to hike here in the rainy season. We keep walking in the shade of the forest, and it is still pretty cool. I had expected to be bathed in sweat by now, but I still wear my jacket most of the time. I also had expected to have to stop much more often to catch my breath like I usually have to do on our first day of backpacking in the Rockies, but surprisingly there is none of that here, despite the altitude. Hiking through this amazing forest is a joy!
As much as we had looked forward to reaching the top, we are surprised when Juan tells us, 'dos minutes mas á cabañas'. The cabins we are supposedly going to reach after two more minutes are only fifteen minutes or so from the top. It's not quite clear what they are used for, but here as in so many other places people couldn't pass without engraving their names, or those of their sweethearts. Even the rocks of the more remote ruins in Tikal haven't been spared. What is it that drives people to leave their names for posterity? Is it the same motivation that caused the ancient Maya kings to build those magnificent monuments? We want to be remembered, want to make those coming after us take note that we have walked this earth. We don't want to disappear in the mist of time, nameless, faceless as if we had never existed.
After another short break we are truly on the final leg of the climb. More stairs, more steps, some of them now rickety, even with a rope railing to hold on to – but not too tight: the posts have rotted and shift slightly under the pull.
“Three more minutes”, Juan tells us in English. Really? Really! After nearly four hours of climbing – slower than many, but still in quite good time, we think – we have reached the big rocks that go for the top of the volcano. Its crater is hidden in the dense canopy; there is no way to look in, and the volcano hasn't been active for probably 40,000 years or so.
The view to the other side, however, is breathtaking! Far, far below us the lake is outlined as if on a map. Juan points out several of the small communities: San Marcos, Santa Cruz, Santiago, San Lucas, Panajachel ... San Pedro is hidden from view. Right across from us we see volcanoes Atitlan and Toliman wearing a garland of cloud.
I sit on the warm rock and enjoy the view. I watch lizards taking advantage of the sun, bumble bees feeding on the flowers that bloom in abundance even at this height. I close my eyes: at the end of the path I am indeed calm and at peace.
After a while Juan calls out, 'vamos' – time to be on our way back. The steps, a challenge at the conclusion of our climb, are not much easier to negotiate on the way down. We have to watch every step in order not to slip off: spraining an ankle up here would not be such a great idea. After a while it occurs to me that I might have counted the steps, but by now I would probably have lost count, and anyway: this is about walking on the flank of a volcano, about the amazing flora, about hoping to catch a glimpse of a bird or a mammal, not about keeping track of steps taken.
My knees start aching, and my hips, and my left thigh feels as if it has been locked in an unnatural position, as if it doesn't want to obey me for some reason. When will we reach the mirador? Finally we are there, after about two kilometres of descending stairs, we had climbed just a short while ago – maybe I should have practised this a bit before. The few steps in a four-level split house don't quite seem to be enough preparation for this ...
Juan wants to walk down the hill into town: he brought a log down from the mountain to be used for firewood for his family. We, however, cannot face the idea of another twenty minutes or so of this – a tuk tuk arriving at the top of the hill at just the right moment seems a much better solution, even if he tries to 'take us for a ride' by charging twice the right price – without success, however.
Tired and very happy with this day we arrive back at the hotel. I hadn't thought I'd make it, but I did – I stood on top of a volcano!
