For six years I have had Guatemala at the top of my travel list. For six years I have made plans to go to Guatemala. And for six years these plans have come undone. Once It was to change plans to an easier country to visit with friends. Once it was to go visit friends in a different country. Once it was to instead take the travel budget to a cheaper region and travel longer. Twice it was because my sister lived in Germany and why not take advantage of that. For three straight years it was because of a global pandemic. But as I sat down with Megan to begin planning a trip to South America, I finally decided it was time. I wanted to visit Guatemala on this trip, logistics be damned.¹ So we carved out a month from the beginning of the trip for Guatemala. It was an excellent decision.

My long desire for a trip to Guatemala starts in Nicaragua. There I met B*² who to this day is my favorite impromptu travel companion I’ve met on the road.³ We spent five weeks in total traveling through Nicaragua, then Costa Rica, then Panama. And all the while he would not shut up about Guatemala. There were of course other things drawing me to Guatemala. My love of history and archaeology was always going to give Tikal a place of prominence on my desired destinations list. Also the ubiquity of Mayan peoples and culture was attractive to my inner anthropologist. It is of course a place a tremendous beauty; towering volcanoes and mountains, huge crater lakes, tropical forests, Pacific and Caribbean beaches, colonial architecture, abundant wildlife. But most of all it was B* and his insistence that Guatemala was his favorite country in Central America.

We crossed into Guatemala from El Salvador early in the morning on the 11^th. The Salvadoran border agent’s last words were a warning to make sure we get a stamp; apparently the land border customs can be quite informal., which can in turn make leaving a problem. We pass through and I understand why we were warned. The Guatemalan border agent doesn’t leave her booth as we pull up, and we hand our passports through the car window and get them back without ever exiting the car. At least we got our stamps. As we make our way to Antigua two things become immediately apparent: Guatemala is even more beautiful than El Salvador, and the roads are far worse.

Sleeping no longer an option, we marvel as we drive pass volcanoes and mountains cut by winding rivers and canyons, all laced with little concrete towns that still manage to exude character and personality. The shuttle, which is a white sedan, begins to shake violently as the cobblestone streets welcome us at last to Antigua. Megan has chosen our hostel, a bougie affair that sports very comfortable beds, fantastic views, and a free breakfast. It also has a pool, though given that nights in Antigua are quite chilly, it is infrequently used. After checking in and getting sorted, we head out for food and our first look about town. We have breakfast right next to the hostel, what we will soon realize is the standard Guatemalan affair of refried black beans and scrambled eggs, usually with fried plantains. We then participate in what will become another standard Guatemalan affair, trying multiple ATMs until we find one that works. We spend most of the rest of day doing paperwork⁴ before having a dinner at a Mexican place, a third Guatemalan affair.

The next day is all about exploring Antigua. Antigua was founded in the 16^th Century, though a series of earthquakes and other natural disasters caused the city to relocate and rebuild at least once a century. It was also once the capital of the Spanish Kingdom of Guatemala, which included at the time all of Central America minus Panama. It is replete with the remains of convents and colonial palaces, as well as the aforementioned cobblestone streets. The entire city sits in a bowl completely surrounded by mountains and volcanoes, the giant Volcan de Agua commanding attention from almost every angle. We visit the ruins of the Las Capuchinas Convent, a 16^th Century complex shrouded in mystery due to the small number and secretive nature of the nuns. It is an amazing combination of the decay of time and also the timeless nature of beauty. The central courtyard squared by arched passageways demands that you sit and contemplate it. After this we head to Santo Domingo, another former convent though this one has been turned into a luxury hotel. Fully restored gardens complete with functioning fountains and scarlet macaws, along with chic restaurants and cocktail lounges blend nearly seamlessly into the crumbling ruins of the convent chapel and crypts. Inside are also numerous museums, containing everything from a collection of colonial silver to modern art. My favorite housed Mayan art and artifacts next to modern interpretations of the same subject matter. We leave after a few hours and make our way to a coffee plantation called Finca La Azotea for a tour. The walk takes 45 minutes and by the end the cobblestone streets have gone from charming to menacing. The tour is informative, but the highlight of course is the end when we get to drink some actual quality Guatemalan coffee. Afterwards we try and order a tuk tuk back but the outrageous price means one more route by feet. We settle on Italian for dinner partially because Italian is always good, but also because we feel a need to carb load. The next day we have to hike Acatenango.

You cannot visit Antigua without hearing about Acatenango. The overnight volcano hike is the activity that every backpacker does when in town. Everyone has either just returned from the hike or is heading out in one or two days. Some say its intense but fun, some say its no problem if you hike regularly. Some say it’s brutal, crushing, punishing, and exhausting. But no one says it isn’t worth it.⁵ So on the advice of a British couple we made friends with we book a tour with Tropicana, who advises us to bring 4 liters of water each, all of our warm weather clothes, and as many snacks as we can carry.

We wake the next day and make our way to Tropicana. Unfortunately the amount of supplies did not fit in our day packs so I am stuck using my large backpack, which is designed more for short walks than all day hikes. We eat breakfast at Tropicana before loading onto a shuttle with seats too small for me to physically sit in without sticking both legs into the aisle. When we finally arrive at the start of the hike we are given a run down of what to expect. It lasts 15 minutes but in summary he said “this will be the worst day of your life.” We rent a pair of sticks each and begin our journey. By the time we reach the first break after 30 minutes I know I have made a terrible mistake. When we head out for part 2 Megan and I fall behind the group; we will not see them again until base camp. The only tiny silver lining being that there is one person struggling even more than us. I take more of our supplies from Megan’s back and put them in mine to try and help and we set out again. By the time we reach the lunch stop we are so far behind the main group has already left. Luckily along with the other girl struggling behind we have been left with our own guide. However at lunch the other girl caves and pays $80 for a horse to take her the rest of the way up. This requires our guide to return down the mountain, procure a horse, and bring it back to her. It also means at least for the time being we will have to continue sin guide. He tells us to keep to the right and he will see us in 10 minutes. We do not see him again for 2 hours.

The hike up Acatenango begins at an elevation of 7,900 feet/2350 meters. From there the hike, which took us nearly 7 hours, is entirely uphill until the last hour. And most of the hike is VERY uphill. The hike takes you through 4 climate zones with temperatures going from “I have never sweat this much in my life hot” to “I cannot feel my fingers or toes” cold. It also grows more difficult as you advance, the ground slowly transitioning from solid dirt to loose gravel as the trail continues to wind ever upward. The lack of guide creates motivation issues as we never know how much farther we have to base camp, or even to the next rest stop. In fact two of our very frequent stops occur ten minutes before we reach a sheltered rest stop we did not know was just ahead. Finally after 6 hours we exit the tree line and the path levels out slightly, but now a biting wind cuts us to our bones and the trail involves frequently scrambling over rocks. When we finally catch sight of base camp I’m am too exhausted for joy.

We have arrived too late for the extra hike to Fuego, the neighboring volcano that can be reached and observed up close at the cost of a mere $25 and 5 additional hours of hiking. We would not have done it even if we had been offered. But we are fortunate as the clouds sit below our current elevation, which is now around 12,000 feet/3600 Meters, and we have gorgeous views of both the sunset and the violent eruptions of Volcan Fuego in the background. After enjoying a snack of noodle soup around a fire, Megan heads to bed in our cabin, a wooden shack with a tarp roof wherein 16 sleeping bags on two levels lie in a space made for 10. I stay up for a cup of a wine like liquid and dinner, more noodles but this time dry and due to the temperature cold in about 30 seconds. Afterwards I join Megan in bed wearing every piece of clothing I brought and still shivering. The temperature is 28 degrees.

We awake the next morning to an oatmeal breakfast, lots of fog, and the knowledge that now we must go back down the mountain. It takes about 2 and a half hours to return, though the decreased time is more a gravitational reality than any decrease in difficulty. The path every bit as steep as it seemed going up means sliding and falling is a significant part of our repertoire for the descent. Occasional stairs help ensure that our knees lose any remaining function they might have had left. Every 20 minutes we stop to remove an article of clothing as the temperature increases. With 15 minutes left in the hike Megan’s ankles are refusing to cooperate and my legs have a permanent wobble, so the guides decide to stop us all in a field in the middle of the sun so we can all be congratulated on still being alive and thanked for our time. When we are finally released we make our way down the final stretch to the waiting vans, where I collapse into my too small seat and await the inevitable leg cramp.

When we get back to Antigua we head straight for the hostel, a 7 minute walk that takes years of my life. Upon finally arriving at the hostel we are greeted by new arrivals to our room, three very posh, very young British girls who have decided to use the floor in the dorm room as a social space to talk about how much they’ve been drinking and scream “Whhaaatt” at each other. After showering our well deserved nap is interrupted when our chill and quiet hostel begins blasting music from right outside our room. It seems that once a week they throw a big party and guess what day of the week it is. We are told that starting at 10 it turns into a silent rave so we head out for dinner to wait it out. The 8 minute walk to the Mexican restaurant takes 20 minutes, as the hike has now made the very act of stepping on or off a curb an exercise in masochism. When we return the silent rave is still very loud, but we have no alternative so we attempt sleep, the pounding of EDM base drops occasionally interrupted by a posh girl saying “I’m sooo druunkk.” Exhaustion finally wins and I fall asleep, hoping to never wake up.

Hopes dashed, I awake to the posh girls describing how hungover they are, suspecting by their volume that they are not actually hungover and have likely never been truly hungover. Not one part of my body works properly, and I also suspect I’m coming down with a cold. Or maybe having just had the two hardest days of your life and then being unable to sleep due to a rave right outside your door feels like a cold. Regardless I am slow moving, and Megan is slower. It is our last full day in Antigua, so we try and make a go of it. We make it out for breakfast at wonderful little cafe in the center of the city with a small courtyard in its center where we order way too much food and as much coffee as they can legally give me. Afterwards we walk around the central plaza and try and visit a brewery but only one beer in it is clear our hearts aren’t truly in it and our legs are launching fervent protests so we return to the hostel. The posh girls are still hanging around the room. In the evening I convince Megan to accompany me to a hipster type joint called ¿Por Que No? that has graffiti’d walls and an upstairs reached only by ladder, where the lady insists we sit to get the full experience despite us equally trying to insist that we are fine on the bottom level thanks. Her enthusiasm wins out and we climb the ladder. The food is phenomenal and the sangria good and traditional⁶ and I begin to think that maybe Acatenango has not killed me. On the way back to the hostel I have to hop on a curb quickly due to a car and my knees buckle and legs collapse and I realize I was wrong.

I can’t tell you if Acatenango was worth it, though I suspect Megan would say no. I enjoy hiking and would love to be able to it more often, and I enjoy pushing myself on a hike. But Acatenango was the absolute limit of my capabilities. The elevation, the incline, the temperatures, all of it was grueling. It was absolutely the hardest physical activity I have ever participated in. The views at the top were truly surreal, but the hike left us too exhausted to even participate in 4 am summit hike. We were lucky we learned later, some people reach the top and it is so foggy they can’t see past base camp. I saw a volcano erupt, and it was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. And maybe that is a fair trade off, one of the hardest days of my life for one of the most spectacular views of my life. I can’t say for certain, though I can tell you which part lasted longer.

1It helped that Megan also really wanted to visit Guatemala and encouraged me to include it.

2I know only like 11 people read this but I still don’t like using peoples names without their permission. But he will know who he is.

3I’m hedging bets with qualifiers here, Megan is of course number one, but I met her in Oklahoma and brought her traveling with me. S* I met in a plane and V* I met through S*

4That is when I write these blogs. You’re welcome

5Though in retrospect I am beginning to think this might have been refusal to admit the truth

6Traditional Sangrias in Spain are just wine and juice and fruit and they are infinitely better than every vodka splash of cointreau frozen with a sugar rim monstrosity I’ve had in the US.