This caught my eye last night as I was walking back to Santa Catarina from Panajachel. Taken near a bridge by the river that runs through Pana.
“Vamos.” Derek, Zach, the guide and I stepped out of Zach's homestay into the night. 4:00 is still night time. I was expecting to see a car or a van, but there was none: we were literally to walk out the door, up the volcano, and back home.
From my side of the lake, the volcano looks like a wall on the edge of the lake, like part of its southern side. It's not until I look on a map that I see that the volcano is about as far away from the lake as the lake is wide. Also, I didn't think about the horizontal distance to the peak, which is about 4 miles away as the crow flies.
The first three hours are a climb into the highlands around San Lucas. We move quietly through coffee and cornfields by silhouettes of bizarre trees under the steadily-brightening sky. The sunrise brings some great lighting and clouds around the lake, which soon becomes distant. (I hadn't brought my camera because of what I'd heard of theives, but Derek brought his, so I may have some photos much later). At the pass in between volcanoes Toliman and Atitlan are black soil cornfields whose owners walk on foot from San Lucas every day, farmers whose daily commute is a three hours climb and a two and a half hour descent with piles of wood on their backs. We breakfast at a campsite a little above the pass.
The next three hours of climbing is intense. The forest grows thick and damp and cool, and the trail goes steeper and straight up instead of having switchbacks. We step and pull our way up roots and dirt as the soil becomes increasingly rocky. Soon, we are into the clouds, and all we can see is white beyond the trees, although at times we catch glimpses of the lake behind us or the highlands around us. After about two hours, the trees give way to scrub. The trail becomes a narrow gully carved into the mountainside, at times as deep as my armpits. Then, the scrub gives way all together, and we dig our way for half-an-hour more until we reach the cima.
The guide says that when it's clear, you can see the lake, of course, and then the altiplano to the east and all the surrounding countryside, even to the Pacific Ocean. We have no such luck, however, although the view isn't the only reward at the summit, where across a field of rocks there are some man-made rock piles to provide shelter from the brutal winds. Exhausted, cold, and wearily giddy, we down our lunches and lie back into one of these rock piles where the volcano emits hot gas and vapor. It is eerily silent up there with the wind whipping fiercely but no trees (or any living things) to make noise, so the only sound is the occasional flat blast of wind against some rocks. Tired and full-bellied and steamy-warm, most of us drifted off to sleep for about half and hour.
The way down is difficult and not at all exciting. Weak legs and loose gravel make falling easy. Once we got to the road, Derek and Luis tried walking backwards to give their quads a break.
So here are the stats:16 miles total, same direction there and back. 12 hours: 6.5 hours up, an hour at the top, 4.5 hours down. I chugged a lot of water beforehand, then I drank about 2 liters of water and a gatorade in transit and ate three PBJs, two bean sandwiches, and one peanut butter and honey sandwich, as well as about two-thirds of a bag of granola, a handful of wild blackberries and raspberries, one of the guide's chips, one of his store-bought cookies, and about and eighth of Derek's Snickers with almond bar. (I shared my food too). And because we chose to hang out with Zach's family and stay up talking instead of going to bed early, the three of us got only three hours of sleep the night before, which came back to bite us about two-thirds of the way back down. I was going a little crazy by the end, like slap-happy minus the happy.
Afterwards, I took a 1.5-hour three-legged trip of pickups and vans back to Santa Catarina. Riding next to San Lucas locals and through towns on the east side of the lake, it seemed as though I was in a whole different country than what I'm used to with Santa Catarina. Everyone was speaking Spanish to one another, and there were many faster-talking middle-aged people and young adults in street or business clothes. I have come to realize that my town is pretty conservative, probably due to the fact that it sits out of the way and only holds 3000 people. I have ridden the pickup from Santa Catarina to Panajachel maybe thirty times, and there is rarely any conversation. Traditionally-dressed women and some men sit straight-faced, and maybe there is the occasional Kaqchikel exchange, but nothing at all in Spanish. Santa Catarina is more cut off, while the route I was taking around the lake passes through more crossroads towns.
There seems to be a gap in age in my town. There are children from toddlers to high-school aged, but after this there's a gap until maybe early thirties, and then a lot more older people. In this gap are a handful of girls who seem to be near my age, most of whom are traditionally-dressed street vendors, but I see very few guys of this age. The ones I do see don't hang around town, but often wear small backpacks and appear to be coming or going. In my travel back to Santa Catarina from Zach's place in San Lucas, I got a small taste of Lake Atitlan culture for young adults.
Last week I followed a sign advertising “fotocopias” into an alleyway off the main road, through some other houses whose residents directed me up some stairs and into a one-room apartment where I was surprised to find a guy about my age playing computer games. He looked like kind of a techie, skinny with glasses, short hair, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, his room full of electronic odds and ends like an old camera and a TV from the 70s. I tried to make conversation but he wasn't interested. As he ran my photocopies on his scanner/printer, I stood awkwardly in his room and wondered what this guy does all day, if he ever leaves his room (which has a nice view of the town and the lake), why he lives in Santa Catarina.
I realize how varied the homestays are for the students in this program. Zach lives with a family in a bona-fide house that speaks almost entirely Spanish, and I can honestly say that my Spanish is better after just spending the night at his house (and spending twelve hours with the tour guide and Zach's homestay ''brother-in-law,'' a San Lucas butcher named Luis), hearing how the family members talk to one another, something totally lacking in my homestay. At this point, my Spanish might be better than that of Luis Miguel, the 8-year-old boy. At dinner last night, Catarina asked me in Spanish if I was tired after the volcano. I began to reply and then swallowed my bite to say more about it, but before I could continue Luis had started talking in Kaqchikel again to Catarina. They don't look at each other or use their hands when they talk. At one point I knew Luis was talking about me and about something that had happened to him and me on the way up to the house, so I butted in with a detail that I knew he left out, and he looked at me and laughed and said “Si, si,” and then I heard him repeat what I said in Kaqchikel to Catarina, although Catarina had understood what I'd said. When Luis finished he looked at me and laughed, like “yeah wasn't that funny?”
In other news, there has been no running water for those who live on the hill in Santa Catarina for about a week. During the day, I see groups of women heading down to the lake to fill their jugs with water and bring it back to their houses. The water still works in Luis's galeria down at the street, about a four-minute walk down stairs, so we use that.
I didn't mention this last time, but I finished Invisible Man. It's pretty wild. I like what it says about black-white race relations in the States more than any other book I have read on the subject (Huck Finn, To Kill a Mockingbird, etc). Now I'm kind of reading both The Shining and The Iliad, although I'm not reading nearly as much these days because I'm working more on my project. It's bizarre to think that time is running out.
Remember that stuff I said about Jesus imagery in the last post? Well, a few nights ago, I let Wilson and Luis Miguel draw on Microsoft Paint, and this is the first thing Wilson drew.
This was taken out the window of the bus on the east side of the lake, on the way to Zach's in San Lucas.
L to R: Derek, Zach
San Lucas
three abandoned puppies in San Lucas. We stood there for about five minutes and contemplated what to do. We resolved to leave them.
Zach´s room
Wilson ''trying on'' some of the traditional traje pants
I, wearing some pants. I think I am going to buy them instead of a painting (and hang them on my wall when I'm not wearing them). They are about as expensive and took 6 months to make. The design has cats, deer, bugs, butterflies, trees, and a lot more (but no dogs!)
From my side of the lake, the volcano looks like a wall on the edge of the lake, like part of its southern side. It's not until I look on a map that I see that the volcano is about as far away from the lake as the lake is wide. Also, I didn't think about the horizontal distance to the peak, which is about 4 miles away as the crow flies.
The first three hours are a climb into the highlands around San Lucas. We move quietly through coffee and cornfields by silhouettes of bizarre trees under the steadily-brightening sky. The sunrise brings some great lighting and clouds around the lake, which soon becomes distant. (I hadn't brought my camera because of what I'd heard of theives, but Derek brought his, so I may have some photos much later). At the pass in between volcanoes Toliman and Atitlan are black soil cornfields whose owners walk on foot from San Lucas every day, farmers whose daily commute is a three hours climb and a two and a half hour descent with piles of wood on their backs. We breakfast at a campsite a little above the pass.
The next three hours of climbing is intense. The forest grows thick and damp and cool, and the trail goes steeper and straight up instead of having switchbacks. We step and pull our way up roots and dirt as the soil becomes increasingly rocky. Soon, we are into the clouds, and all we can see is white beyond the trees, although at times we catch glimpses of the lake behind us or the highlands around us. After about two hours, the trees give way to scrub. The trail becomes a narrow gully carved into the mountainside, at times as deep as my armpits. Then, the scrub gives way all together, and we dig our way for half-an-hour more until we reach the cima.
The guide says that when it's clear, you can see the lake, of course, and then the altiplano to the east and all the surrounding countryside, even to the Pacific Ocean. We have no such luck, however, although the view isn't the only reward at the summit, where across a field of rocks there are some man-made rock piles to provide shelter from the brutal winds. Exhausted, cold, and wearily giddy, we down our lunches and lie back into one of these rock piles where the volcano emits hot gas and vapor. It is eerily silent up there with the wind whipping fiercely but no trees (or any living things) to make noise, so the only sound is the occasional flat blast of wind against some rocks. Tired and full-bellied and steamy-warm, most of us drifted off to sleep for about half and hour.
The way down is difficult and not at all exciting. Weak legs and loose gravel make falling easy. Once we got to the road, Derek and Luis tried walking backwards to give their quads a break.
So here are the stats:16 miles total, same direction there and back. 12 hours: 6.5 hours up, an hour at the top, 4.5 hours down. I chugged a lot of water beforehand, then I drank about 2 liters of water and a gatorade in transit and ate three PBJs, two bean sandwiches, and one peanut butter and honey sandwich, as well as about two-thirds of a bag of granola, a handful of wild blackberries and raspberries, one of the guide's chips, one of his store-bought cookies, and about and eighth of Derek's Snickers with almond bar. (I shared my food too). And because we chose to hang out with Zach's family and stay up talking instead of going to bed early, the three of us got only three hours of sleep the night before, which came back to bite us about two-thirds of the way back down. I was going a little crazy by the end, like slap-happy minus the happy.
Afterwards, I took a 1.5-hour three-legged trip of pickups and vans back to Santa Catarina. Riding next to San Lucas locals and through towns on the east side of the lake, it seemed as though I was in a whole different country than what I'm used to with Santa Catarina. Everyone was speaking Spanish to one another, and there were many faster-talking middle-aged people and young adults in street or business clothes. I have come to realize that my town is pretty conservative, probably due to the fact that it sits out of the way and only holds 3000 people. I have ridden the pickup from Santa Catarina to Panajachel maybe thirty times, and there is rarely any conversation. Traditionally-dressed women and some men sit straight-faced, and maybe there is the occasional Kaqchikel exchange, but nothing at all in Spanish. Santa Catarina is more cut off, while the route I was taking around the lake passes through more crossroads towns.
There seems to be a gap in age in my town. There are children from toddlers to high-school aged, but after this there's a gap until maybe early thirties, and then a lot more older people. In this gap are a handful of girls who seem to be near my age, most of whom are traditionally-dressed street vendors, but I see very few guys of this age. The ones I do see don't hang around town, but often wear small backpacks and appear to be coming or going. In my travel back to Santa Catarina from Zach's place in San Lucas, I got a small taste of Lake Atitlan culture for young adults.
Last week I followed a sign advertising “fotocopias” into an alleyway off the main road, through some other houses whose residents directed me up some stairs and into a one-room apartment where I was surprised to find a guy about my age playing computer games. He looked like kind of a techie, skinny with glasses, short hair, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, his room full of electronic odds and ends like an old camera and a TV from the 70s. I tried to make conversation but he wasn't interested. As he ran my photocopies on his scanner/printer, I stood awkwardly in his room and wondered what this guy does all day, if he ever leaves his room (which has a nice view of the town and the lake), why he lives in Santa Catarina.
I realize how varied the homestays are for the students in this program. Zach lives with a family in a bona-fide house that speaks almost entirely Spanish, and I can honestly say that my Spanish is better after just spending the night at his house (and spending twelve hours with the tour guide and Zach's homestay ''brother-in-law,'' a San Lucas butcher named Luis), hearing how the family members talk to one another, something totally lacking in my homestay. At this point, my Spanish might be better than that of Luis Miguel, the 8-year-old boy. At dinner last night, Catarina asked me in Spanish if I was tired after the volcano. I began to reply and then swallowed my bite to say more about it, but before I could continue Luis had started talking in Kaqchikel again to Catarina. They don't look at each other or use their hands when they talk. At one point I knew Luis was talking about me and about something that had happened to him and me on the way up to the house, so I butted in with a detail that I knew he left out, and he looked at me and laughed and said “Si, si,” and then I heard him repeat what I said in Kaqchikel to Catarina, although Catarina had understood what I'd said. When Luis finished he looked at me and laughed, like “yeah wasn't that funny?”
In other news, there has been no running water for those who live on the hill in Santa Catarina for about a week. During the day, I see groups of women heading down to the lake to fill their jugs with water and bring it back to their houses. The water still works in Luis's galeria down at the street, about a four-minute walk down stairs, so we use that.
I didn't mention this last time, but I finished Invisible Man. It's pretty wild. I like what it says about black-white race relations in the States more than any other book I have read on the subject (Huck Finn, To Kill a Mockingbird, etc). Now I'm kind of reading both The Shining and The Iliad, although I'm not reading nearly as much these days because I'm working more on my project. It's bizarre to think that time is running out.
Remember that stuff I said about Jesus imagery in the last post? Well, a few nights ago, I let Wilson and Luis Miguel draw on Microsoft Paint, and this is the first thing Wilson drew.
The group went on a zipline tour at the Reserve north of Panajachel.
This was taken out the window of the bus on the east side of the lake, on the way to Zach's in San Lucas.
L to R: Derek, Zach
San Lucas
three abandoned puppies in San Lucas. We stood there for about five minutes and contemplated what to do. We resolved to leave them.
Zach´s room
Wilson ''trying on'' some of the traditional traje pants
I, wearing some pants. I think I am going to buy them instead of a painting (and hang them on my wall when I'm not wearing them). They are about as expensive and took 6 months to make. The design has cats, deer, bugs, butterflies, trees, and a lot more (but no dogs!)
2 comments:
Keeping up with your adventures, Daniel. Very interesting!
Some pants you have there bub. When in Rome I suppose. Seriously though, I love to see you in pics too...do more of those if you can. I've never seen anyone who has "Nat Geo" written all over them so clearly...
Post a Comment