I’ll let you in on a little travel secret…$1.25 is too little to pay for an active volcano tour. It seemed like such a fabulous bargain, and this price included transportation and a guide – for less then the price
of a latte. Now I have a permanent scar on my right ankle.
It was early on a Saturday morning when my friends and I boarded Samayoa (that was her name), the chicken bus (anyone who has ever been to Central America has seen these pimped out school buses that drive too fast and carry both livestock and people) for a terrifyingly fast ride to the base of Mount Pacaya.
After fighting our way through the usual touts we negotiated a fair price for the only commodity that we were interested in – horses. Well more specifically, horses were what we bargained for but donkeys were what we ended up with. The broad stallion that is with the chief negotiator is apparently just for show. I ended up riding a donkey (Stan) that weighs as much as I do, 2.5km up this windy rocky trail, until even the ass knew better then to continue. Each donkey was equipped with a guide who does this trek at least 3 times a day, just to compound the lazy, well-fed westerner feeling that you develop.
At the end of this trail we are faced with the start of the lava rock hike. Are you familiar with lava rock? If you have ever grilled with charcoal briquettes then you have the beginnings of an idea of lava rock. Except its much sharper and when it is naturally formed on the side of
a volcano it piles up very loosely making it prone to shifting frequently. Of course being on the side of a volcano, it is also quite hot. It is quite literally like walking in a Bar BQ.
There were six of us in our group. Five of us started on the scramble up the side of Mount Pacaya. As we neared the top I realized that only two of us, perhaps not the brightest two, continued to follow our Guatemalan guide. My remaining friend had suggested that perhaps this was a stupid idea as the soles of our shoes were starting melt. I scoffed at him and said, “don’t be silly – just follow the guide, I am sure that he wouldn’t be taking us anywhere unsafe.” (I mean we did pay our $1.25). (To this day I continue to wonder what on earth that guide’s footwear was constructed out of?) As were neared the flowing river of lava the gravity of our stupidity set in. I think everyone from the tour at this point became petrified; we are hot, the rock keeps giving way beneath us and we are about 15 - 20 feet next to an actual river of lava.
I glanced down at the hiker in front of me and noticed bright red magma about 1.5 - 2 feet below him. This is about the same time that I noted that my synthetic pants had fused to the rock next to me. At this point myself, and everyone around me, decided to abandon the guide and flee for our lives. There are still people trying to come up behind us, those who clearly haven’
t reached the realization that we had just become enlightened with. As a multicultural bunch of strangers try and pass each other on loose lava rock, one group panicking in fear and the other annoyed they cannot get closer, chaos ensues. Our sh
oes are melting and our feet feel like they are being cooked. A girl next to me panics and knocks some rock loose that rolls into the side of my right shoe. Now I scream and rip off my shoe to remove the pebbles that are burning my ankle. Some of my fellow hikers help support my as we pour water on my ankle; the rock beneath all of us is sizzling as the water touches it.
The decent off the lava rock was a blur but I do recall the elation I felt when I first saw my horse/donkey. Stan the ass certainly saved mine that day by carrying me and my second degree burnt ankle off of Mount Pacaya and down to the safety of Chicken Bus Samayoa. The loose laws here in Guatemala meant that my pain was rapidly relieved with some on the bus beer and a little white pill that a kind, beautiful stranger gave me.
of a latte. Now I have a permanent scar on my right ankle.It was early on a Saturday morning when my friends and I boarded Samayoa (that was her name), the chicken bus (anyone who has ever been to Central America has seen these pimped out school buses that drive too fast and carry both livestock and people) for a terrifyingly fast ride to the base of Mount Pacaya.
After fighting our way through the usual touts we negotiated a fair price for the only commodity that we were interested in – horses. Well more specifically, horses were what we bargained for but donkeys were what we ended up with. The broad stallion that is with the chief negotiator is apparently just for show. I ended up riding a donkey (Stan) that weighs as much as I do, 2.5km up this windy rocky trail, until even the ass knew better then to continue. Each donkey was equipped with a guide who does this trek at least 3 times a day, just to compound the lazy, well-fed westerner feeling that you develop.
At the end of this trail we are faced with the start of the lava rock hike. Are you familiar with lava rock? If you have ever grilled with charcoal briquettes then you have the beginnings of an idea of lava rock. Except its much sharper and when it is naturally formed on the side of
a volcano it piles up very loosely making it prone to shifting frequently. Of course being on the side of a volcano, it is also quite hot. It is quite literally like walking in a Bar BQ.There were six of us in our group. Five of us started on the scramble up the side of Mount Pacaya. As we neared the top I realized that only two of us, perhaps not the brightest two, continued to follow our Guatemalan guide. My remaining friend had suggested that perhaps this was a stupid idea as the soles of our shoes were starting melt. I scoffed at him and said, “don’t be silly – just follow the guide, I am sure that he wouldn’t be taking us anywhere unsafe.” (I mean we did pay our $1.25). (To this day I continue to wonder what on earth that guide’s footwear was constructed out of?) As were neared the flowing river of lava the gravity of our stupidity set in. I think everyone from the tour at this point became petrified; we are hot, the rock keeps giving way beneath us and we are about 15 - 20 feet next to an actual river of lava.
I glanced down at the hiker in front of me and noticed bright red magma about 1.5 - 2 feet below him. This is about the same time that I noted that my synthetic pants had fused to the rock next to me. At this point myself, and everyone around me, decided to abandon the guide and flee for our lives. There are still people trying to come up behind us, those who clearly haven’
t reached the realization that we had just become enlightened with. As a multicultural bunch of strangers try and pass each other on loose lava rock, one group panicking in fear and the other annoyed they cannot get closer, chaos ensues. Our sh
oes are melting and our feet feel like they are being cooked. A girl next to me panics and knocks some rock loose that rolls into the side of my right shoe. Now I scream and rip off my shoe to remove the pebbles that are burning my ankle. Some of my fellow hikers help support my as we pour water on my ankle; the rock beneath all of us is sizzling as the water touches it.The decent off the lava rock was a blur but I do recall the elation I felt when I first saw my horse/donkey. Stan the ass certainly saved mine that day by carrying me and my second degree burnt ankle off of Mount Pacaya and down to the safety of Chicken Bus Samayoa. The loose laws here in Guatemala meant that my pain was rapidly relieved with some on the bus beer and a little white pill that a kind, beautiful stranger gave me.
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