I soon find out as the guide rushes us on. For every step I take in the thick black sand, I slide halfway back down. I have to take two steps in the ash to equal one on the hard path. It’s tough going and I refuse to look up, fearing how far I might be from the top. Eventually the ash starts getting thicker and I slide less. I notice red peeking out in some parts and allow myself to glance toward the summit. I realize that I am not so far away. I come to a flat landing and sit down on a large red boulder to catch my breath.

The top of the volcano is completely surrounded by clouds. The wind is strong and moves the clouds quickly. What I see looks a lot like I imagine the surface of the moon to be. The black ash is still present, although red, black and gray boulders of varying sizes outnumber the small, hard rocks. Where the black ash has been blown away, a red rocky bottom is revealed. I look behind me at the other hikers, white ants blazing a trail on the endless black mountain.

The last segment of the hike is the easiest, with the summit in view and the ground stable beneath my feet. As I take the final step onto the tiny platform that comprises the summit, I am suddenly unable to breathe. The wind has shifted, blowing noxious, volcanic gases into my face. I have to close my eyes and wait even longer to witness the spectacular view that I have worked so hard to see.

The wind finally ceases, but I am confronted with another problem – my feet are burning hot. Looking down, I notice that the ground is rocky and uneven. There are crevices and gaps, and through these holes I can see the active volcano at work. Flames flicker in several cracks, and in other fissures I can see red hot coals. I have to be careful where I walk. 

Luckily, the clouds have all but disappeared and I can see for miles around me. My view is so vast that I can almost make out the edge of the country. Smaller hills litter the country side and I can see how the farmers have squared off their land.

The descent is thankfully much easier and less painful than the ascent. The ash that slowed our climb speeds up our descent as we slide down on our bottoms. We arrive back in San Francisco just as night falls, weary and yet energized by the journey.

As if to prove that Guatemala has so much to offer, Lake Atitlan lies in wait, attempting to top the last adventure. Considered one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, Lake Atitlan sits in the Guatemalan highlands 5,128 feet above sea level (1,563 m). As in most other settings in Guatemala, volcanoes steal the scene. Volcanoes San Pedro, Toliman and Atitlan surround the lake with natural beauty. Several villages are nestled around the lake’s shores.

Panajachel is just one of those villages straddling the shores of the majestic waters. Filled with cafes, bars, and market lined streets, it’s a place that almost every tourist passes through at least once. Pana offers a wide variety of accommodation – from the four star luxury of the Barcelo del Lago, to the simple rooms of pensions.

The colorful apparel of the townspeople seems more obvious here. Perhaps it is it the blue of the water or the green of the hills that makes the vibrant reds, yellows and oranges of the traditional clothing stand out. A woman passes bearing a bundle of cloth on her head. Her long, black hair is wrapped with a thick, red strip of cotton. The resulting coil winds around her head, keeping the hair out of her beautifully lined face. Her top is a cacophony of fluorescent yellow, red, green, pink and blue zig zags on a black background. Her skirt – stripes of the same colors. National Geographic comes to life before my eyes.

Noted as one of the best places for shopping in Guatemala, Panajachel is a good base for exploring the other villages scattered around the grand lake. Boats leave from the rickety wooden docks of Pana, although some towns are accessible by footpath. Of special interest is Santiago Atitlan, home to Maximon. This ancient deity moves from home to home once a year within the village, so an exact location can not be given. But don’t worry, as soon as you alight from the boat, local boys will gleefully lead you to his current residence.

Maximon, or San Simon as he is also known, is represented by a small, wooden doll. The God of Smoking and Drinking sits in the living room of a small home, surrounded by immense offerings. He has a moustache, wears a hat and colorful clothing, but my eyes are drawn to the odd assortment of gifts left for him. Maximon himself flaunts a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and numerous more, in various states of use, litter the floor around him. Candles blaze, bringing some light to the dark, shadowy room. Full bottles of alcohol are placed around the bottom of his stool, and I wonder how long they will remain full. Beer bottles and beer caps are scattered around the floor as a tribute.

Two men, in advanced states of liquid worship to this God, sit protectively behind him. Their cigarettes supply the smoke that gives the room an almost church-like atmosphere. The whole situation is hard to fathom, especially where in a predominantly Catholic country, it invites a certain amount of irony.

My final stop on this tour of the country of eternal spring is one I have been looking forward to for quite some time. A plane ride brings me to Flores and after an hour long bus ride I arrive at my destination, another of Guatemala’s UNESCO World Heritage Sites. I go to bed shortly after dark and set my alarm for what I consider to be much too early. My return to this place has been planned since I first visited it months ago. When I came then, I didn’t have the opportunity to do the one thing that must be done when visiting Guatemala. It was worth the wait – and an experience that begs to be shared………

My eyes are closed. I sense the stillness around me beginning to fade. My skin is warm. My skin is wet. It is the oppressive heat that forces my skin to release its precious moisture. I shift on the hard rock. I am not yet ready to open my eyes. I know what I will see. I have been here once before, although never at this time of day.

The air is full of mysteries. A sweet, gentle scent washes over me. Many flowers reside here and my nose tingles with delight. My heart flutters as a bird passes by. I can almost feel its wings beating as it flies past me. In the distance, monkeys are howling. Their alien sounds remind me of creatures designed for Hollywood.

A tickle draws my attention to my left leg. A sting in the same place forces my eyes open and I jump up. My newly opened eyes absorb the sight before them, and the sting is forgotten as the air rushes out of my lungs. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. This is Tikal, ancient Mayan ruins, lying in the untouched Guatemalan wilderness.

From my vantage point on top of Temple Four, I witness the sun beginning to peek out from behind the rainforest canopy. Its tendrils are creeping over the tall trees, turning them from black shadows into green wonders. In the distance, temples stretch their peaks over the trees. They are magnificent masses of stone, etched into places of worship. The stairs are crumbling and uneven – the worn state hinting at the history attached to them. They stand impressively, though somewhat disheartened.

I take a long drink of my water. It rushes down my dry throat, refreshing every bit of me. I continue to watch the sun making its way up to the center of the sky. The trees come alive as the sun caresses them. A toucan flies directly in front of me, confidently flashing its red and yellow. Parrots chirp high pitched greetings to each other on this fine morning.

The sun is high in the sky now, and no corner of the rainforest is left untouched by its rays. The sky around me is of the purest blue, a color plucked straight from a child’s Crayola box. A lone white cloud puffs along, providing a contrast worthy enough to be captured by the likes of Monet. The sun illuminates the green of the trees. Gray towers punctuate the greenness and highlight the vastness of the historical site laid out before me. Parts of the temple are almost white, where they have been worn away by time, rain, and now us.

It is time. I turn my back to the view and get down on all fours. This is the only way I feel safe descending the steep, shattered stairs. I don’t want to go. Up here I am might and all knowing. Down there I am just me, with the rainforest and temples looking down on me, laughing at my insignificance.

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