stories told today for tomorrow..

Hey.

It’s been a few years since I had updated this blog. We have since returned from our adventures in Central America and the time has slipped by quietly… quickly. I think about Guatemala on most days. In my heart I hold fond memories shared with Iniyal, and all of the wonderful people we met along the way. Those people, some now scattered around the ever shrinking, ever expanding globe, are often in my thoughts. I think of them when I spend time continuing with my Spanish studies. Slow and Steady. Slow. Steady.

I have decided to continue recording the memories, as they come to me. Memories that I may have failed to write about, will now be reflections. Some stories, withheld in the past, to lighten the concern our families had for us while we were away.

If you explore past posts, you will notice a large number of photographs missing. I am working on replacing them as their initial paths had been severed along the way.

If you are out there… hello again.

r

Hey! To myself… and anyone else who might pop in here from time to time. Its been a very long time since my last post. I guess we had become too busy over the last year and hadn’t had much of a chance to keep up with this. I am going to try and change that a little bit..

Although the new posts might contain some new adventure – I am also going to try and look back at the past year and write some notes about what we had been doing. As I recall – I never did write too much about our fantastic trip to Tikal… and had probably not loaded any photos. Since then – I had returned to Tikal for a second visit during a road trip with the 4th floor neighbors. Iniyal and I also took an extended weekend trip to Costa Rica for her birthday… which was super fun and relaxing. I think a lot of the memory posts will be a little more photo heavy… as they tell the story pretty well.

I am going to have another cup of coffee and start thinking about how I am going to approach writing about the past year… and the few remaining months of our adventure here…. including our upcoming trip to Roatan.

Stay tuned.. stay calm.

…the headlines make it look serious… and I guess it may be. However, the earthquakes come and go without too much trouble. We just felt, today just before 11am, our second strong tremor. Not nearly as the couch surfing shake we had on Friday, but enough to make us sit up and wait.

I am trying to get to the Tikal story… and the pictures… the stunning vibrant photographs we took. Things happen in between my need to get that written…

Yesterday, Iniyal and I went on a day trip to Museo Nacional de Arte Modern (the Museum of Modern Art). We have a plan to try and go to as many galleries as we can find throughout this city, and others. This was a great first trip. If you are expecting the MOMA… if you are expecting the Tate… if you are expecting the Vancouver Art Gallery or the Art Gallery of Ontario… drop those expectations. The Museo Nacional de Arte Modern is a small, quiet, rather low key gallery, that reflects, more than its name would imply, the possible differences in which art and artist is recognized from nation to nation. Artists, of every kind, every discipline are everywhere… they are simply (complexly) perceived differently by different nations, different society’s. Guatemala has a wealth of art and artists… of every kind, every discipline… but where they are is not as easy as asking where the “gallery district” is…

Our taxi pulled into what appeared to be an almost abandoned parking lot. A few vehicles at the far end of the compound gave me the impression that someone may at least be working here. The buildings were Colonial. Each housed a different gallery or museum. We found the gallery and were relieved to see that the front doors were wide open, and across the lot, at the History Museum, a family filed out into the bright sunlight. Apparently they were indeed open. Iniyal had telephoned earlier to no answer. I paid the driver. We climbed the short steps to the entrance and went inside.

10q each was the entrance fee. This amounts to around $1.30 cdn – at least during the current days of Canadian Monetary Super Power…. well… rather US Dollar under power… I am not an economist. We paid the fee, were giving two receipt tickets and were directed to our left. We wandered through a wide opening into the belly of the building. The building iteslf, inside, was divided into rather well placed. connected rooms, by walls that only reached perhaps fifteen feet. Beyond the top of the walls was a wide open space stretching another 30 feet to the ceilings. I am guessing. The ceilings were very high.

We followed the paths connecting the rooms… pausing at each painting, turning to the opposing wall. I was immediately struck with a troubled sense that the works were in the best possible place they could ever be here. A strange feeling. The first pieces we saw, paintings, dating from the mid to late 19th and early 20th centuries. The were terribly cracked. Roughly stretched, or placed casually behind frames, rumpled. Dirty. These paintings were the kinds of pieces that would be found by chance in an attic.. hidden away for decades… a layer of dirt or dust coating the surface giving them a dull, dark appearance. A close look reveals some very good technique… but many of the first pieces we saw were in desperate need of cleaning. Cleaning paintings is a complicated procedure sometimes. You just cannot casually run a cloth over the surface and return the painting to its natural brightness and splendor. I suppose sometimes you can… but, when a painting has been left for some time, the dirt embeds itself into the surface. The dirt takes up residence. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe it is very easy… no… its not… it can’t be… especially when a painting has cracks and peeling paint. The risk of removing paint is increased with cleaning and it becomes a time consuming, delicate and possibly expensive procedure. Depending on who you speak to… depending on perspective… art has a place… historical art has a place.. and that place isn’t held in as high regard with everyone. This is not to say that the gallery itself is not holding the art in high regard – on the contrary. Galleries are expensive institutions to run… and in many cases there simply is not enough money to allow for such detailed restorations. Perhaps in some cases, the work isn’t worth restoring. Its a matter of opinion I suppose. Ignorantly, I do not know the historical significance of any given work that I saw in the first few rooms. Perhaps there are pieces that are placed to help “fatten” the collection. Perhaps there is not enough work surviving. I do not know.. but.. I will try and understand a little bit better. I hope.

Beyond these first pieces, many of which I admired immediately -looking past the damage and soiled surface, were a step forward in time various examples of abstract, cubist and surrealist works. Continuing on we found stone sculptures, beautiful, heavy. I was enjoying my self… finally having a moment to take in a history of some of Guatemala’s art and artists.

There are theories. I am not sure what they are or what they were. Time passes quickly, slowly, constantly.

It has been…  a great deal of time since I had the time to sit and write about where and what and how.

In brief… a wonderful, wonderful… and much too short visit from my parents. We do wish we would see them more often…

In brief… a return to Toronto for various reasons. Career reasons. Career. Sometimes “career” make one stare at the ceiling at night wondering… “should I have chosen a different major?”

Eventually….

Its January 5th, 2008. We, Iniyal and myself, have just returned from our Christmas excursion in Toronto. Saturday… a day for coffee and breakfast and lazing with a book until the afternoon comes to take us out of the house into the heart of the city to visit a couple of galleries. I am supposed to be reading – a brilliant book that Iniyal read through a weekend during our stay in Toronto; The Kite Runner… instead I am writing. I have a little bit of catching up to do, as I mentioned a trip to Tikal previous to this.. but have not yet had a moment to discuss the subject. It will be from memory, which will likely bring a less clinical day to day discussion and more of a “from the gut” account of how I felt while I was there. We can read all about Tikal in most travel or Central American History books, or catch a documentary on it from the BBC if we so wish… but.. Tikal is more than just an ancient city… its more of a punch in the teeth. I will write about how getting punched in the teeth feels when you stand at the base of a structure that had been completely covered in soil and vegetation for much of the last thousand years and has only just been exposed within the latter part of the last century.

More recently though… we arrived in Toronto to a snow storm that brought what I always refer to as two feet of snow. Its irrelevant to me whether it is 6 inches, a foot, or more. It snows and snows and when it stops, you really don’t know where the earth is and where the snow begins. Everywhere you look – a blanket of snow… beautiful, quiet, calm, cold. Our visit was wonderful. We stayed in as much as we could. We wandered here and there. Spent time with family. The only thing that was not quite right, was my missing my own parents, whom we had spent Christmas with the previous year out west, in the mountains of British Columbia. Increasingly I wish I had the means to get on a plane whenever I felt the desire and go to visit them. Perhaps one day. They are planning a trip to visit us in Guatemala, which we are looking forward to very much.

We left Toronto, snow on the ground, chill in the air. Already missing Iniyal’s family, we took a cab in the wee hours of the morning to the airport. Missing family, and knowing that a return to Guatemala meant seeing my mom and dad very soon. Family.

We arrived in Guatemala city this past Wednesday. We were given and early warning of the next few days weather by one of the single most unstable descents into Guatemala city by plane. The plane rolled violently from side to side… dropped several meters; jerked up again… not once or twice, but, probably for ten minutes… before finally gliding above the tarmac at what felt like full speed. I stared out the window watching the landscape pass as the wheels smashed into the earth and the plane hesitated to bother to slow. It did… eventually and we taxied along to the gate. Its a funny feeling being on an airplane. Its funny because, though for the last hundred years or so, we have boarded airships and placed our faith into the hands of bolts and steel and electronics… and the elements. Funny absurd. During our ten minutes of Vancouver PNE wooden roller coaster ride reminders… I calmly dazed about how pointless it is to be frightened. How pointless it is to be concerned about the outcome of such a flight. We paid money to fly… its not a new thing for either of us. I calmly held Iniyal’s hand, whispering to her “next time we will take a bus”. HA! Even in the face of death… well, thats an exaggeration. Flying is the safest mode of transportation in the word. I am more likely to scratch a knee walking down a deserted street.

Someone was clapping. We reached the gate. We disembarked… we fled the airport into a tiny white cab… Iniyal on my lap… luggage filling the hatchback and spilling into the back seat. The skies were immediately blue and clear. Sunny. In the far distance I could see a black front of clouds looming. I pointed it out to Iniyal and said “storm coming”. She nodded.

The wind picked up over the next two days… wind brought chilly air… though, a far cry from -15c in Toronto. Our first night at home, we stayed in, ordered pizza and started to watch a movie on the laptop. five minutes into the film, the power went out. We looked to the hillside. No lights. The battery in the laptop allowed us to continue watching. The phone rang. Pizza man says “no electricity, no pizza – so sorry”. No sweat… life goes on. We wind up meeting up with our neighbors downstairs… pack into a cab and rush off into the blackness to find somewhere with light. Somewhere with dinner. We had all arrived on the same day, and all had neglected to eat much through the day. Traveling does that. We find a giant mall blazing with lights… the food court is packed. We eat tacoInn and have a laugh. We all go home and the lights come on…

Friday comes. Iniyal only had two days of school, and Friday was still a delight for us. We went to the local grocery, picked up a few simple items, returned home and made dinner. A super delicious pasta dish that Iniyal magically throws together. But, this Friday isn’t about pasta. We are watching a movie we brought back from a Rogers Video previously viewed rummage bin. The Flags of Our Fathers. We sat together on the couch enjoying the film. The power goes out again. No big deal. We luckily have already made dinner.

Without warning, the building rumbles and sways. We look at each other. The swaying increases. The window makes a low rattling sound. Everything is dead silent.. except for the movie of course… but.. the outside is silent… no car alarms I think… nothing. “Earthquake” I speak. Iniyal nods… “yeh”. I asked Iniyal if we should go somewhere safer in the apartment. No response. We sat for a moment kind of just experiencing it. The swaying was increasing slightly and we felt our insides shake. Strange feeling and earthquake. The last time I felt a real earthquake was in Vancouver. I was living with Jme and Jon. I sat in my bedroom on my futon couch reading and in the broad sunny day. The futon rolled like a boat on an ocean wave three or four times… very lightly and it was gone. A small earthquake that one… I remember reading a footnote in the newspaper the next day. In Vancouver, every few years, the news goes on an “Earthquake is coming!! – one day!!” rampage… and nothing… though I am sure it will eventually bring glass to the city streets… one day. This is what the news groups do when, either nothing is happening (there is always something), or when something really huge is happening.. and they need to distract us from it. Patterns.

I am off topic… the earthquake, in Guatemala City, on Friday, January 4th was strong and rather long. It lasted long enough to consider it for a few moments as it was happening. To relish it in a way. To experience. It subsided. For a few pregnant seconds and then a minor aftershock… reminding us that there is always more than we thought.

This morning I scoured the news sources. I checked Al Jazeera, the BBC world… but found two interesting mentions… on a blog predicting the earthquake in Guatemala City, published on the 1st of January, the other a daily news source. The earthquake measured 5.6.

The Present Tense.
It is 11:10am, Saturday, January 5th 2008… I am writing in the blog… Iniyal is preparing addresses of Art Galleries. We have a “resolution” to visit at least one new gallery a week… or… repeat when the show changes… I need that. And we both enjoy visiting the galleries. They are somewhat difficult to find here in the city. The internet is not helpful. We need to look in yellow pages, try and divide the gallerias between the contemporary arts and frame shops… we are making progress. I will shower now… prepare for the day trip into the other zones…

We are both looking forward to a casual day in the sunny spring-like weather…

When we return, I will discuss Tikal… and post a few of the 700+ photographs that I took, while we were there. I will tell stories of monkeys, dead wild turkeys, alligators, toucans (and other birds) and of course the giant ancient city of Tikal rising out of the dense jungle.

TRANSMISSION TO BE CONTINUED

This…. being…

Slow down. Iniyal and I are simply relaxing ourselves this evening. We will make dinner. We will watch a new episode of Heroes… even though we do not have a television. We will prepare ourselves.. later this evening for a journey tomorrow. The final journey of our 2007 stay in Guatemala. The final journey before we return briefly to Canada for the festivities that await us there. For the cold.

Tomorrow morning at 6am, we will leave by plane and travel North East towards the site of the mysterious ancient city of Tikal.

Next week…. eye witness accounts of:

Howler Monkeys
Birds
Snakes
Scorpions
Ancient Mayan Civilization…

STAY TUNED….

TRANSMISSION END

It immediately reminded me of the place I was raised. British Columbia… frequent trips to the lakes in neighboring parkland filled me with an imaginative fuel that would carry me through for the rest of my life… secretly.. Lago Atitlan brought me back in an instant to a frame of mind I hadn’t felt so strongly as when I was a child… soaring across the lake in an aluminum craft with the word “Lund” emblazoned across the side, engine roaring, my father at the throttle… a look of deep concentrated thought shading his features… as he peered ahead, to the sides, to the shore, at his wife, my mother, at my brother and I…

Atitlan is not a small lake… it is a great deal larger than most of the lakes of my childhood… but that magic is there… the mountains in British Columbia… the volcanoes reaching towards the skies in Guatemala. The lake is, as I read, 12km at its widest point, and 18km at its longest. It is dwarfed by even the smallest of the great lakes of Canada, and does not cover the same distance as the larger lakes in B.C. It is home to several villages that line the shores, and stretch up hillsides – all accessible to each other by boat. Iniyal and I wanted to visit the lake before going home to Toronto for Christmas as we had heard so much about it… the only moment we had was before our upcoming journey to Tikal… we took the chance and went.

We took a shuttle from Zona 10 in Guatemala City, to Antigua to pick up more passengers, and onto Panajachel, the main destination for anyone heading to anywhere on and around the lake. The journey to Pana was along a two-way, two lane road undergoing some construction… as most journeys by shuttle or any other motorized vehicle… the experience, in addition to be ing more or less safe, was a harrowing and at times heart stopping experience… enhanced of course as the night approached and darkness left you in a two way parade of head and tail and no lights… constantly in a bid to over take the vehicle in front. Our driver did very well to avoid several near head on collisions with oncoming trucks, children darting across the street with wheel barrels full of whatever… while staying an inch away from a cut in the curb lane concrete that drops several inches… usually onto under construction road… or a drop into the slope of darkness. I merrily dazed out the window, mesmerized by the glittering lights.

Pitch black… we arrive in Pana and are dropped near the docks… Iniyal and I, without a guide… wander down a rickety pier towards a spit where the boats park to drop off and subsequently collect passengers. We prepare to board a waiting boat, packed solid with people… when Iniyal gets through to the owners of the inn where we will stay.. they have sent a private boat for us… to avoid waiting in the dark. The private boat arrives immediately, and we are carted off without a crowd into the pitch of night, across the water bathed in faint blue moonlight… becoming apparent as our eyes adjust to the darkness. We reach our destination within fifteen minutes. We disembark at a dock at the edge of a black cliff… stairs leading up into the forest… The boatman calls the inn keepers, who send a guide to us with a flashlight to help us navigate the steep climb up the stone stairs towards our restful accommodation. He tells us that there are 302 steps to climb before the inn appears… offers to take my heavy pack, to which I decline, and we head upwards. I count seventeen steps before I feel like my throat is bleeding. My endurance is usually rather good… though, with the heavy luggage on my back… unsteady and unbalanced… I am feeling the strain as I force myself step by step, leaning forward.. terrified of falling back. We are met at the top by one of the owners who was very friendly and made us feel welcomed like old friends. Her and her husband (and their four year old son) started building the inn four years ago, opened two years ago, and have been there since… making their guests feel at home in their lovely establishment, that feels more like a home with several guest quarters built onto the cliff side overlooking the waters far below… with view of the volcanoes, the lake, sunsets and sunrises… this was by far the perfect place we could have chosen to stay at for our first visit to Atitlan. The inn is called Lomas de Tzununa…

Iniyal and I enjoyed a lovely dinner in their restaurant… though calling it a restaurant makes it sounds less intimate.. less warm…. it was a large room opening up onto the patio through large glass doors… several tables spaced comfortably. The owners went to each table and greeted their guests and made sure they were being taken care of and enjoying themselves. their staff was unlike any other we had seen… in Guatemala, in Canada… anywhere.. Each of the staff members that made up the Lomas de Tzununa team were relaxed, warm, and clearly enjoyed their work environment. This made us feel a degree of comfort that we were not expecting… it was as if we were staying with family and various family members were dropping in to check on us. Wonderful….

We found our way back to our room with its stunning view of the lake… even at night… along the way, we came across a curious movement on the ground in front of us… Iniyal saw it first and alerted me casually… “look..whats that?”. We bent over for a look. There, scurrying across the path, temporarily visible to us in the path light, a scorpion made its way to whatever business it had that evening. Strangely un-fazed, we delighted in having seen the creature… as I had never seen one in the wild before..

The following day, after a light breakfast and a coffee… we decided to take a hike towards Santa Cruz by way of the high mountainside trail. One of our hosts, graciously took us out a back way, up the side of the building, past clotheslines and gardens, to the trail and pointed us in the right direction. Iniyal and I wandered off… laughing to ourselves that we were indeed about to experience an adventure… as the path was narrow… a steep slope to our left covered in corn fields… a sheep drop to our right… covered in cornfields. I am not speaking of a hill, or a slight decline… these crops were planted on what was close to a 75 – 80 degree slope. One slip and you would slide for about three feet and tumble head over heels for the remaining distance… far below towards the lake shore… wow.

We carried on like soldiers along the path… winding around the mountainside, over boulders, through pockets of forest, up several feet, down several feet, looking at lizards, flowers, encountering roosters… It was hot. We were tired after an hour and a half… not having reached our destination yet. Barking dogs caused contemplation to go back the way we came… we passed them respectfully. Dogs in Guatemala are not lazy old balls of fur as you might find in other places… but lean.. hungry, wild eyed youth… guarding their masters quarters… or wandering, scavenging. I won’t bother discussing the possibility of rabies…. but I digress.

The View from the path on the cliff…

The View from the Path on the Cliff… looking up

We need to get down there….

from here…

uh… here too.. well same spot.

..a rooster…

…eventually we had to go down there… from…

…up there… before arriving:

on the shoreline…

Eventually, unsure as to how much further we had to go, we spied a dock below… with several homes scattered around the shore… we thought, perhaps this was Santa Cruz. If it wasn’t… we were sure to get a boat from there… we descended through a garden path towards the shore. We approached the dock and asked some children where we might find Santa Cruz. they pointed far off in the distance – further on than we had thought… Iniyal asked if a boat would pick us up here… and they said yes… giggling and chattering with each other.. clearly discussing these mystery people who came out of the hillside.. they wandered off for a swim down the shore.. while we waited for the boat. Eventually we saw one, flagged it down and took it triumphantly to Panajachel where we visited the market and had lunch… bushed and burnt. We enjoyed lunch and a beer overlooking the lake before wandering back to the dock to get a boat back to the inn…

The weekend was wonderful… a much needed break from the city.

TRANSMISSION REST

A very quick… very short post regarding a recent overnight trip to Antigua.

Iniyal, the wonderful, has been engaged in a Masters of Education program through the School. This, an important process for her, as she had originally weighed the journey to Guatemala, with her desire to enhance her education through the Masters program back home in Toronto… as luck would have it, she was able to do both.. right here, in Guatemala City.

Her most recent course, through the program was that of writing, which she thoroughly enjoyed the class, her professor, and the writing process itself. As it turns out, in my own opinion, Iniyal possesses quite a clear talent for putting letters together into words into sentences into paragraphs etc etc… able to convey her thoughts and memories in an eloquent, though not overly flamboyant writing manner… which I appreciate. I certainly hope that she was as pleased with her progress as I had been listening to it as she read aloud to me in order for me to provide her with feedback.

The most recent course she had been engaged in had culminated into a final class held at her professors home in Antigua. We decided to go to Antiguaon Saturday, stay the night before she would attend this event the following day, Sunday… while I explored the streets of Antigua with (and without) Jack – whose wife Jen was also in the program, and his friend Gloria – whose husband was attending the class as well.

We had been to Antigua a couple of times before, and I always find it enjoyable… here are a few photos to add to the collection from previous posts….

no fast food, no camera, no guns, no rest…

Dear friends… its a Monday and I should be painting… but, I have been neglecting the importance of recording events through this post for over a month now… since, well… the volcano! episode. My sincerest apologies…

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… Iniyal and I have had three lovely adventures since the volcano! climb as we have been trying to get a few adventures in before the Christmas season brings us back to the Great White North. Speaking of the Great White North – The daily stormy weather has been replaced here, in Guatemala with the occasional high wind and the very often sunny, blue, puffy white coasting cloud and warmth of the season. A quick Apple Dashboard check up reveals that it is currently 20 degrees outside… sunlight streaming into our bright apartment. That is today…

A quick journey in the time machine backward… or sideways… or maybe up… since time itself is such a complexity that I would never expect anyone to fully explain its true course… praise beans. Lets go back to….. 1952…. wait no. Lets go back to November 1st 2007…

NOVEMBER 1st 2007 – The Day of the Dead Kite Festival Santiago Sacatepequez.

The Day of the Dead. On this day, each year, families gather in the grave yard to remember their ancestors and loved ones. They do this by having picnics, decorating graves and tombs with bright flowers, and building brightly coloured kites. These are the basics… there is also a crowded street festival punctuated with the sweet smells of local fare, music floating through the air and locals selling their bright hand made crafts. These are the basics… I cannot even begin to go into further detail about all of the things that one might see during this festival.

Lets back up…. though, I will skip the shuttle bus ride… and I will skip the hike up the streets in the mid morning, as things are just getting started, just getting busy, just getting hot… on the streets… towards the graveyard… where, as we wander effortlessly up the road… we start to catch first glances of the beautifully decorated kites, tiny and giant hovering in the distance above fields and houses alike… just getting started, just getting busy, just getting hot in the streets.. as the sun brightened the countryside… while in the graveyard, as we passed through the gates (I won’t even mention the delicious snack I sampled along the way) – through the gates into the graveyard, full of tomb stones and tombs, dirt mounds and plaques…. packed solid with so many people, here in the graveyard where things started quite some time ago… where things had been happening for quite some time before the tourists arrived in their shuttle buses. In the graveyard… crowds watched in awe, the enormous flight of these kites built for this special moment… to fly above the fields, soaring with the warmth of the wind to meet the souls of those passed.. remembered on this day.

A note…
The festival is comprised of many events… many things that are happening at once. The focus for most is the building of the super giant kites (three story’s high) that will be judged on visual design as well as the speed in which their team is able to complete them before hoisting them upright for display against the blue skies packed with flying kites. The focus… for most… or the tourists….
The festival is comprised of many events… many things are happening at once, though in between all of this, and to a degree, holding firm in tradition and almost defiant of the crowds and the chaos are scores of families… sitting amongst the gravestones, decorated with colourful flowers… bottles of water, wine or juice among a selection of food.. a picnic. Families with less an expression of excitement and glee, and more an expression of deep remembrance. Children build kites, and, while away from the festivities of the flight teams… attach notes to their creations with the hopes that their message will reach high enough in the sky for their relatives to receive, carried upwards on the days wind. A beautiful, though somewhat melancholy sight. Though, after spending some time and giving it some thought, it occurred to me that it may be less of a melancholy day for many… as this was a time when people might be able to have a strong connection to someone they dearly miss… perhaps keeping them close to themselves – a time to enjoy their company of memories, to share stories.. rather than grieve and feel overwhelming sadness. It occurred to me.. that perhaps we had it all wrong… dead is not dead.. its just different. Hopefully the photos explain things more clearly than my ramblings.

Meanwhile… on the slopes of the graveyard, folks were busy dodging the kits flying teams as they battled the high wind, pulling feverishly at their ropes, leaping over graves, tripping over plants and flower pots… as their 12 foot kites floated effortlessly high above them… off in the distance…

We found a few points of interest to watch the skies, watch the building, watch the people… all the while soaking in the festive atmosphere that threatened to overshadow everything that we try so desperately to attach to what a graveyard is… and as the kites filled the skies, launched, soaring, crashing, re-launched…. we let it, on this day remind us that life was too short to not spend some time flying kites and enjoying a beautiful sunny day in the graveyard on a hillside at the town of Santiago Sacatepequez.

After several hours… we hooked up with the rest of our team… and sneaked through the back way.. past the graves.. towards a wall where a makeshift ladder was set up. We climbed the wall… and followed a path out behind the village.. as the streets had become unbearably crowded… knowing that getting through the gates of the cemetery alone would mean a slow and long process just to get to the street which.. was now at a near standstill. We climbed the wall… and followed a path… where we saw the countryside… horses… children flying kites.. alone and away from the crowds… we followed a path that led back the streets.. where there was less congestion.. and descended the road towards our awaiting shuttle bus.

Dig Life first…

TRANSMISSION END….

Volcanoes are all around us. We have been wanting to ascend the mountainside towards the summit of the active volcano Pacaya. We boarded a big yellow Blue Bird School bus at the school parking lot where Iniyal is an educator, along with a good sized group of other teachers at 4:30 pm. The bus made one more pickup stop for another 20 or so who would be climbing that day. Our planned hike up an extremely steep incline was to begin about two hours later after a journey through winding roads towards this burning giant. We passed through rural towns and wilderness before making the last leg of the bus ride up a steep and winding, narrow road towards what would be considered the base camp – as this is where guides would be found and we would pay our park entrance fee. Children of varying ages scrambled around our enormous group offering us hiking sticks for a small fee – five quetzals. Iniyal contemplated who to buy from as they swarmed around us… eventually finding a rather lonely looking child who was not likely older than four or five… holding a couple of walking sticks… fine sticks he had.. so she purchased one. Realizing that I may regret not purchasing a stick as well… I fished in my pocket for a ten quetzales bill and found a boy with a good selection and purchased a stick. He didn’t have change of course (we knew they did)… so I told him to keep it -clever fellow.

The guides were introduced to us and we went on our way up a steep trail that led into the black of night. Nighttime on the mountainside… very very dark. Glowing worms littered the path… occasionally I stopped to marvel at these bizarre creatures… There is a cloud cover that hovers above us… without flashlights it was very difficult to navigate the path… which altered from having dense forest on either side of us… to forest on one side and a steep drop on the other… we could barely see past a few feet.. so who knows what was below in the depth of that wild. The bravest of our entire group was most likely Abby and Emma… Jen and Jims children… who, though only in grade one and four, were leading the group fearlessly up the steep terrain behind only the guide. This hike… this trek up this mountainside was not a stroll through the park… though it was not an intensive climb either… but it was a test of ones body and breathe… and the walking sticks… there was a good reason why they were being sold at the base… we needed them. Iniyal, who was concerned that she might have a difficult time on this hike… did well with the climb through the woods… laughing and chatting with her comrades… though we were all slightly short on breathe.

I am going to cut this short… darkness, wilderness, a final ascent to a plateau – where we saw the narrow streams glowing below us… from this plateau we then would head down… a steep sandy slope towards an orange field of fire. We were able to get as close as possible to the mounds of glowing molten rock. all around us this alien landscape of course black lava flow… though these photos are the best I could do with limited knowledge of night photography with our DSLR…. they will give an idea of what we saw there… and though, on this journey we would not be hiking to the summit to peer into the mouth of the volcano itself… these lava flows in this field of constant change was well worth the trip through the blackness…

Want to know more about Volcano Pacaya? Dig Wikipedia.

TRANSMISSION END!