After finding our posada (a Central American version of the bed and breakfast) and dumping our overnight luggage, we started walking the streets of Antigua to get oriented. Just wandering in the city, you stumble upon amazing architecture and abandoned buildings that were obviously showpieces in their time. At one point I looked up and realized I was passing the remains of a Jesuit school that I later identified as Convento de la Compania de Jesus, which was built starting in 1626 on the remains of the house of Bernal Diaz del Castillo.
We stopped at a travel agency that was advertising tours of a volcano called Pacaya. The price didn't seem that bad, so we signed up to go that afternoon. We had gotten information from a coworker back in the US that it was easy to climb, and I was excited to see actual lava. By this time our stomachs were growling, so we stopped at a small restaurant for breakfast. We munched away on traditional fare to the sounds of American pop music. After breakfast we walked over to the Central Square where we saw the Catedral de Santiago, an imposing white structure that was completed in 1680. We also got a look at the Palacio de los Capitanes Generales, with its colonaded arches.
Avoiding the buzz of traffic around the square, we made our way down another street and over to the Universidad de San Carlos. The building was one of the first universities in the Americas (it became a university in 1676), but moved to Guatemala City in 1776 after surviving the earthquake of 1773. The building now houses a museum, but we didn't have time to look around inside.
Next we came to Iglesia de Hermano Pedro and the attached Hospital de San Pedro, constructed in 1654. The church is a lovely shade of canary yellow with embellishments in white, and very obviously still in use. I can't even imagine what it must be like to go to a church that old. It is named after Hermano Pedro de San José Betancourt, a Franciscan monk that was noted as a healer.
We continued wandering past the church towards Santa Clara convent, completed in 1734, but abandoned after the earthquake of 1773. We also watched the indigenous women as we walked along. Most were selling necklaces and other trinkets, but some had fresh fruit in large baskets that they managed to balance on their heads. We also came upon a group that was washing laundry in La Union Tank, which dates from 1853, in front of Santa Clara.
Realizing it would take us just about forever to walk around the city and see all the ruins, we decided to take a carriage ride around the city. Our guide was a young boy, dressed to the nines in tight jeans and cowboy boots. We passed Iglesia de San Jose el Viejo, completed in 1761, which you can tell has taken a beating from the frequent earthquake activity in the area, but it was still stunning despite the damage. It was restored in 1942, and it is now used just for special events, so no peeking inside.
Further along we got a view of the Arco de Santa Catalina, built in 1693, which connected a convent to a school on the other side of the street. The whole area of Antigua was very active religiously back in its heyday, so there are convents and churches everywhere. The next ruin we passed was the church of Santa Teresa, built back in the late 1600's. The church has been hit by multiple earthquakes, and its final collapse was back in 1773.
The last major spot we passed on our ride was Iglesia y Convento de las Capuchinas. It's a church and convent, apparently completed in 1736, but damaged, once again, in the earthquake of 1773.
Once we finished our ride, we made our way over to Iglesia de San Francisco, where Hermano Pedro de San José Betancourt is buried. The church is still in use, and some of the gardens on the side are rather beautiful. My friend's mother bought a rosary at the church store that is made from the esquisuchil tree, a rare species planted in Antigua first by Hermano Pedro, which is thought to have healing properties. We wanted to peek inside, but mass was being held, so we stayed outside.
After the last church we decided it was time for lunch. My friend's mother had good memories of eating at Hotel Antigua (now Porta Hotel Antigua) when she was a child, so we decided to go ahead. The entrance to the hotel was decorated with traditional sawdust designs you normally only see during Holy Week, and the end of the pathway was decorated with a fountain. Since it was Thanksgiving Day in the US, they had an American buffet, but we opted to go for the traditional entrees. It was delicious, and the beautiful view of the tropical pool area didn't hurt either.
We quickly ran back to the main square to pick up some sandwiches for our volcano climb, and then worked our way back to our posada to wait for our ride. The van showed up already loaded with people, so we quickly climbed in and set off on our two-hour journey to the volcano. I spent most of the time nodding off, but woke when we pulled into a gas station along the way. I was stunned by how beautiful the hills in the area were. Too bad some crazy man went into the ladies restroom and stole the toilet paper right in front of us. No one dared follow him into the men's restroom to retrieve it, so we had to dig for tissue in our bags.When we got to the entrance to the volcano, we each had to pay an entrance fee. People that are citizens of Guatemala get a discount to see local points of interest, so my friend and her mother paid a lesser amount. As soon as the Italian woman sitting up front found out, she spent the next twenty minutes berating the driver about why she had to pay a higher price than a local would. She just wouldn't let it go. I knew right then that we were in for it.
We wound our way up the mountainside, past farms and villages, until we reached the highest point a car can go. We all piled out of the van, and immediately we were swarmed with children offering to rent us walking sticks for five quetzals and wanting us to ride their horses for 100. Our guide wasn't much help, and he just seemed to wander around. We were told the hike to the top was over 3 kilometers. That sounded like a great distance to ride a horse, and eventually we were on our horses and ready to go.
The horses started winding their way up through the heavily wooded hills, going up and down small hills as we went. The Italian woman, who was walking, stumbled and almost fell. Several locals insisted she ride a horse since it was pretty apparent she wasn't going to make it otherwise. I got to spend the rest of the ride listening to her cry in panic every time the horse went down a small incline. At one point she even insisted on getting off the horse, walking down the small hill, and then getting back on. And she couldn't get back on herself. She had to have several locals pushing her into the saddle while trying not to touch any part of her that might get them in trouble. If I wasn't so disgusted by this petulant, spoiled woman, it would have been funny.
At one point we came to a level area, and you could see the Volcan de Agua clearly. It was a stunning view, and I was glad I was up on a horse, above all the shrubs down lower. The sun was starting in its arc towards setting, and everything was very quiet and still.
After a very long ride, we came out into an area where no plants were growing, and the dirt changed to black sand. The slope up to the volcano was barren like the surface of the moon. The horse could only go halfway up the bare slope, and when they stopped, we were required to climb the short remaining distance to where the lava was. I thought, no big deal, I've had a rest all this time, let's get started. WRONG.The volcanic sand and rocks made walking into a near impossibility, forget climbing. Everytime I put a foot down, all the rocks under my feet would tumble out. It was like walking on marbles. The slope itself was almost 90 degrees, and I soon found myself crawling and clawing my way to the top. The air was thin, and it was hard to get a good breath. I had to keep stopping, but I could never catch my breath. Several times I considered just going right back down again, without looking at anything.
The man that had led my horse up the mountain came up and started helping us to climb. It was a little better with someone else, in addition to the walking stick, to lean on, but I still struggled. I seriously was beginning to think I was just going to die there. When we got near the top, I started to feel the heat coming off the rocks under my feet. At one point the man pointed to a red glow between the rocks I was standing on. It was lava. Right under where I was walking. That really couldn't have been safe.Finally we reached the top, but I was so exhausted and hated the volcano so much that I didn't care. Somehow I managed to pull my camera out and snap some photos. I just wanted the day to be over. I was so grateful to start down, until I realized that down was even worse.
The sand that had slipped out from under my feet going up now made it almost impossible to get any sort of footing going down. If you put your hands down to catch yourself, the jagged volcano rocks sliced into your fingers. I constantly felt like I was going to fall, and once I started, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. My descent was a controlled slide down the volcano. I was never so happy to see a horse in my life.
When we got to the horses we were told we needed to use our flashlights if we wanted to go down on foot instead. I looked at my friend and she looked back at me. No one had told us to bring flashlights. The sun was quickly fading. It didn't take long for us to decide to ride the horses back down, and somehow I managed to pull myself into the saddle.
The ride down was actually pretty enjoyable despite my total exhaustion. The night sky was very dark, and a million stars were shining. It was silent except for the sound of the horses picking their way down the incline. Then off in the distance I could hear some of the people that were walking down, swinging their flashlights, whistling the Heigh-Ho song that the seven dwarfs sing in Disney's Snow White.
We finally made it back to where the van was parked, and I was ready to crash. I handsomely tipped the man that had practically pulled me up the volcano and then kept me from tumbling back down. We heard a whispering that the Italian woman had managed to get herself bashed up by falling on the way down, and I was really expecting the worst. She came down a little later than the others, but with no major injury that I could see.
After getting a Gatorade at the little store and avoiding some of the local stray dogs who were fighting, I made it back into our van for the ride back to Antigua. Some of the locals rode with us partway down the mountain. The ride back was a bit of a blur due to my exhaustion, but I was very happy to see the front of my posada again. As we went inside, exhaustion was battling with hunger for my attention. I finally agreed with my friend that we would take some time to clean ourselves up, and then meet back downstairs to find some dinner.
When I got up to my room, I was horrified by what I saw in the mirror. I looked like I hadn't slept in a week, nor showered. When I pulled off my shoes, volcanic sand poured onto the flour. Black powder was on everything I owned. I just managed to comb my hair and shake out some sand before making my way downstairs.
We started walking on the now nearly-deserted streets, looking for a restaurant that was still open. We passed a couple, but they mostly looked like wine bars. Almost to the main square we finally found a small place that was still open, but we were the only customers. I ordered a sandwich, but was almost too tired to eat. I'm not sure how I made it through the meal. We stumbled back to our posada, and after a hot shower, the bed felt like a cloud in Heaven.
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