1000 WORDS » mountains

tajumulco

anna — Sun, 13 Mar 2011 12:54:45 +0000

Tajmulco at 4220 metres is the highest peak in Central America and Silke and I tackle it on an overnight jaunt. We set out from Xela on the chicken bus (more on that later) and start up the mountain.

Starting out... (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

The mountain is largely deforested but a few old pines remain.

Looking down ...

... and looking up.

Life without a guide really isn't that difficult: we follow in the foot prints of other hikers in the general direction of 'up'.

The path is more or less clear most of the way.

We camp close to the top of the mountain in the company of a few other hikers. While we are cooking dinner around a sizable fire a fine drizzle commences which turns gradually to sleet and then to snow. At 4.30 we get up in complete darkness to complete our ascent and watch the dawn from the summit.

A mountainous dawn with a light sprinkling of snow..

... is pretty spectacular.

...

My inadequate footwear is a recipe for chilly feet.

Back at camp..

... the snow is melting...

... while our wet things dry out.

The sun is shining...

... as we descend.

Bye bye, Tajumulco.

santa maria

anna — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 04:25:23 +0000

One of the reasons for coming to Xela is its proximity to two of Guatemala’s highest mountains. Santa Maria looms over the town at 3771 metres and Tajumulco, Central America’s highest peak at 4220 metres, is not far away. I am keen to climb both of them.

After stocking up on some warm cloths at Xela’s markets and second hand clothes shops Silke and I set off, on a Sunday morning, to scale Santa Maria with enough food and gear to spend a night or two there, if we wish.

The Santa Maria trailhead is a mere 7 kilometres from the centre of Xela - a short ride away on a chicken bus.

We reach the summit in a few hours. We are high enough to be above the majority of the clouds.

We set up camp on the summit of the volcano above a sea of clouds.

A local man has gone missing somewhere on Santa Maria in the last couple of weeks and when arrive at the summit we meet a large group from his village of San Andres who have come to search for him, one last time. Abundant flowers have been left at the summit to mark his passing.

Santiaguito, a smaller volcanic protrusion to the south of Santa Maria, is actually part of the same volcano and is constantly active.

Every couple of hours smoke and vapour roils upwards accompanied by an ominous throaty roar.

Evening light.

Sunrise illuminates the volcano chain to the west. The volcanoes surrounding Lake Atitlan are those in the middle distance and the ones further away are the volcanoes which surround Antigua.

...

A couple, who have canoed, walked and cycled their way from Alaska, also spent the night on Santa Maria. Yannick, from France/US, stands on the summit against a dawn sky.

Santa Maria casts a deep shadow to the west as the sun rises.

The clouds clear and we get a better view...

...of Santiaguito's feverish activity.

As the morning passes groups of village folk arrive at the summit and congregate in groups - praying and wailing in religious ceremonies that amalgamate disparate elements of Mayan ritual and evangelical religion.

It's a weird scene.

welcome to xela

anna — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 23:34:48 +0000

We arrive in Xela early enough in the day to have ample time to find somewhere to stay and then address myself to the task of finding a good restaurant where I can celebrate my birthday in style.

Xela has a surprising good, if somewhat pricey, Indian restaurant where I decide to celebrate my birthday. The fish curry was truly excellent.

After an extremely satisfactory birthday dinner, Silke and I start to walk towards the guesthouse where we are staying, a mere two blocks from the Sabor de la India in the centre of Xela. It is between 8 and 8.30 pm.

A couple of kids, about 14 and 17 years old, suddenly appear on the street beside us and after trying to initiate a conversation they make a grab for Silke’s bag. She resists and the older boy brandishes a knife with a volitile mix of nervousness and menace. The younger boy is orbiting the scene erratically and it takes me a second or two to grasp the situation. As I enter the fray the other lad releases Silke’s bag and somehow, in the general scuffle, the knife, which is – thankfully – small and not very sharp, and my hand connect.

The four of us are still at an uncertain standoff when car crosses a nearby intersection and the boys retreat up the hill, to where a adult man is supervising their somewhat inexpert efforts. All three watch as Silke and I fumble with our bunch of five unmarked, and very similar, keys, trying clumsily to open the iron gate of the guesthouse.

Once safely inside, I examine the scratch on my hand. The guesthouse is associated with one of Xela’s innumerable language schools and the school is clearly the main focus of the business – the guesthouse only boasts of three rooms and there are no staff present after 4pm. However, a man from the affiliated travel agency is still at work in his office and we tell him what has happened. He assiduously cleans my insignificant wound but displays an evident reluctance to call the police. I can think of better ways to spend the rest of the evening than hanging around a police station myself and so since no real harm came of the incident we decide to forget it.

The next day, however, around mid-morning a man, who introduces himself as Angel, appears in the garden of the guesthouse and he wants to know all the details of the episode. Angel, it transpires, works for INGUAT – the Guatemalan government’s department of tourism – and his job, as he describes it, it to protect tourists from any of the various unfortunate things that might befall them. I am unsure of exactly how he heard of our minor mishap but it was clear that he takes the matter quite seriously. After he takes detailed notes on our account he asks us to accompany him to the police station to make an official report.

Angel's unenviable job is to protect tourists and he appears to take it quite seriously. He is keen for us to report the incident to the police so that he can look at video footage from a street camera that has recently been installed at the intersection near the entrance to our guesthouse and so we oblige him. He tells me last year that he had to leave Xela for a while due to threats against him and his family.

The paperwork takes some time to complete and we have to sign multiple copies...something like octuplicate, I think.

to toto

anna — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 04:49:23 +0000

As soon as my bike is back together, I set off from Panajachel towards Quetzaltenango, Guatemala’s second biggest city – more commonly known as Xela, its name in the local indigenous language. Nancy and Matthew have given me information about a dirt road that goes over the mountains to Totonicapan and as the alternative route to Xela is the Pan American Highway this seems like the sensible choice.

I meet up again with Silke, who is heading in the same direction, and we start to climb from the shores of the lake to Sololoa.

Lake Atitlan sits, at just over 1500 metres, in a deep basin surrounded by steep volcanic mountains - you can't go anywhere from Panajachel without going uphill.

My skills as a bike mechanic are still developing and it isn't long before I need to perform a few roadside adjustments to my new drive train. (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

We ride on pavement until we reach Los Encuentros, where we turn off onto a gravel road that continues to climb. Silke has a cycle computer and, amongst its various functions, it provide information on altitude. By late afternoon we are riding at over 3000 metres and, consequently, I am feeling a little weak and breathless.

Night falls in the mountains - our camp is at over 3000 metres, not spectacularly high but high enough for me to feel somewhat breathless when I exert myself. As soon as the sun sets the temperature plummets and I put on every single item of clothing I own. Note the shorts worn over the trousers, which are are light linen - bought with July on the Yucatan Peninsula and not February in the Guatemalan highlands in mind. (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

In the morning, Santa Maria appears behind the next ridge.

Our road winds over the mountains. Typically, people we stop and ask for directions say, "Straight ahead. Just go straight ahead!" (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

This advice offers us little insight when we are confronted with various forks in the road and our strategy of following what appears to be way that gets the most traffic sometimes leads us astray. We are in a mountain-top meadow uncertainly studying our maps with the guidance of a compass when...

... a posse of men, some of which have already questioned us as we passed earlier them in the day, rattle up to us in a four wheel drive pick-up. The men are deeply suspicious of our reasons for being here and questions us extensively as to whether or not we might be prospecting for minerals. They ask to see our passports and examine my map to see if it sheds any additional light on our motives or contradicts any of our statements. Finally, they allow us to go on our way after issuing the usual ominous warnings about what might happen to women foolish enough to venture outside without the protection and guidance of male company.

The cobbles attest to the fact that this was once the main route to Totonicapan...

... but the current condition of the road... (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

...with its exposed bedrock...

... and massive wash outs...

... means that we don't see much other traffic apart from the odd group of people driving mules burdened by massive bundles of firewood.

A roadside shrine...

...is graffiti covered and abandoned.

The relatively open woods on the ridge...

...gives way to a denser forest as the road descents steeply and there is little level clear ground where we can pitch our tents. Eventually, where several roads meet, we come across a flat area and set up camp but the sound of a nearby chain saw throughout the night, in the supposedly protected forest, is disconcerting and makes for a restless night. In the morning, we emerge from the forest and onto paved road for a rapid descent into Totonicapan and from there...

... to the highway into Xela. This is a scene I do my best to avoid.

the last haul to the lake

anna — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 04:35:03 +0000

We finally hit paved road in San Martin Jilotepeque, a sizable town with a great market.

Shops in Guatemala tend to have fanciful names and use idiosyncratic imagery to promote their services and goods: this bike shop, in the mountain town of San Martin Jilotepeque, is called Bike "War"! The cyclist depicted bears little relation to Guatemala's bike riders.

We might have left dirt roads behind for the moment but there are still some hills to scale, though, and at dusk we find ourselves searching fruitlessly for camp site among the market gardens about 30km from Panajachel. Volcan de Fuego puffs out a little plume of smoke in the distance.

The last wet season saw more rain fall than has ever previously been recorded and the roads, even paved ones, suffered for it. This bridge has been washed away leaving the river to be forded.

Weird roadside mines line the highway...

...which goes up and down and up and down...

...all the way to the lake.

We stop to admire the view for a while before the final descent into Panajachel. (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

campfire

anna — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 09:37:59 +0000

After visiting the Quetzal Sanctuary, we search out a route over the hills towards Panajachel on Lake Atitlan, where I hope to find a box of parts awaiting for me in order to ease my bike’s woes. We leave the highway and climb into the hills on a narrow dirt road.

Leaving the highway we start to climb into the hills in the afternoon light.

After a couple of hours as dusk falls we come to a river and find a campsite out of sight of the road.

My first campfire for quite a while provides...

... the evenings entertainment...

... and coffee and porridge for breakfast.

The riding is fantastic.

These mountain roads with pine forest...

...and loads of small streams to ford remind me of the north of Mexico.

up in the mountains

anna — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 23:06:22 +0000

After Semuc Champey, my next Guatemalan mission is to catch a glimpse of the Resplendant Quetzal, the country’s national bird at the Quetzal Sanctuary, a small patch of protected cloud forest near the city of Coban. Eschewing the paved option, Silke and I continue on the road that passes Semuc Champey and runs straight over the mountains. It’s not a route that is much travelled, by anyone, let alone a couple of gringas on bikes.

Keaving Semuc Champey...

...we head over more mountains, covered in corn, bananas ...

...coffee,...

...and a few other more mysterious crops.

Despite vicious gradients and a bit of bother with some mud the ride above the clouds...

...is a joy.

We are something of a roadside attraction. This guy selling chocobananas and homemade fruit ices was keen to take our picture.

After a couple days of quite challenging dirt riding, we run across a newly concreted section of road which provides a great speedy descent, a steep climb and another downhill run...

.... leading to a very dusty unpaved highway with way too much traffic to provide any enjoyment at all. The Quetzal Sanctuary lies at the other end of it.

semuc champey

anna — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 16:15:00 +0000

We head into some pretty remote territory. Isolated mountain aldeias of a couple of houses are punctuated by occasional larger settlements with bustling markets. The other traffic we encounter is most commonly women on foot, generally burdened by large bundles carried on their heads. Every now and then a heavily overloaded pickup truck or mini-bus passes by raising huge clouds of dust.

Road chaos in a market town.

Finally we make it to Lanquin, the village nearest to the legendary Semuc Champey.

A winning Guatemalan smile decorating a dentist surgery wall in Lanquin.

Watermelon is a life saver and readily available pre-cut almost everywhere.

There is only ten kilometres between Lanquin and Semuc Champey but they are not for the faint-hearted. I haven’t seen such ascents since leaving the Copper Canyon. I run into Vinko and Collette in Lanquin and they tell me the road to Semuc is unrideable. I did get off and push from time to time but I made it.

It's a rocky road...

...to Semuc Champey and if I was carrying as much gear as Silke I would lie down and cry. I admire her strength without reservation but doubt her common sense, just a little.

The going gets really rough when they feel the need to lay concrete. I have no idea of the gradient here but gnarly is the word for it.

The ten kilometres take us a couple of hours to achieve but the river when we arrive at it looks good. We set up camp at Tres Maria’s one of the three accommodation options available in the vicinity of Semuc Champey and without further ado make our way to explore in the company of Dave and Jana, a young couple from the US.

Camp by the river: the yellow tent is Silke's, mine in the middle and Dave and Jana's at the end.

Semuc Champey. This is it - the 'most beautiful' place in Guatemala. I'm not really one for superlatives but it is quite amazing.

The river rushes...

... and roars...

... plunging underground...

... below a series of tranquil turquoise pools where you can float away your cares...

... while sky gazing through the foliage.

It is quite gorgeous.

Jana chasing fish...

... in the quiet waters above...

... the roaring river below.

An extensive cave system with copious water running through it honey combs the limestone hills and the following day we opt to explore it. Dave is a keen caver and has lights and ropes but we discover that entry without a guide is not an option.

A map of the cave system. It winds for 11 kilometres through the limestone mountains - a river runs through the entire system and in many places you have to swim through deep water.

Exploring the darkness. Jorge, our guide, brooks no nonsense from his charges. He quickly takes Dave to task when he looks a little too independent and told our group, using me as a translator, that if we were good he would give us a good tour but if we were bad there would be consequences. He seems somewhat impressed by our seriousness when it become apparent that we have bought our own lights and tucks the candles that are provided for less well prepared tourist fetchingly behind his ears for safekeeping. He commandeers my head-torch because its batteries are stronger than the ones in his and leads us into the depths. We climb waterfalls and dive under rock walls into the mysterious bowels of the earth. I am not big on caves but this is quite an experience.

Jorge, in fact, was so cute and battered his eye lashes at me so charmingly and provocatively as we floated dreamily back to camp three kilometres down the green river - all the while murmuring enticing invitations to join him for a sunset stroll - that I almost broke my resolve not to kiss anyone less than half my age. (I will leave the precise figures discreetly veiled.)

heading for the hills

anna — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 04:10:43 +0000

When I finally set off from Finca Ixobal, it is to meet with Silke, a German woman who is also touring solo, about 70 kilometres down the highway towards Rio Dulce. From there we intend to strike out on dirt roads over the mountains towards Semuc Champey, which is reputed to be one of the most beautiful places in Guatemala.

Clearly I am refreshed by my stay at Finca Ixobal and the road whizzes by under my wheels and I arrive at our meeting spot, an unprepossessing petrol station about 3 hours early but luckily Silke arrives not long after and without further ado we leave the pavement for a quiet gravel road lined with blossom trees.

Petals are strewn across the road with starts out gently enough winding through green fields.

Sky blue and pink. A bucolic idyll.

Riding is relatively uneventful. We stop from time to time to drink coconuts or eat watermelon. Not a lot of foreigners pass this way and so we cause general amazement as we pass. Here the population is largely indigenous and the woman wear fabulous threads.

When I see a stream of children leaving school, each one bearing a coconut, I ask this girl where I can get one. She doesn't lose any time in knocking a couple of coconuts out a palm in front of her house and opens them for us...

... while her younger sisters and cousins stands staring in amazement at the astonishing apparitions before them.

It isn’t long before the road starts to climb into the mountains and the going isn’t quite so easy. The first steep section is paved, though and so not too challenging.

Climbing mountains. Now that I am riding in company again I guess you can expect to see a few more photos of me appearing again. (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

Rising above the clouds.

Silke, my new travel companion, rides across mountain top football field. There is no village or settlement in the area so I imagine that the pitch exists for anybody passing by that feels a sudden desperate need for an impromptu game of soccer..

It's a football pitch with some fabulous views.

When the pavement gives out and the gradients increase the going gets tougher. My bike has been limping since I left Calakmul in Mexico – the chain slipping on all but toothless rings. I turned the middle ring around in Santa Elena to get a bit of extra life out of it but steep rough ascents have me pushing a fair bit of the time.

I arrive in a village as school is getting out and scores of teenagers are streaming down the road. I stop to wait for Silke, who is no lightweighter and consequently is a little slower on steep ascents than I am.

I have ample opportunity to admire the girls fabulous outfits...

...and...

...make a bunch of new friends.

This bike...

... has had a tough life, it seems.

We are constantly surrounded by children in the villages. (Photo: Silke Moeckel)

We are invited by a local school teacher to stay at her house where more children study our every move.

The house is occupied by women and children. The men are all away working somewhere - probably the US.

Our gracious hostess is one of the local school teachers and speaks good Spanish. Many of the women and children in these communities don't.

The morning brings more stiff climbs punctuated by regular stops for mangos and slices of watermelon at rickety roadside tiendas...

... populated by the inevitable poultry.

on mountains

anna — Thu, 13 May 2010 16:07:14 +0000

After traversing the hot flat plains of Vera Cruz and Tabasco I enter Chiapas and mountains rise again before me. It is still extremely hot and the going is tough but landscape offers greater consolation.

I do love mountains, despite the pain...

My map is fairly inadequate and so my route is based on the vague information it provides, supplemented by the advice of locals and I have to contend constantly with their desire to have me ride on freeways. When I tell anyone where I am going they inform me that I am hopelessly lost and will have to retrace my steps to reach the toll road. The local idea of a good road to ride on and mine are diametrically opposed, it seems, but I am quite insistent and with persistence I do manage to find quieter back roads to San Cristobal, my destination.

...really, I do...

...because when the going gets too tough they offer sudden and unexpected consolation, such as this little piece of paradise. A firmly locked gate and a solid barbed wire fence are but trifling impediments barring my way.