Hiking the Highlands to Atitlan

There is a chicken bus that goes from Xela to Lago Atitlan. It takes about an hour, is a little bumpy and often carried farm animals as well as people, but it is reliable, and cheap. You may therefore wonder why on earth I decided to spend three days hiking here instead. Trust me, I wondered this too.

Our first day started at 6.30am in Xela, with a wholesome breakfast and manic re-packing of my enormous backpack, with the rest of our group at Quetzaltrekkers, who were the volunteer run, vegan, ethically minded and really rather vague guides responsible for us for the duration of our trip. Its a wonder we ever left to be frank.

Armed with everything we needed for three days strapped to or backs {including sleeping bags, mats, dry clothes, food, crockery, unnecessarily heavy tubs of 'trail mix'(glorified nuts} and enough water for a month, we began our hike with a very pointless mission across Xela city, before hopping onto a chicken bus to our actual starting point, at the foot of an absolutely huge ridge we were set to climb.

I was already knackered by this point, wishing I had left a few more days to recover after my last hike up Volcan Santa Maria two days before {hardcore yes I am} and already considering turfing out he trail mix and at least 3 of my litres of the water I had been told I must carry at. all. times. If only I had known what was next, I would have been straight back on that chicken bus no questions.

The first two hours of our assent nearly killed the fat girl straight off. It was definitely the hardest part of the day, but the views at the top were absolutely stunning, with Volcan Tacamulco in the distance one way and the journey ahead of us spread out in the other. We walked until dusk, along exposed peaks, grassy plains, across cloud covered ridges, down steep slippery slopes, through thick pine forest and dense tropical jungle until our legs felt like jelly. I have never been so pleased to see the first signs of civilisation in my life {even if it did consist of piles of rubbish by the road as we approached Santa Catarina, where we were to spend our first night}.

When I say civilisation, I say it in the loosest possible sense of the word, because lets just say, that town was weird. The 'fair' had arrived in town, so the little shabby square had been turned into a spiderman themed ammusement arcade, complete with its own mini feras wheel, which certainly did not look like it could have held the weight of a human, groaning as it spun and was poked at by a precariously positioned mechanic. Around it were rows of identical stalls all selling the same rockhard bagel looking things that noone was buying because we were the only ones there. Was this strange scene for our benefit? Who knows. All I now is that all this seemed rather normal after stepping inside the bar...

We had been warned to get a take out where beer was concerned, but I had obviously protested that we must 'drink with the locals'. Smart move. On arrival it became clear that the bar was in fact just a rather disgusting concrete room and the locals were to all intents and purposes about 4 absolutely twatted old men, dribbling on themselves and leering at the incredibly patient {and not to mention brave} Mayan bar women, who was busy defending the last 3 bottles of beer left in the place. In and out was the word of the day, never to return.

The beer tasted like nectar however, swigged around a huge cooking pot of pasta {thank god I didn't get lumbered with carrying that piece of kit!} in an old disused municiple building, where we slept like babies on the hard concrete floor, woken only by a rather strange french guy pleasuring himself in his bag.

The next day we were up at 6, sitting in a smokey comedor eating rice and beans, next to the Carneceria outside which the days prime cuts had been delivered in the form of a whole cow, skinned and slumped in the back of a toyota pickup truck, avec head, feet and tail. Under any other circumstances I would have declined breakfast, but I was starving. The local kids on the other hand were having a ball, watching the carcus being heaved out and hacked up, and left to play with the remains, poking the tail through the eye socket for our benefit, squeeling with joy.

Another full day of hiking awaited us, so off we went in a long line snaking through villages and farms, clanking our pots and pans as we went, stopping only to practice of Kitche {spanish was pretty much useless here} and take pictures of hilarious looking bulls with pink bows in their hair. Although an easier day in comparison, we did have 'record hill' to contend with before lunch. A pilgrimage of all Quetzaltrekkers, it was basically a brutal climb up a ridiculously steep mountain, in the blazing midday sun, against the clock, with our 60 litre packs on. The fastest time is 9 and a half minutes. Sue managed 14 and a half and me 16. Apparently both very respectable times. Its fair to say it nearly killed me, and I can safely say that I enjoyed the cigarette at the top far more than any sense of achievement.

That night was spent at San Pedro's house, drying off after our trek through the river, filling our hungry tummys with great food, and taking it in turns to get clean in his tepid shower. An even earlier night was had, and thankfully no more extra curricular activities were witnessed during the night {I assume he had learned his lesson after having a carton of juice hurled at his head the night before}.

We woke at 3.30am to find that Pedro's cat had eaten our stash of banana bread. You should have seen Sue's face. Luckily for him, the little bastard was keeping a low profile. Anyway, the incredibly early start was for a very good reason, as after staggered through the pitch black still half asleep, we were back in our sleeping bags, perched above the lake, sipping hot chocolate and huddled to keep warm, starring into the darkness, waiting for sunrise.

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, we began to pick out the mountain ridge in the distance across the lake, as the sky started to turn from black to deep navy blue and then pink, as the sun rose behind them and active volanos puffed ash into the air. Gradually the edge of the like came alive too, as lights began to twinkle in the little villages that surround the lake, and the first fishing boats made their journey through the dawn mist. We were in the perfect spot to watch this beautiful landscape emerge and change, and night turned into day.

With tummys full of porridge and heavy legs, we began our dessent to San Juan and our final destination, stopping only for one last killer climb up 'the nose', which is the highest point around the lake for more incredible views. A hot shower, more rice and beans and and a couple of well deserved glasses of wine later, we were tucked up actual real beds, with real sheets and pillows, fast asleep by 9. Enough hiking for a while I think.