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Highland Fling - Poptun to San Pedro de Atitlan, Guatemala

After two days of cutting across the northern province of Peten on packed chicken buses, I landed in Lanquin. It was a beautiful ride through rainforest, rolling green hills and steep sided valleys. Superbly situated above a bend in a beautiful crystal clear river, El Retiro became my home for the next 10 days. Ranks of hammocks, great food, inner tubes to float down the river on, great hiking and access to the incredible nearby Semuc Champay. Set in a deep forested gorge, Semuc Champay is a slice of paradise deep in the Guatemalan highlands. Here, the main river disappears into a limestone tunnel some three hundred metres long. Nearby, calcium rich springs emerge from the side of the gorge walls and flow across the top where they have formed a series of limpid blue clear pools … a perfect spot to wander between, diving from these rocks, soaking in these pools, gazing at the beautiful scenery. A track leads high up to a viewpoint over such a sheer drop you actually feel you are suspended over the pools themselves. A hard place to tear yourself away from!

Catching a minivan back one day which was crammed with some 27 people (normal for Guatemala) I only had the option of sitting on the roof rack (consisting of a low metal tube a couple of inches off the roof and nothing else). With typical zeal and love for breakneck speed, the driver careened through the twisting mud road with abandon. Hanging on for grim death on top with the wind in my hair and the bugs in my teeth, watching the views of beautiful mountains with chickens, dogs and people scattering from in front of the van with panic stricken faces, I had to start laughing … the ride on top was both utterly exhilarating and completely dangerous. I was thinking of how this would never be allowed to happen in developed countries and of how cocooned we are and sometimes over-protected from the slightest dangers - life will seem so much more sedate when I return home.

A grueling twelve hours of crowded chicken buses brought me to the city of Quetzaltenango (or Xela for ease of pronunciation). Everything about the journey, including hiking between bus stations in the entirely dodgy Guatemala City came as such a shock to my system after the beauty and tranquility of Lanquin. I longed to go back. I had come to Xela with the purpose of hiking through the highlands to the north with a group calledQuetzaltrekkers who are dedicated to using the money raised from hikes to giving shelter and education to homeless street kids - pretty good outfit, though we were 15 in the group with at times made me feel a bit too much like being on a guided tour.

Getting to the start of my first hike involved another 6 hours of packed chicken buses with no suspension, bouncing at high speed along winding rutted roads with plummeting sheer drops - I was heartily glad to arrive at the other end in one piece.

Arriving in Nebaj, we stayed at a basic wooden hotel and early next morning climbed high up over a steep pass, dropping down into a deep valley with a traditional Mayan town on the other side. We climbed up through more villages, each filled with colourfully dressed locals all curious to see who we were and what we were doing. The thought that we would come on holiday, pay money to strap a heavy pack on our backs and sweat and toil our way across the mountains would in all likelihood never occur to them. To people living out here, this is their daily curse. Now that I think of it…

We stayed in a tiny village nestled in a small valley at the foot of a mountain and slept in the schoolhouse. In the evening, some of us jumped into a termescal - a sooty version of a sauna for midgets - and plunged into the freezing stream afterwards to rinse off; with full audience of course. The morning kicked off with a climb of nearly 1000m straight out of the village and up onto the limestone plateau above with incredible views of the surrounding country on the way up. On top, the scenery changed abruptly - we found ourselves in a Karst landscape of gentle hills, sinkholes and spiny outcrops; people somehow managing to scrape a living out of the barely arable soil.

Crossing the plateau took us through sparse but beautiful scenery, occasionally meeting people along the way. At the far end, we came to a huge cemetery where the graves all seemed to be fresh. Apparently these were graves for people who had been exhumed from a nearby mass grave from the civil war. Some of the heaviest fighting and worst atrocities were committed in this area. Whole villages would be rounded up by the paramilitary death squads and shot on suspicion of colluding with the communists. In reality, the people out here are simple, shy peasants whose sole concern is where the next meal is coming from. Political and economic ideologies (and machinations) make little difference to their day to day subsistence lives, except when they bring guns funded by foreign governments and in the hands of ruthless killers as happened over the lengthy and barbarous civil war.

We dropped off the side of the plateau to a village clinging to the side of a deep steep-sided valley and set up camp in the village schoolhouse once again. The schoolhouse here was a bare earthen floor affair with loose plank walls had so much space between that it had all the insulating qualities of an open window on a speeding train. A wild wind whipped up that night. At 3000m altitude, getting warm was nearly impossible.

The first light of day brought a spectacular sunrise, fantastic views and a climb down to the river far below for breakfast. Pumping from the frigid waters left me numb until the warming rays of the sun finally penetrated to the valley floor. The river was busy with campesinos watering their horses and doing laundry, the riverbanks transformed into a riot of brightly coloured clothing. The long steep climb out of there gave more outstanding views over sheer maize fields, villages clinging to the valley sides and off to the distance to the smoking volcano of Fuego beyond the deep ravine below.

We crossed to another plateau, through dusty fields, past another cemetery and eventually ended high up, staying in a family house. In the morning we climbed up through giant cacti to the summit of El Torre at 3825m, the highest non-volcanic peak in Central America. From the top we had sweeping views of seven volcanoes stretching out to the Mexican border. On the other side, we dropped down through steep pine forest and stopped by a cave where some local Mayans were performing a ritual to honour their dead ancestors - to the casual observer this involved lighting candles and incense at the cave entrance, setting off the occasional extremely loud sky rocket and getting extremely pissed on homemade moonshine (or maybe it was just paint stripper).

Further down, we entered a ravine that ended in the town of Todos Santos, our final destination. Todos Santos is famous for its traditions and local costume, and in particular for its fiestas (including drunken horse racing). This is one of the last places where you still see men wearing traditional dress.

The scenery is fantastic, reminiscent of the Italian Alps almost. Most of the group departed at the crack of dawn I and a couple of others stayed on to enjoy town for a while. I had a day back in Xela before setting off on the next hike to Lago Atitlan. The first day just entailed the compulsory packed chicken bus experience then climbing up over a forested mountain and down to a soccer field with wild views of the surrounding valleys and mountains. We woke to yet another stunning sunrise and walked down into Santa Clara for breakfast in a local comedor.

People had come into town from various outlying areas for market day and were each dressed in their own particular costume according to which village they were from, a lot of the men wearing a type of Mayan woolen kilt which was unusual to see. We passed through hills covered in maize, through small villages where the children would run out and ask to have their photos taken so they could laugh at themselves on the screen, and finally out onto a clifftop overlooking the lake just after dark. At dawn we had a stupendous view of nearly the entire lake; an incredible sight!

Getting down to the lake involved a steep dusty scramble through maize fields down the side of the crater wall. Hot and caked in sweat and grime, I plunged straight into the cool waters which felt unbelievably good. A short time later we caught a boat across the bay to San Pedro de Atitlan and the end of the trek.

Published May 17, 2006 based on travels in 2005

Subscribe to TravelBlogsPosted by Richard Allen on May 17th, 2006 in Articles.