On Sunday, we hiked to Laguna Chicabal ("the center of Maya-Mam cosmovision," or so they say in tourist literature), with our housemates Ethan and Lacey. We woke up at 5am to beat the clouds that settle over the highlands by 11 every day, and took a rickety bus an hour out of Xela to the town of San Martín Chile Verde (St. Martin of the Green Chiles is one of the best town names I've ever come across). From the center of town, we had a 3 mile slog 2000 feet up to the top of Volcán Chicabal, and down into the crater, which is now a beautiful, perfectly round lake. The hike was tough, partly because we started at 7800 feet, and partly because of the total absence of switchbacks. In spite of the effort, the hike was amazing, first through the outskirts of town, up into a dense tropical forest with views out onto the flat Pacific plains, then higher to the summit of Volcán Chicabal.
Panting and sweating as we reached the top, we were greeted on one side by clear views of Volcán Santa María and Santiaguito smoking and steaming in the early morning light. On the other side, we looked down five hundred feet into the crater of the volcano, to the blue-green waters of Laguna Chicabal, framed by dense vegetation and a narrow strip of beach. Standing on the rickety wooden viewing platform, I felt a rush of pride for having made the hike. I couldn't help but think back to five months ago, when I was lying in bed with an IV dripping antibiotics into my arm. Although even now I am certainly not 100%, it felt like a great accomplishment to summit a mountain, and to feel good doing it.After a much needed break, we hiked around the lake, passing 20 simple altars that represent each of the nahuals of the Mayan calendar. Just as we were lying down to sunbathe on the beach, and commenting on the lucky weather, clouds began to pour over the rim of the crater. Within 15 minutes, fog had enveloped the lake, and we couldn't see more than a few yards in front of us. We hiked back to San Martín through the gathering clouds, sore but exhilarated.
On Monday, I woke up even earlier, at 3am, and got on the first bus to Guatemala City. Several weeks ago, my mom had sent me a package containing a digital recorder for my interviews and some medicine, both of which I really needed. Global Express had said they'd have it to me in 3-5 days. After two weeks, I had pretty much given up. Then, after three weeks, I received a telegram (those still exist?!) in the mail from the Guatemalan postal service. I was overjoyed as I read that "a package has arrived for you and is being held at the post office in zone 1." Excellent, I thought, that's one block from my apartment! "...in Guatemala City." Yes, in order to retrieve my package, I had to take a five hour bus trip to Guatemala City, present my passport, and allow customs agents to open the box and perfunctorily check for contraband. It is supreme irony that on the telegram envelope was a stamp proclaiming: "ésta es una prueba de que el correo si funciona" (this is proof that the postal service does work). Even better, as my dad pointed out, is the fact that they neglected to put the accent on "sí," making it "if" instead of "yes", and rendering the phrase both nonsensical and accurately equivocal. There is nothing much that can be said about spending 11 hours on a bus in Guatemala, just to pick up a package that should have been delivered to my office weeks ago, except that it was extremely not fun.
And then, on Tuesday, I got the flu. The flu is awful in its own right, but really does not go well with Lyme Disease. And so the lesson of the week seems to be that good and bad actually do balance each other out over time. Sometimes even in the course of a few days.
