Liquid Hot Magma, Hiking at Night and German Antics

Monday, 15 February 2010

Liquid Hot Magma, Hiking at Night and German Antics

After a very unsatisfying smog-filled run the day before, Gordon and I decided to try out the hotel fitness center instead. William had promised us that he’d seen a treadmill there, but we were disappointed to find out this was not true. There were a few free weights, two stationary bikes, and one elliptical machine which was falling apart. I used the free weights and quickly realized how weak I’d become. We decided to take some laps around the football field behind our resort. At 9 o’clock it was already quite hot; we didn’t last much more than a mile. Gordon and I later discussed how running around the football field gave us bad flashbacks from high school sports practice.

For breakfast, we connected with our parents at a café called Cookies Etc. Yes, they sold cookies, but also had a decent and cheap breakfast of huevos rancheros, black beans and plantains. I simply could not leave the restaurant without getting a dozen cookies in a huge variety of flavors including ginger, snicker doodle and shortbread. My dad insisted that we go a few blocks away to a café that had “the best latte” he’d had so far. It was a hip little joint called Café Bourbon which was owned by a British expat. Free internet came with the creamy latte.

After breakfast, we managed to find William, who always seems to slip away from the group. He took us to a market he had found, located inside the ruins of an old building. The vendors sold all kinds of Guatemalan goods, but mostly textiles like woven cloth, woolen blankets, pillow covers with Mayan scenes, and colorful clothing. A patchwork quilt made of different Mayan clothes caught my eye. As soon as the vendor noticed my interest, he honed in like a shark. He pulled open the quilt along with three others in different color variations. “What you like, lady? Business is business!” As I stood there expressing doubt on my face, the price of the quilt automatically started dropping. My dad came by and joined in on the bargaining. In the end, we walked away with a queen size patchwork quilt for 250 quitzels which is about $25.

Further into the market, the rest of the family was looking at the same textiles another merchant was selling. When Dad and I approached, Mom introduced us to the smiling man selling the blankets. He said, “Ah! Very special family!” He went on to comment on each of us; to Gordon he said, “You must be military, very serious face!” To me, he said, “You are pretty.” And then he turned to William and said, “You are not pretty, you ugly!” and he laughed. In no time, we heard the life story of this smiley man, Frederico. He was 42 years old and a grandfather of one so far. He was one of eight children, his mother of Mayan heritage and so for the first two years of his life, he didn’t even speak Spanish, he only spoke his mother’s Mayan dialect. His father died when he was eight years old so he was not able to go to university as he had to work to help support the family. We met his wife, eldest daughter, and two year old grandson, Vladimir. Frederico said he wanted to have “very special family” come to his home for a Mayan meal. We made plans to eat with him on Friday. He couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself.

At 2:30 that afternoon, a small tour bus came to our hotel to pick up our family along with a young British tourist named Tom. We were going to hike up one of the active volcanoes called Pacaya. On the way through town, we picked up some more tourists including two Danes, two Dutch, one German, one Norwegian, and a French-Israeli couple. For an hour and a half, we drove through the mountainous terrain until we reached the base of Pacaya volcano. We met our tour guide, Sergio, who named our group “Falcones.” There was no gradual ascent up this volcano; we were immediately hiking up steep paths covered in black volcanic ash. “Do you think we are going all the way to the top of the volcano?” my dad asked. “No way,” we all responded, it simply looked too high and far away.

Another good hour later, we realized we truly were going to be close to the summit of the volcano. On the way, we passed through clouds hugging the side of the mountain, great views of the valley below, and craters of old lava beds. We were passed by groups of tourists on mules a few times, and I think all of us felt a little envious of them, even if for a short moment. It really was a vigorous workout to get up this mountain, even for someone in decent shape like me. Near the top, the terrain changed; there was no more vegetation, just black-gray volcanic stone. We continued our hike over the sharp and jagged pumice stones. We had all been promised that we would get to see flowing lava rivers on our hike, but as the time wore on, I grew a bit skeptical. Finally, over the horizon, I could see the red-orange flicker of moving lava. We had arrived.

As I approached the molten lava, I could feel heat emanating off of the volcanic stones. People had warned us that it was possible to melt the rubber on our shoes. There was a hoard of tourists right next to the lava rivers. Many people had brought bags of marshmallows and were toasting them over the lava. It literally took less than 5 seconds for those marshmallows to be browned over the lava. The closest I got to the lava was about two to three feet and the heat was intense. I felt like the hairs on my arm were about to be singed off; looking at it was like staring into the sun. I have to say, it was pretty impressive to witness the power and strength of our earth. It boggles the mind to imagine that the lava we were seeing was coming from the core of our planet. The mind starts to wander to all kinds of dark places when looking into that lava….what it would be like to witness a real eruption of this hot magma or how terrible it would be to fall in.

It took a little while to round up the entire Falcones group so we could head down the mountain. The sun was already beginning to set and it created a beautiful silhouette of the mountains and three other volcanoes on the horizon. The smoke emanating from Pacaya was painted a pinkish color by the low-lying sun and a small sliver of moon was now starting to be visible above the volcano spiked horizon. Apparently some of the other tourists in our group had been told to bring flashlights, or torches as the Brit called it, because we would be hiking back down the mountain in darkness. The best we had to use for lights were our iPhones, but it was better than nothing. The path down the mountain was thankfully a lot less treacherous than the route up. The stars were quite impressive at that elevation with little man-made light around. It was a good time to get to know the rest of our group. Tom, the British guy, was here in Guatemala for a week of vacation after which he would enjoy a week of skiing in France and then return to Latin America to live in Belize and help build a resort on in island there. The Dutch, Danish and Norwegian were traveling together through Latin America. They were fresh out of university and had started their travels in the US, worked their way through Mexico and would end in Buenos Aires. They had one big rule, and that was that they could only travel via bus or car, no airplanes. The German man was in his forties and had also been traveling for almost two months through Latin America, his favorite had been Panama. We did not learn much about the French-Israeli couple besides that they seemed to like kissing a lot.

When we finally returned to Antigua around 8:30 that night, we decided to continue the animated conversation we’d begun with the German man, Christian. We returned to Café Bourbon for beers and food with Christian, Tom, and the two Danish boys, Rene and Martine. Christian proved to be the real entertainment of the night. He was a loud, energetic, opinionated, straight-shooter that the Dutch guys called, “a real German.” He had the ideal Aryan look that Hitler must have dreamed about, with white blond hair and bright blue eyes. We all ordered a round of Moza beers. I asked Christian how he liked it, and he said, “It’s good, I have already ordered another.” I don’t think a minute had passed since we ordered the round! On the way down the mountain, we had already gotten on the subject of fat Americans, a topic my dad and I vent about to each other all the time. Christian said, “Why does everyone in your country cover all of their food in mayonnaise, cheese and bacon?” He said, “You go to Pizza Hut where the salad bar is just an alibi. The people eat a salad there with a few pieces of lettuce, two tomatoes and cover it in those creamy sauces like thousand island or how do you call it? Blue cheese! And they think, ‘Wow, I am healthy eater!’” He went on to tell us how his daughter works at the Marriott in Düsseldorf. Christian says that he goes there sometimes to the breakfast buffet and sees the Americans, “Ah! Stuffing themselves,” he said as he mimicked shoveling food into his mouth. He pointed out how you will see the Koreans there, eating their kimchee for breakfast. “They are all so thin,” he said, “That kimchee is like the healthiest stuff ever! And Americans are eating bacon, cheese, and hash browns…my god!”

The conversation took a nosedive to the obscene when my dad said, “Kate, tell Christian about how it is to deal with fat people in your line of work…how sometimes you need an assistant to help get through their fat rolls to reach the vagina.” Christian doubled over in laughter and disgust. He said, “Oh my god! Being a gynecologist is supposed to be a man’s dream job, but I guess not the way you see it! I want to know who is making these women pregnant!” We all agreed it was shocking, but there was clearly someone for everyone! Christian said, “I have to wonder, it must smell bad down there!” Yes, he did dare to go there. I confirmed that typically the morbidly obese don’t have the best hygiene. We were laughing up a storm.

A few beers later, Christian said that he needed to ask my opinion as a specialist. He said that he has a 19 year old daughter and wondered about the HPV vaccine for her. Christian told me that he had a friend, who’s a nurse, told him about a study done on the HPV vaccine in Israel. The nurse said they chose Israel for the study because the men are all circumcised but they are as “sexually promiscuous” as Europe or America. The conversation then turned to the subject of foreskins. “My friend said that the virus is growing in the material that comes from the foreskin of a man who is not cleaning his penis. In Germany we call it ‘cheese?’ I don’t know what you call it in English.” I confirmed that we also called it cheese along with a few other things. Christian made an announcement to all of us, “I just wanted to say, I don’t have that stuff!”

The conversation about foreskins and HPV naturally led into a conversation about foreskins and HIV. For those unaware, studies have been done in Africa and found that circumcised men there are less likely to contract HIV due to the fragile nature of the foreskin. Christian said, “Well HIV is the disease of the gay man outside of Africa.” I said I agreed with him to an extent, because HIV is more easily spread via anal intercourse, but I pointed out that the HIV population growing the most now in the US is black women. I explained that this is because so many black men are incarcerated and engage in anal intercourse, but when they leave prison they return to having heterosexual intercourse with black women. Christian made a face, cringing at the idea of engaging in anal sex with another man. He said, “I guess there is just so much testosterone in jail, they don’t really care who they have sex with! Reserved English Tom pipes in, “Any hole is a goal!”

As the night went on, we learned all about Christian. His work in Germany as a roofer (or “woofer” as it sounded with his German accent), which countries in Latin America had the prettiest women, how he lives 15 minutes walking distance from the Düsseldorf airport, “Fifteen minutes valking! Yes, valking to the airport!!” Christian also informed us that Düsseldorf basically invented Carnaval celebrations. He said, forget about New Orleans Mardi Gras or Rio de Janeiro’s Carnaval, the best party was in Düsseldorf. “It is a BIG party!! I mean a big sing!” My dad wanted to know if the girls showed their breasts like they do in New Orleans. Christian said, “Yes! There is lots of drinking and lowered morals! You will have to come to Düsseldorf and see!” Christian kept us all quite entertained that night with his wild stories and outspoken character. You didn’t have to wonder what was on Christian’s mind! This is one of the big joys of traveling, meeting the unique and interesting people along the way.