Bargain Adventure

I’ll let you in on a little travel secret…$1.25 is too little to pay for an active volcano tour. Initially, it seemed like such a fabulous bargain – and this price included transportation and a guide! Such an amazing adventure for less than the price of a latte. Now I have a permanent scar on my right ankle.

We were taking a break from volunteer work in the Central American nation of Guatemala to rest while enjoying all the cervezas and tamales the touristy town of Antigua could offer. Using all my persuasiveness, which has been described as pestering, I convinced a few friends to join me on this frugal adventure. Early on a Saturday morning, we boarded a chicken bus with the lively name of Samayoa. A “chicken bus” is the colloquial reference in the area for a colourful adorned school bus that drives too fast and whose passenger list includes both people and livestock simultaneously. Samayoa, farm animal free that day, zoomed us terrifyingly fast to the base of Guatemala’s most popular volcano for climbing idiotic tourists, Mount Pacaya.

After fighting our way through the usual touts, we negotiated a fair price for the only commodity that we were interested in – horses. Horses to carry our weary bones up the steep trail. Well, more specifically, horses were what we bargained for, but donkeys were what we ended up with. The broad stallion that is with the chief negotiator is apparently just for show. I ended up riding a donkey, Stan, who I’m pretty sure weighed as much as I do, 1.5 miles up the windy rocky trail, until even the ass knew better than to continue. Each mule came with a guide who does this trek at least three times a day. This knowledge further compounded the lazy, well-fed westerner feeling that I developed under Stan’s panting. 

At the end of this trail, is the start of the lava rock hike. Are you familiar with lava rock? If you have ever grilled with charcoal briquettes, then you have the beginnings of an idea of lava rock. Except that instead of being smooth and well-rounded, it is serrated and jagged…far more likely to lacerate your skin than the conventional cooking accessories. When it is naturally formed on the side of a volcano it also forms loose piles, making it prone to frequent shifting. Of course, being on the side of a volcano, it is also quite hot. It is quite literally like walking on the top of a barbeque.

There were six of us in our group that day, and all of us made it to the start of the lava rock. One girl elected to sit on the final bit of grass and simply enjoy the views. The remaining five of us started the scramble, closely following the guide up the side of Mount Pacaya. I became quite focused for a while on maintaining my footing to avoid shredding my skin on the ragged lava rock, the only glances up were to ensure I was still following the “path” of our tour group. Several minutes passed before I realized that only two of us, perhaps not the brightest two, had continued to follow our Guatemalan guide. The remaining friend suggested that perhaps, in the name of safety, we too should turn back. I rolled my eyes and replied “safety?! What are you worried about? We are with a guide; he wouldn’t take us anywhere unsafe.” 

My safety point was negated when we both realized our shoes were starting to melt. 

The gravity of my stupidity started to resonate when I realized that we had followed this bargain guide, who must have been outfitted with asbestos-lined boots, within 20 feet of an actual river of lava. I glanced down at a hiker in front of me and noted bright red magma two feet below him. Heat-wave lines, normally reserved for cartoons, were visible on the rocks around us, one of which had fused to my synthetic yoga pants. 

The severity of the situation seemed to hit several of us from the Samayoa bus group simultaneously resulting in a collective rush to abandon the guide and flee for our lives.   Our fleeing down the mountain caused a chaotic scene as we merged with another group attempting to progress upwards. Communication was lost in this multicultural bunch of strangers, and somehow the panicked faces not conveying the dangers ahead as we struggled to pass each other on loose, shifting lava rock.   

I am not sure where the shift occurred, but the heat went from annoying to unbearable. Radiation heat from the sun above and the ground below was an unprecedented feeling. My skin reddened as my insides dried up to next-level dehydration. The descent became increasingly difficult as the sole of my shoe shape changed with every new melting incident.     

It was a loud popping noise that ultimately caused a mental shift in everyone on the slope. A collective glance toward the “pop” allowed all hikers to see balls of glowing lava rolling down.   Communal realization of the situation was evident as there was the start of a mass exodus.  A girl frantically pushing down the loose rock unintentionally knocked a few loose pebbles into the side of my right shoe.   Instant pain as I felt my skin searing caused me to let out an involuntary scream before ripping off my shoe and sock. Fellow hikers helped me balance as the offensive stones tumbled out. A kind stranger poured water on my blistering ankle, the instant cooling providing some relief. The familiar sizzling sound of chilled water touching a hot surface prompted up to keep moving. 

The remainder of the lava rock descent became a time of reflection. Danger looming just above, I began to think about life and my decisions. How had I ended up, already burnt and still at risk for a fiery demise today? I realized; this is all my fault. My yearning for adventure was seldom balanced with proper decisions. 

“You have no sense of self-preservation”, was one travel friend’s description of our foray into the Amazon.   

I vowed that day to the god of the low-rumbling volcano above me, that my future plans, should I survive to make them, would be a compromise of adventure with sensibility.  No more bargains at the compromise of safety! Good decisions only from now on!

I found out later that Mount Pacaya doesn’t have an associated god – that’s how I justified my South African Great White shark diving escapades.