Posts Tagged ‘natural wonder’

Uyuni and Back

February 9, 2010

A few years ago, when I first began thinking about traveling the Americas by motorcycle, I saw a photograph which became the tiny seed around which the entire idea for this adventure crystallized. The photograph showed a man in motorcycle leathers standing proudly next to his older BMW motorcycle on the immense salt flat of Uyuni.   I remember feeling amazed at how alien the place seemed, and that image has stuck with me ever since.  The Salar de Uyuni has been on my list of must-see places for almost three years now, and it was my next destination in Bolivia.

The highways in Bolivia are somewhat deceptive.  The area surrounding La Paz is modern and well-maintained, and the highways boast smooth surfaces and multiple lanes, but when you leave the vicinity of the capital city the conditions rapidly deteriorate.   The route I chose followed highway 1 to the (supposedly paved) highway 602 which would take me the rest of the way to the city of Uyuni, but it turns out that my road map lied again – almost the entire 200KM stretch of highway 602 has yet to be paved.  I’m not complaining, really, as I’ve come to expect this sort of thing, but it does get tiring after a while.

Even though it didn't rain, I still got very wet on this ride!

Proof that KLRs float. You saw it here first.

Much of the 602 is under heavy construction, and I spent a good chunk of the day on this very wet, very muddy detour, and it left a huge, huge grin on my face.  Riding through shallow puddles at speed is a very fun thing, and with the new tires on the bike, I was  able to really throw the bike around on the gravel and mud like I’ve never before.

Eventually the detours ended and I rode most of the way to Uyuni on mostly-flat gravel.

Dirt roads have a nasty habit of developing these undulations which resonate through the frame of my bike at hand- and butt-numbing frequencies.

Many of the rivers in South American are so shallow that it's possible to simply lay pavement underwater. I imagine this is a lot cheaper than building proper bridges, too.

The dirt roads slowed me up, but I managed to make it to Uyuni shortly after sunset, and after much searching I found a hotel with vacancy.  Most hotels were full-up or had no place to park the bike, but I eventually found one a few blocks from the city center for about $12 USD.

The next morning I found a tour company that would take me for a day on the Salar for the equivalent of about $22 – a pretty good deal, I think.  I considered riding out on the Salar myself, but decided that the corrosive salt was more than I wanted to subject my motorcycle to, and now I’m glad I didn’t.  This salt flat is big.  Like, so big that you could very easily get lost for days and days out there.

The tour leader picked me up from my hotel in the late morning.  I was the last to be picked up, so we drove directly out onto the Salar.  Our group consisted of two American sisters, three guys from Mexico and a Korean girl who was living in Paraguay.  We went through the introductions, and when I told them about my motorcycle trip they became very excited.  I’ve seen this reaction pretty consistently during this trip.  I suspect that most travelers are constantly swapping similar stories – taking a bus here, flying there, hitchhiking etc  – but for many people, the idea of riding a motorcycle is strange and unexpected.

Triumphant first steps on the Salar de Uyuni.

Anyways.  The Salar was an intense experience.  Our guide took us to several main attractions on the huge salt flat, including the original Hotel de Sal, la Isla de Pescado, and the Ojos del Salar.  This is another part of my trip where photos will probably tell the story better than I could write it, so I’m going to defer to them now.

The Hotel de Sal was built with hard bricks of salt taken directly from the surface of the Salar. It was recently supplanted by a newer, more modern salt hotel.

Standing next to the clock tower inside the Salt Hotel.

A table built out of hugely heavy blocks of salt.

I love spanglish.

We spent about an hour at the Hotel.  Tourists occupied every available room, and I wasn’t really interested in staying there, anyways – it costs an absurd $55USD per bed, the salty dust makes you feel pretty icky, and there’s no running water so showering off the salt is not an option.

What my pants looked like after spending 15 minutes walking on the wet salt flat. And I'd washed these the previous day!

Our next stop was an hour’s drive away at the Isla de Pescado – a rocky “island” that breaks through the great white sea of salt and supports some of the only vegetation capable of living on the Salar.

A bird (ostrich?) looks for scraps of food near the shoreline of the Isla de Pescado.

I can totally see this as the shoreline of a calm, white ocean.

Standing atop the Isla de Pescado with the whole tour group.

On the way back from the Isla de Pescado I asked our driver if we could stop in the open salt flat for a quick photo-op.  Everyone liked this idea, so we piled out of the car and spent 30 minutes or so taking all sorts of photos.

Jumping on another planet.

I love the mirror effect from the thin layer of water!

After the photo session we piled back into the car and continued on.  Our guide took us to the Ojos del Salar next; they are a collection of thermal vents that release subterranean water onto the surface of the Salar.  “Thermal” seems like a misnomer here, because the water that comes out of them is surprisingly cold!

The cloudy underground water stains the surface of the Salar with red and brown silt.

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Our guide took us to a train graveyard outside of Uyuni on the way back from the Salar.

The Salar de Uyuni was an incredible experience and I’m immensely gratified to have been able to include it in my trip.  I’ve had some hard times on this journey, and several times considered how easy it would be to buy a plane ticket and just go home, but the idea of missing out on this wonder was always to much to bear.

I’m still behind on this blog, but I’m working hard to get it up to date!  Ciao.

Riding the Highway of Death

January 31, 2010

The Yungas road in Bolivia has many names.  The locals refer to it as “El Camino de la Muerte”, while English speakers call it the Highway of Death, or Death Road.  Take your pick, I guess.  Wikipedia says that in 1995 the Inter-American Development Bank gave it the title of the “world’s most dangerous road” due to the extremely high number of deaths which occurred every year on the ~60KM stretch between La Paz and Coroico.  At times, barely nine feet of slippery, wet dirt separate the solid wall of rock on your left from the 2000 foot drop on your right.  The opportunity to ride this famous highway was one of the major factors which motivated me to do this trip, and this is that story.

An ominous sign.

As it turns out, the Bolivian Government caught on a while ago to the fact that the Yungas road was so crazy dangerous, so they built a more modern (paved) highway that runs parallel to the highway of death.  The new route was completed in 2006, and now almost all of the traffic between La Paz and the Yungas Basin travels over it.  In fact, a long section of the original highway leading out from La Paz is now paved, but the other 40KM of the extremely dangerous route remains an option for the thrill-seekers and the foolhardy.  The original section now caters mostly to adventure tourism and is extremely popular with mountain bikers looking for the ultimate ride.  Ironically, this has made it much safer – when you only have bicyclists to contend with, and no speeding buses or overloaded trucks, the danger factor goes way down.

Even the new, more safe route is not without its dangers.

The Yungas road begins in La Paz and quickly climbs to a breath-sapping 15000 feet.  I had been worried about the weather for this ride, since January sits smack dab in the middle of Bolivia’s rainy season and heavy rains would turn the already tricky dirt road into a much more dangerous beast, but I left my hotel in the late morning with the sun shining, and thankfully the weather held until I made it back to La Paz in the afternoon.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Like I said, the road leaves La Paz and immediately shoots up and over an Andean mountain pass.  At the cusp of this pass I was met by a thick wall of fog which replaced my lovely clear weather, and I plunged into the cold dampness, ever alert for brakelights ahead of me or the headlights of a maniac crazy enough to pass somebody.  The fog (at this altitude, is it just considered clouds?) lasted for nearly an hour.  It wasn’t until the road dropped far enough into the Yungas Basin and I suddenly found myself below the cloud cover that I began to feel warm again.  I have to say that while I’ve been very happy with my FirstGear TPG Overpants, and my TourMaster rain shell, I’ve yet to find a pair of gloves that can keep my hands warm in wet weather for more than 15 minutes.  If you have any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

I missed the turnoff for the Highway of Death (it’s not marked, but you’ll find it at 16°17’14″ S by 67°49’51″ W) and ended up taking the paved road all the way down to Coroico, where a woman pointed me towards the start of the road, and off I went.

At the base of the Yungas Road. Tired groups of mountain bikers would regularly pour out of the mouth of the road.

This turned out to be for the better.  The Yungas Road has some unique rules which generally favor the driver going uphill.  The downhill driver is supposed to drive on the left side of the road (closest to the cliff edge) so they can stick their head out their window and eyeball how close their tires are to going over.  The uphill driver also has the right-of-way, which means the downhill driver must back up if necessary; backing up is a very dangerous process on this road, so you want to avoid it if at all possible.

Five minutes into the ride I found a small stream flowing right across the road. Crossing it wasn't a problem, but there wasn't a huge cliff here!

I rode onwards as the highway of death steadily rose up through the jungle.  I passed lots of mountain bikers; some looked confident, while others were obviously scared out of their wits – a sign of good things to come!

Waterfalls were a regular sight this side of the Andes, but this was the first time I'd had to ride through one.

I don’t have much more to say about the ride itself, so in a moment I’ll shut up and let the pictures talk.  I will say that the scenery was some of the most lush and verdant I’d ever seen, and riding so close to such enormous cliffs definitely got my adrenaline going.  The only motor vehicles that I met going the other way were a few motorcycles and some support vehicles for the mountain bikers, and these encounters were easy enough to negotiate.  They’d undoubtedly be trickier if I were driving a car or something wide, but with a motorcycle there’s almost always room to pull over.

Ok, on to the pictures.

I got a little wet while going through this section. Stopping for pictures didn't help!

This was the only bridge in the entire length of the Yungas road.

Stay away from the edge!

One of the taller drops on the Yungas Road. It's amazing that plants can even grow on such a steep incline!

A close-up of the previous photo. The red dirt on the road here was wet and very slick - a bad combination even without the 2000 foot cliff just one mistake away.

A section of the Yungas Road as it winds down the mountainside.

This was a really great experience. Now I get to check this off my bucket list!

The ride up the Yungas Highway of Death took about three hours in total – mostly because I kept stopping every five minutes to snap a photo of some new amazing sight.  From a technical perspective, it’s not a very challenging ride.  The road surface is kept relatively smooth, and when I went there was only water over the road in a few places.  There’s no doubt that this changes during a heavy rain, but I was lucky.  I definitely recommend this road to all you other adventure riders out there!

I still had five hours of daylight left when I finished the ride, and I briefly considered doubling back and riding the Yungas in the other direction, but caution overrode my propensity to do stupid shit for once and I decided against it.  When the skies opened up an hour later and the heaviest rain I’d yet experienced in Bolivia fell, I thanked whatever part of me it was that voted to not push my luck.

The paved road wasn't completely boring, anyways.

And that’s the story of how I rode the most dangerous road in the world and survived to type it all up for your reading pleasure.  Look for the next issue to come which will cover my trip to the incredible Salar de Uyuni!

Riding through the barren wastelands of Peru

January 20, 2010

Part of the joy of doing very little research about the places I visit is the delicious surprise of learning about a completely new place first hand. For those of you who are more geographically-minded myself, you’re probably already aware that nearly the entire coast of Peru is a sandy, barren wasteland, broken only by the occasional spot of green where a river’s delta flows into the Pacific, or where man’s efforts to assert himself over nature have produced oddly out-of-place cities and towns. This was a complete surprise to me. If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have told you that Peru is a warm, wet, verdant country filled with jungle and monkeys and stuff. Apparently this is true for the east side of the country, but the west coast is extremely arid, and the Panamerican highway, which I’ve followed for the last 2000+ kilometers, runs straight down the entire desert coast of Peru.

The Peruvian coast is a desert! Who knew?

The sand dunes and the cliffs and the ocean are very pretty, but the effect wears off after the first couple hours, and you’re left with a long, straight, unbroken highway and nearly unchanging scenery which become pretty tiring without tunes to listen to. (And yes, my ipod is definitely out of commission – or rather, I had the brilliant idea of putting it in the side pocket of my backpack while I rode so that it would dry out, and when I stopped for lunch, it had vanished – I assume it bounced out on one of those super bumpy Ecuadorian highways) I’m beginning to give serious thought to keeping my laptop in my tank bag and using it to listen to music. The battery won’t last all day, but it’s better than nothing!

Riding through the deserts of western Peru.

What's that ahead? Oh, more desert!

These great expanses of barren land really do actually have a certain beauty to them.

There wasn’t much I wanted to see in the northern end of Peru, so I rode hard for the first few days.  One thing I apparently neglected to do when I crossed into Peru was purchase insurance for my motorcycle.  I learned this after being flagged down by a policeman the first day.  He tried to use this “infracion” to extract some money from me, but I played up the “dumb tourist” routine and made it clear that I wasn’t in any rush to leave, and he eventually let me off with a warning.  This puts my count of “successful” interactions with local police at something close to 10 or 11.  In fact, I have yet to pay off a single official!

A particularly nice sunset seen just before reaching Chimbote, Peru.

Anyways, I made a few stops in some large but unremarkable cities on the way down to Lima. One was Chimbote, and I woke up the following day to find a lovely surprise in my rear tire. A nail had pierced the tread and driven itself horizontally into the tire. Luckily for me, it hadn’t gotten through to the tube, and when I pulled it out the tire mercifully remained pressurized. My rear wheel must really like nails or something, because it’s the third one I’ve had in the last 6 months, and my front hasn’t had a single one! (knock on wood)

Luckily, it didn't puncture the tube. Unluckily, I lost my leatherman tool a few days before and I had no pliers to extract the nail with. 15 minutes and a whole lot of tugging later and I finally got it loose.

Lima is large, busy, and depending on where you are, very expensive. It’s been a while since I’d really felt afraid for myself while riding in city traffic, but Lima is something else. Drivers will make left hand turns in front of oncoming traffic like it’s expected of them (and I think it might be).  Nobody pays any attention to the lane markings, and people use their horns for just about everything.

Reasons to honk your horn in Lima, Peru

  • There is somebody in front of you
  • You want to turn left
  • A pedestrian looks like they might be considering the possibility of thinking about maybe crossing the street in front of you
  • You are a taxi driver and you want to pick up a fare
  • You are approaching an intersection and want to ensure that nobody pulls out in front of you
  • You want to merge
  • Somebody else wants to merge
  • The light has turned green and the driver in front of you does not react within ½ a second
  • You want to turn right

There are many more. I will leave the discovery of these cases as an exercise for the reader.

The Lima coastline isn't as pretty as I'd expected. Much of it seems to be very tall cliffs, making beach access difficult.

I planned to leave Lima on Sunday morning, but that didn’t happen. I made the idiot mistake of leaving my wallet on top of my pannier and driving off, and I didn’t realize what I’d done until 25 minutes down the road when I stopped for gas and couldn’t find my wallet. Very quickly, I figured out what I had done and circled back to look for it. I never found it, so I spent the next hour on the phone with my bank and my credit card companies to cancel my credit and debit cards. The replacement debit card is being rush-shipped to my parents, and they are going to mail it to La Paz, Bolivia for me so I can continue. They also wired me some cash so I can survive the next week or two. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

I also lost my driver’s license with the wallet, but I have some photocopies and an international driver’s license. I’m not worried about BS-ing my way past policemen (I’ve had more than enough practice by now), but I am concerned about the remaining border crossings. Most customs offices have needed to see my license in order to process the paperwork for importing my motorcycle. Hopefully my winning personality will get me into Bolivia, Chile and Argentina sans-license.  If it doesn’t, a $50 probably will.  So much for not paying off any officials, huh?

I left Lima the next morning and made the executive decision to visit Machu Pichu another time. I didn’t feel like I had enough resources for what would potentially be a very expensive tour, and I also felt that I’d like to come back when I actually have the time to do the whole four-day trek. Anyways, it’s good to have things on your list.

Kids enjoying the fountain in the city center of Nazca, Peru. My hotel is the tall building in the background.

So instead of riding towards Cuzco and Machu Pichu, I continued down the Panamerican towards Nazca to see the famous Nazca Lines. The slower-paced life of Nazca was a welcome relief after the immensity and bustle of Lima, and I spent a nice, relaxed evening in the town square before retiring to my hotel to catch up on email and attempt to finish this blog post. The blog post never happened, though. Some more motorcyclists had arrived at the hotel, however, and we all sat around and talked shop for a few hours instead. By the time we were finished it was already late, and I’d scheduled an airplane tour of the Nazca lines for 7:30 the following morning, so after chatting with Ola for a bit, I went to my room and crashed.

So now we’re caught up to today. The tour this morning was pretty cool. I joined two Canadian women in a tiny four-person Cesna – the smallest plane I’ve ever flown in. Taking good photos of the lines turned out to be a pretty difficult task, but a few of them turned out OK.

I sat in the front seat and tried not to kick any important-looking knobs or switches with my long legs. The throttle knob was right in front of my left knee, which was a little worring, as I'm sort of clumsy.

The Nazca "hummingbird".

The tour operator called this the "Trapezoid", but I think it looks more like a jousting lance.

A pair of hands in Nazca, Peru.

The tour lasted about 45 minutes, and by the time it finished I’d become pretty hungry. I returned to the hotel, had a quick bite to eat, then packed up my stuff and left.

I rode through 500 more kilometers of sandy, dusty desert to the city of Arequipe, which is where I’m spending the night.  The highway near Lima is large and extremely well-maintained, as I drove south, this changed pretty quickly.

I encountered this sight on the PanAm highway, not far from Lima. Look at those signs!

The only thing that kept this immense hill here from collapsing onto the PanAm was a retaining wall looked very over-matched.

One multi-kilometer stretch of the PanAm is built right on top of a beach less than 100m from the ocean shore. Most of it was already under sand.

Not all of the highway was under constant threat of being buried in sand, though.  I took a short break on a deserted rock outcropping and used the opportunity to take some photos.

The sun finally made a strong appearance after being hidden by thick, uniform cloud cover for the last four/five days.

Me, standing on a rocky section of the Peruvian coast.

I found a nice little hotel for about $14 with internet access and secure parking, and you can’t ask for much more than that! My plan for tomorrow is to ride towards Lake Titicaca and the Bolivian border and maybe spend a day on the lake if it’s nice before crossing into Bolivia and continuing to La Paz.

The colors at sunset were vivid and pretty wild, and I don't think the camera did a great job of capturing them, but you get the gist of it!

A day in Semuc Champey

December 15, 2009

Semuc Champey was recommended to me by lots of other travelers during my stay in Antigua, so I altered my course through Guatemala in order to check it out, and I’m very glad that I did.  I’m a sucker for nature.  Some of my favorite experiences from this trip so far include seeing Zion and the Grand Canyon, riding over the mountain pass to Oaxaca, and climbing up Mt. Pacaya to see the active lava flows.  I don’t think I have the right kind of temperament required to really enjoy spending hours and hours looking at old churches or museums, so when I heard about Champey, I knew it was something I wanted to see.

Semuc Champey is located just 11 KM outside of the city of Lanquin and about an hour and a half northeast of Cobán.  I arrived in the early afternoon on Friday.  Since tours to Champey leave around 9:00 AM, I had to wait until the following day, so I went to be early and woke up by 7:00 AM for a Guatemalan breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, and fried bananas, then walked into town to find a ride to Champey.  It was raining pretty hard, but the temperature was comfortable and I felt happy in my motorcycle rain shell and shorts.

A truck carrying some tourists drove by, and one of them shouted to me, “are you going to Champey?”  They looked like a friendly bunch, so I said yeah, and jumped in the bed of the truck.

The 11 KM ride in the back of a pickup truck on the twisty, bumpy, and muddy gravel road with long dropoffs on either side woke me up better than strong coffee would have. Or meth, for that matter.

The drive to Champey was long and a bit nerve-wracking.  It rained hard for the first few KM, but then the rain let up and the sun shined through and dried us out, and I was able to really see how green and thick the jungle that surrounded us was.  Families living in wooden shacks gave us curious stares as we passed by.  It definitely felt very authentic!

The bridge that crosses the Cahabòn River.

When we arrived at the park, I paid the entrance fee of 50Q.  The rest of my group had prepaid for the whole 3-day trip from Antigua to Champey, so I sort of crashed their party, but that’s OK!

The hike to Champey took about an hour and a half.  Our guide led us up a steep incline to a lookout point where we could see the whole of Semuc Champey, which was extremely cool.

At the mirador (lookout point) on the trail to Semuc Champey. The limestone pools are visible in the background!

A closer view of the limestone pools. If you look closely, you can see swimmers in one of the upper left pools.

Another half hour of hiking brought us to the pools.  All that hiking made us really hot and sweaty, and the we eagerly kicked off shoes and shirts and jumped into the refreshing water.  The pools begin at a point where the main section of the Cahabòn River disappears into a 300 meter underground tunnel.  A smaller part of the river continues over land and fills the limestone pools.

The point where the Cahabòn River disappears underground.

The Cahabòn River is warmer than the meltwater-fed rivers in Washington, but not so warm that it’s totally comfortable.  However, since relatively little water actually flows over land through the limestone pools, the sun has time to heat the water in the pools to a more pleasant temperature.  Small fish live in these pools and if I stood still in the water, I could feel them nibble on my toes.

I was pretty excited to get into that water after the hike.

Our guide led the group through each successive pool.  Sometimes we would have to jump a short ways into the next one, and sometimes the path was a little less dignified.

Slimy stuff grows on the rocks, making it dangerous to stand. We had to slide on our butts at a few points.

The last pool ended with a 35 foot waterfall that drained back into the main section of the Cahabòn River.  The guide started to lead us off to the left so we could climb down carefully, but I was having none of it!  I asked, and the guide assured me that it was safe to jump off the cliff and into the water, “as long as you jump to the left.. there are rocks right beneath you!”

I snapped a quick photo before handing my camera to the guide so that he could photograph my jump.

This photo has some finger in it, but it's the only one I have, and I still like it.

The water I landed in felt shockingly cold after the warm water of the pools.  I swam to the shore and dragged myself up, coughing and sputtering, yet laughing at the rush I felt.

When the rest of the group finished climbing down, we swam over to the mouth of the river where it exited the cave.  Our guide scampered up an inclined rock face with water cascading down over it, and led us into the cave.  We followed, and I noted for the second time that this sort of activity would never, ever be permitted in the States, but in Guatemala, pretty much anything goes!

I stopped for a quick shower underneath a waterfall.

The main section of the Cahabòn River exits the underground cave with a ferocity that belies the tranquility of the pools above.

We had reached the end of Semuc Champey, so we backtracked up the cliff and through the pools to gather our things and return to the trailhead, where we ate lunch at an overpriced restaurant with underwhelming food.  When you’re the only restaurant around for 11KM, I guess you get to make the rules!

After lunch, we walked over to a nearby cave for some candlelit spelunking.  The entrance fee was another 50Q.  My cash reserves were pretty low after paying for lunch, but luckily I still had enough for the caves and for the ride back to Lanquin!  A new guide gave out candles to each member of our group and led us up some stairs to the mouth of a cave.

A small stream came out of the mouth of the cave, but as we went further in, the small stream got pretty deep!

We followed our guide into the frigid water, and once our eyes adjusted, we could see stalactites reaching down from the ceiling.  Bats, heard but unseen, squeaked from tall ceilings.

Taking photos of the cave proved to be difficult.  Flash photography resulted in photos with thousands of small white dots, probably from all the mist in the air.  The candles were not powerful enough to illuminate the cave walls sufficiently, so I was really only able to photograph the people.

We climbed several ladders to bypass tricky or flooded sections of the cave.

David and Isolda pose for a quick photo.

Isolda and I pose for a picture together, but Pipin doesn't quite make it all the way in.

After a while our guide turned us around and we made our way out of the cave.  The day was not over yet, though!  The cave guide led us down a path to a building near the river and gave us each an inner tube to use for floating down the river.  After all the hiking, swimming, diving and climbing, a nice relaxing river float felt perfect!

No whitewater here. The Cahabòn River calms down after Semuc Champey.

A self portrait taken while floating down the calm section of the Cahabòn River.

I had a wonderful time in Semuc Champey and I think I made the right decision coming up here.  If you’re ever in the area, I highly recommend checking it out.

Anyways, this all happened last weekend.  It’s now Tuesday, and I’m sitting in a hotel near the western border of El Salvador.  I rode down from Semuc Champey to El Salvador in a day, then spent two nights in a touristy beach town called La Libertad.  My stay there was uneventful and fairly uninteresting, so I won’t say too much about it.  Tomorrow I cross into Honduras, and I’ve heard that this border crossing can be very frustrating, so I plan to wake up early and eat a full breakfast before attempting it!  I’m excited to continue on into Nicaragua and especially Costa Rica.  That’s all for tonight!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Semuc_Champe

Hot Lava: check!

December 11, 2009

Guatemala is a disorganized, loud, and hot country.  Nicely paved two-lane highways turn into 80 miles of dirt without warning.  Insects are everywhere and you need to watch your belongings at all times.  I love it here!

I spent my first night in Guatemala in the city of Quetzaltenango, or as the locals call it, Xela (Shey-lah).  My first impression of the place was not great and I imagine this has lots to do with the uncomfortable ride across the border.  Buses and trucks spew foul-smelling oily black smoke into the air, and they drive extremely aggressively, making it hard to pass them.  Igor and I only rode ~80 miles past the border but by the time we arrived in Xela, I’d worked up a mean sweat and was ready to take a nap.

Igor wanted to spend a few weeks in Xela to learn Spanish at a local language school, so I said my goodbyes and rode away, solo once more.  I truly enjoyed traveling with Igor and Pepe, but I also appreciate having my own pace and my own direction.  As any motorcyclist will tell you, riding in a group can be fun, but it brings additional stress to the ride.  Was he able to pass that truck? Are they still behind me?  Am I going too fast?  Too slow?  Such thoughts occupy my mind, while riding solo puts me in a more pensive and untethered mode of thinking.

I had the worst chinese food of my life when I went for breakfast in Xela. I don't think I'll be ordering asian cuisine again until I get back to Seattle.

After enjoying my “breakfast”, I gassed up and left Xela.  An interesting thing about Guatemala is that gasoline prices are listed by the gallon instead of by the liter.  Distances are still measured using the metric system, as well as all other volume measurements that I’ve seen (bottled water, oil, etc), but gas stations are different.  You notice these things when you ride a motorcycle – lots of time to think.

The road to Antigua took me through a brief section of fog before descending. Actually, I guess it's not fog if you're at 8000 feet - then it's just clouds, right?

After a few missed turns, I finally found Antigua.  Riding in Guatemala is quite an experience, I must say.  GPS maps are a “best-effort” affair, and even paper maps can be inaccurate or misleading.  After the last few days of travel I’ve determined that any travel-time estimates that I make should be at least doubled.

Anyways, true to reports, Antigua is a very lovely and very touristy town.  I stayed in “Hostel 5″ near the town  square.  The hostel had hot water, clean beds, and free breakfasts.  It even had a spot inside for my motorcycle!  I met some new friends while staying in Antigua, but I’ll get to that in a minute.  First, the main affair:

From the second floor terrace of Hostel 5 I could see Mt Pacaya (an active volcano) in the distance. See the smoke?

I have dreamed of seeing hot lava up close ever since I was a child.  When I decided to do this trip, I made a list of destinations to visit, and Mt. Pacaya was right at the top.  Mt Pacaya is an active volcano and depending on the level of activity, it’s possible to climb up and see molten lava flow down the mountain.  This is something that the authorities in USA would never, ever allow, but in Guatemala, anything goes!

A shuttle bus took me and 13 other tourists from Antigua up to the trailhead on Pacaya for 65 quetzals/head, or about $8 USD.  The ride was fast and scary and when it ended, I was very happy to step on solid ground again.

Entry into the park cost 40 quetzals/head, and the price included a local guide to take us up the mountain.  I never learned our guide’s name, but he was pretty memorable!

Our guide was full of stories and crazy antics. At one point he found a huge larvae and stuck it in his mouth.

The first half of our hike passed through lush jungle, which turned into sparse greenery before giving way to bare rock.

The smoke plume varied in intensity by the minute.

Once we got to the lava fields, the hiking became significantly tougher.  Newly cooled lava is filled with sharp edges and rough surfaces that really, really want to cut your knees and elbows up!  Our guide slowed the pace considerably and we made it up without any injuries.

At first the lava fields were flat and easy to hike...

...but the route got steeper.

Eventually the trail became so steep that we had to use our hands for support, so I put away the camera.  We did stop to rest and drink water, so I had a chance to snap some photos of the gorgeous scenery.

A side view of a two-week-old lava flow.

Kristina stops for water with Volcan de Agua, an inactive volcano near Pacaya.

As we continued hiking, the group began to notice the occasional warm breeze.  In Guatemala, the temperature is still pretty nice even at 8000 feet, but you don’t usually get hot breezes on the sides of mountains.  Our guide stopped and dug into the loose rock a few inches, then instructed us to place a hand inside the hole.  The rock was hot to the touch!  According to our guide, the lava here was mere days old.

After another few minutes of climbing, we started noticing charred rock and a fiery smell in the air.  On the side of the trail I saw my first glimpse of what was to come:

No lava yet - just extremely hot rock.

A stick placed near the red hot rock quickly burst into flames.

After two hours of hiking, the trail finally leveled out and I saw a crowd in the distance.

This was it.  We had arrived.  We scrambled over the still-hot lava crust, careful not to place a limb near anything still red.  In retrospect, the whole experience seems unbelievably dangerous, but nobody got hurt and I’m very glad I went.  This is what I saw:

It looks just like it does in the movies.

My first impression: molten lava is HOT.  I know what you’re saying: “um, no shit, Joe”.  The thing is, you don’t appreciate how incredibly hot this stuff is until you’re standing 20 feet downwind of a river of lava.  I did approach it close enough to poke my walking stick into it, but to do this I had to splash water over my exposed skin, and even then I only lasted a few seconds.  2000 degrees Celcius is pretty difficult for my pasty white skin to handle.

I felt like a little kid next to that lava.

The lava river flowed over a ridge and down the side of the mountain.

As dusk ended, the glow from the lava became much more noticeable.

That’s about it.  The climb back down the mountain was in full darkness.  Everyone had headlamps or flashlights, so we could see just fine, but nevertheless we took it easy until we left the lava fields.

Looking back at the lava flow.

This experience was incredible, and I will never forget it.  I don’t know what else to say about this, so I’ll just leave it at that.

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