Lets talk about hiking a volcano, but more about chicken busses

Last Sunday a group of 25 of us, 24 volunteers and a friend I met in Antigua, decided to hike Volcano Pacaya. One of my fellow volunteer's host father runs a tour agency so he booked the transport and guide for us. Price: 70 quetzal, which is the equivalent of about $9 American. The hike is more of a tourist attraction then a difficult hiking adventure, although a few people in the crew had some serious trouble making it.

We left Antigua at 7 am, its about an hour and fifteen minute drive. It was nice to ride in the comfy mini-bus and not a rediculous camioneta (chicken bus). Actually, now is probably a good time to catch everyone up to speed on ¨chicken busses¨.

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The life of a chicken bus: An innocent, unassuming yellow school bus is built, hopefully in the United States, and then used to transport the youth of America to and from school. If it is a lucky bus it has a sweet old lady drive it with extreme care, takes the girls swim team to and from their meets (unlucky ones get the boys baseball team), and maybe even gets to bring lots of excited boys and girls on some educational field trips. Eventually, as we all do, the bus gets older, slower, starts making funny sounds, and eventually brakes down. Now at this point humans go to quiet graves, and some busses find this same serenity (albeit in a scrapyard). However, some busses are forced to suffer an altogether different fate, they become chicken busses. I imagine mommy and daddy busses tell their children stories of how bad busses are sent to Guatemala to become chicken busses in order to scare them into behaving.

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First thing they do to a chicken bus is rip out the old, dead engine and install a stick shift beast of an engine. Since there are no regulations on smog output this thing can be as cheap and dirty as you would ever think possible. Next it is painted any number of different hideous combinations of colors. A rack is then installed on the top of the bus, and another above the seats, just the right height so that many people will hit their head on it. Next these busses are assigned a gruff looking driver and a slippery little ayudante. The drivers job is self explanatory, except that he is taught to beep at everything and everyone, as well as drive at extreme speeds, weave through traffic, and make turns that seem physically impossible. The ayudante is taught to defy the laws of physics by herding more people onto the bus then one would think is possible, and then to squeeze his way up and down the aisles collecting everyones bus fares.

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Now, let me elaborate as to what I mean when I say there are a lot of people on these busses. Every seat is almost invariably filled with one extra person then is supposed to fit. Then the aisles are crammed from the back to the front with people scrunched against each other. A lot of times the area around the driver and the stairs to get on the bus are also filled with people. How the ayudante makes his way through this mess, and remembers who has paid and who hasn´t, is a wonder of the world to me.

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Furthermore, on top of the overcrowdedness, the smell of B.O., the constant feeling that the bus might explode at any minute, the loads of chickens and bushels of wood and you name it on the roof, the weaving through traffic at dangerous speeds, the fact that the bus doesn´t always come to a complete stop, the neverending danger that you will be pickpocketed (I caught someone trying once already), and the fact that you get closer to the people on these busses then you do to most girls on a first date, you also have to worry about the chance that a group of guys might just board the bus, fire a couple of shots in the air, kill the bus driver and ayudante, and rob everyone. This happens frequently, but usually only at night; hence the rule that we avoid chicken busses at night.

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So that said, chicken busses are a never ending adventure and my primary source of transportation. You learn to love them pretty fast, and if you stay smart you can pretty easily stay out of danger.

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Back to the volcano. We went to Volcan Pacaya, a huge tourist destination due to its frequent activity and chance to see flowing lava. It took about two hours to hike to a spot near the top where we were able to roast some marshmellows over lava rocks and have a little lunch. As you can see the views are breathtaking, and I will be going back to hike to the summit; we couldn´t go this time due to the size of our group and the inability of many to actually make the climb.

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All in all it was a lot of fun. I will let the pictures speak for themselves. Adios amigos.

Landscape.

Eating lunch on a volcano.

Karina on top of the world.

Anthony up in the clouds.


Roasting marshmellows over a hot lava pit.

Our guide demonsrating how hot the lava actually is.

Jesse.

Roberto, our local guide.

Adrian, a fellow volunteer.

Karina, a new friend I met in Antigua.

The whole group, almost. There were a few stragglers.

On the start of the path.

The group looking tired.

No comment necessary.

I'm the only one with a stick.

Mountain lake.

Mini-bus, en route.

This photo is unrelated. This is Cori and me outside Peace Corps Headquarters.