Orange Annihilation, San Pedro La Laguna

It feels like I've been beaten repetitively with a sledgehammer. I should be out kayaking, enjoying our scenic lake-side habitation with everyone else; instead I'm here finding it difficult enough to type, that'll own clenching my messed up hands long enough to keep a paddle inside the boat for any more than half an hour. I should be grateful. I'd be in even worse shape had the cops not stormed all the clubs last night and forced us back to our beds. But despite the past nights prelude to my current state of epic dehydration, for once in my life there's another explanation for my misery.

Four days have now passed since we began our trek from Quetzaltenango (Xela), the second largest city in Guatemala, all the way to the small village of San Pedro, located on the shores of Lake Atitlán. I'd traveled from Antigua with a couple of Swedish girls to reach our starting point the night before, arriving at the Quetzaltrekkers office just as the guides were giving our group their pre-walk briefing. After we'd got all geared up, we took a wander into the city center to grab some cash, munch some grub, and find a few bottles of rum for the next few days. As I'll mention later, my time in Guatemala just happened to coincide with Semana Santa (Holy Week) celebrations, and we ran into another strange procession circling Xela's central plaza. Squeezing our way through the crowds, we managed to find an open ATM, where we found a guy curled up asleep on the floor, obviously trying to keep out of the rain. I sat outside while the girls reached over this broken man to get to their money.

The next day it was an early start. Refueled on pancakes and strong coffee, we took off through the streets of the city, hopping upon a chicken bus which took as high into the mountains, through bustling rural communities, all the way to where we would start our climb. The hiking in this area is breathtaking, and the long hours spent hauling our heavy packs up and down hills, sleeping cold on rock solid floors (since I stupidly chose not to bring a sleeping bag) and watching both guides and clients, one by one succumb to the curses of food poisoning, were pivol hardships easily overlooked due to the splendor of our surroundings. Our hike came to its conclusion as we sat enjoying our breakfast, hypnotized by the sun rising out over the lake, welcoming in what became an immensely memorable day.

Sunrise Over Lake Atitlán

One of the things I'd been most excited about since we started this hike, was the speculation about an orange fight happening in the town of Santa Clara after our El Mirador sunrise spectacle; a ritualistic battle which would finish off the local Good Friday festivities. I still have no idea about the origins of this strange event. I've heard about tomato wars in Spain, plate smashing in Greece, even greased-up piglet chases in the United States - but why the fuck would someone come up with this idea that hurling massive, painfully solid citrus fruit at each other is somehow fitting with the crucifixion of our Lord Jesus Christ?! Anyhow, madness should never be dissected too thoroughly. As we began to claim our places from where we could best watch the fight, Cooper and I began joking around about how cool it would be if we could join in. We'd been told earlier that it was restricted solely for locals, but on talking to someone in the crowd, a Guatemalan girl who had been trekking with us discovered that this was all a load of trash talk, aimed at keeping us in order. It began to piss down with rain, the skies became illuminated with the crackling of a lightning storm, and there was no way we were leaving this place without first getting dominated by oranges.

Talk about insanity...the towns Mayor greeted us "Americano's" with a huge glass of rancid tasting rum, before taking our photo allegedly for the local newspaper, and soon had us kitted up with our battle-bags, filled to capacity with deadly fruit. I was shitting myself. These short, little fuckers looked hardcore. We got divided up into two teams split across an outdoor basketball court, and for TWO WHOLE HOURS!!!! oranges were catapulted around in every thinkable direction. I copped one in the face in the first 10 seconds!! There was no way I thought I was going to last more than a few minutes. It wasn't long before one guy was quivering behind a signpost, spitting blood all over the gutter. I lobbed one up way too high, missing someones head and it smashed straight through the window of the only bank in town (and I'm sure the only window they forgot to cover up beforehand). Cooper and I were joined by a bunch of our other mates from the trek once they realized it was free for all, and we'd push forward on the flanks, sending our opposition into short lived retreats, before we'd run out of fruit and had to duck and weave back for cover to re-supply. Before we'd started I was freaking about getting clobbered in the left eye where it'd been broken only in December, also maybe a kidney shot (since I've only got the one) and of course my precious perfect chompers which once represented my livelihood. But something primal took over; the fear gave way to a kind of long lost battle instinct, and the adrenaline rush was like none I've ever experienced before. Energy levels dwindling, spitting blood from getting smacked hard in the face at least four times, taking a melon sized fruit to the gut which knocked the wind out of me as if it were a bowling ball, and both hands throbbing and close to malfunction from blocking or catching innumerable attacks from the opposition, the final whistle was blown signalling an end to one of the most stupid yet somehow enriching idiocracies of my life.

Orange Fight

Once the dust had settled, and the fruit ceased to block out the sun, we embraced our former enemies in the middle of the court, and a special kind bond was created. The huge crowd, which had piled up deep into the streets, cheered and laughed as we crawled back into the town hall. Despite feeling like absolute shit, I felt invincible. The towns people welcomed these strange, pasty white men into their inner circle, embracing us for a short while as one of their own, and the Mayor treated us all to celebratory beers and I'm pretty certain Cooper managed to get interviewed for the TV. Back on the bus, we descended down the winding Indian Nose Road into San Pedro, where we bid farewell to many of our comrades, and got wild & groovy late into the night with those that remained.

Post Domination Crew

I had to get that out before I forgot, so I've kind of got my times jumbled all over the place here - scooting back a week now, across Guatemala to fill in the gaps...

Piles of Purple Men - Antigua

Upholding a rightful reputation as a backpacker mecca, famous more so for its torrential influx of soul-searching gringos than its picturesque colonial cityscape; my days spent in Antigua must come across as a little mundane and out of character. Despite arriving encompassed in this environment buzzing with activity, I chose the city as a base from where I could slow the pace of travel down for a while. I hung about for a week, aimlessly wandering cobbled streets, browsing the plethora of vibrant local markets, and admiring ghostly skeletons of long discarded buildings, ruined so due to a string of unfortunate acts demonstrating the capricious wrath of mother nature.

Antigua is settled dramatically in the middle of an expansive, volcano rimmed valley - so it seemed only natural to knock a couple off. After some inspection, it worked out cheaper & easier to hook up an excursion to the most popular active volcano in the area, Pacaya, which towers intimidatingly above the Guatemalan capital. As the shuttle pulled into gates of the national park, packs of young kids could be seen chasing down our slowing vehicle carrying bundles of large sticks. I thought they were here to beat us once we hopped out, but instead they popped their heads straight through the windows, demanding we "buy stick?!" No one gave into buying their bits of tree, however that didn't stop the hoards following us up the hill as we began our climb, mounting small horses and offering this other alternative service for us apparent, strikingly unfit foreigners. I had heard that a few years ago you could actually see the flows of molten lava beading down the slopes of Pacaya; BlackSam Bellamy had even told me the ground was so hot her thongs melted, meaning she had to be carried all the way back down while the locals laughed at her burning feet (& stupidity). As a result of a recent eruption, from what I saw the lava flows no longer exist, leaving only a stark black, desolate landscape. It was far from a strenuous hike, and it left me stirring with unburnt energy reserves. The coolest part of the trip was had running down the loose scree, and submerging ourselves up to our necks in hot, thermal vents.

Volcano Rabbit Holes

Back at the hostel, I unleashed my unstable mind upon two poor Danish girls, who surprised me with an equally spirited display of refreshing randomness. We were invaded by a balding freak-show of a man known only as Neil, who insisted on administering us with his views of hatred towards the entire German race. M&M decided to take him on in Michael Jackson dance-a-thon, and soon the JungleParty was jigglin' - our diverse, developing posse indulging in the generosity's that come hand in hand with bar tabs. Rounds of tequila shots disappeared, washed down soothingly with way too many pints of Moza. As everyone began to shift in the direction of the local nightclubs, I gracefully chose to stay put, and talk Aussie knocker yin-yang with Danish Princess. Embarrassingly as it turned out, I was the sole intoxicated dope in this duo...but for some reason she still seemed to put up with my bullshit, and even talked to me the NEXT DAY...WOAH!?? It's either I'm obliviously super-steeze, or somewhere along the line I revealed my expertise as a dentist, one day to be worth a multi-million or so, and she completely failed to call my bluff. What ever the reason behind my baffling strike of luck, I had a blast the following day slinking about the city, able to have the same riveting conversations alllllll over again (much to poor Danish Princesses distaste), since I could hardly remember a fucking thing from the night before.

But as we all know by now, high on life's veil of wisdom; all good things must come to an end...and away %$! the coolest of the chickadees was gone, bumping along in a bus somewhere across the continent, while I went nowhere and cried myself to sleep - traumatized by nightly maulings from soulless, uninteresting critters. There was also an unavoidable prevalence of church related crap, for which I have never been able to relate. Actually, I think all the Catholicism was taking its toll. The streets were filled with purple men carrying truck-sized wooden floats, parading down aging streets, bringing some form of life at least to these aging beliefs & traditions. But I did have the Swedish girls I must say, to keep me semi-sane for the remainder of the shenanigans, and I finally ran back into Ash after we got split up leaving Lanquin, and we had some drinks on my last night there. For now, I think I'm going to kick about here at the lake for a few more days and then head on out of Guatemala. Although I've got no real time limit so to speak, I kind of want to push on. I was looking at a map the other day in a room of Don Pedro's house where we spent the second night of our hike, and it hit me how far I've actually still got to go. However, I've kind of stopped thinking about all that to be honest. It has been the people who have really made this trip as good as it's been, especially so here in GuatCountry. It's going to be hard to leave it all behind; still there are a bunch of awesome people I can't wait to meet back up & travel with, all over the place! So here's to more good times! VeryMerryHappyEaster.

Antigua Cross

Adios! Much big lovin' from a tiny man.
MaddoggyDog xx