533 Words
Guatemala - The Road To Hell...and Heaven
Apparently the road to hell isn't as easy as they say. It is hot, very arduous and certainly not paved. Gasping, at the top of mountain, I find it. Hell. I am perched on the edge of a Guatemalan hell.
I have no doubt as to how the concept of the devil's playground was first imagined. Obviously, some idiot, not unlike me, sat in a similar place and looked into the earth's flaming throat. Except, I actually paid for the privilege to hike up Volcan Pacaya outside of the UNESCO designated city of Antigua, and stare into Diablo's destiny.
Only in a nation without lawsuits over hot coffee, would it be possible to sit on the frying edge of a live, spewing sulphurous volcano. Not that you can sit long. The ground is hot. The lime-green fumes are frightening and it's best not to think of the previous tourists who have been injured from flaming projectile rocks. And we're not going to talk about the dead people either. Guatemala has enough of its own problems without worrying over pesky things like tourist safety.
I am euphoric with the adrenalin rush of staring down damnation and remaining alive. I jump and slide with the other travelers as we plunge down the loose black lava rock sides of Pacaya leaving the steaming cauldron behind.
Now the question is whether I can survive God.
Easter in Guatemala has nothing to do with chocolate chickens or egg bearing rabbits. Semana Santa/Holy Week would find Hallmark hard pressed to get much action. Instead, we are talking about loud mournful music playing from the marching band as they slowly follow the purple-robed penitents bearing a one-ton platform with the dead Jesus laid flat. He has been removed from his year long sanctuary in the church, his hinged arms laid at his side and his hair brushed from his blood stained face.
Fog banks of frankincense roll down the cobbled streets. The smoke is concentrated by the high-walled courtyards where cool-shadowed spaces hide from the hot streets. The walls create a smoky tunnel of crumbling terra cotta, indigo and rose. Thousands of people crush around me.
The thief warnings have me grasping my knapsack but it soon becomes apparent that I have nothing to worry about. These people are here to see Jesus. The processions go for hours, at painfully slow paces, as the thirty men chosen for each segment of the route carefully shuffle over intricately designed carpets made from thousands of flower petals, coloured sawdust and leaves. The intense colours and detailed work of these alfombras look like thick Persian carpets have been laid on the streets. The hours and days of labour are destroyed in mere moments as the cargars carry Jesus over them releasing the sugary scent of pink roses and pungent grasses.
Guatemala inspires belief.
With over 30 volcanoes, earthquakes and the horrible history of a 40 year civil war, it is hard not to believe in hell.
But sitting beside a misting fountain as glossy-haired children play with the falling lavender petals of the jacaranda tree, a traveler has a chance at redemption, and an opportunity to believe in something else.
Believe it: www.visitguatemala.com |
