A Walk in the Clouds. And Horses**t. Oh, I mean, "Climbing Pacaya."

At first, you think that the boys selling hand-hewn walking sticks are kind of annoying, as they are relentless. But you buy one anyway because those who have gone before you say having one is a good idea--especially on the way down. Plus, buying one gets the kids off your back. Then there are the guys selling bags of marshmallows--yes, marshmallows--and you say, "Thank you, but no, I do not want to roast marshmallows over hot spots in the cooled off lava for breakfast," but they keep asking you anyway, so you think, "Man, is that ever annoying."

Then you decide it is the men on horses who follow your every step, incessantly offering "un taxi natural," that are more irritating. I mean, geez, you haven't even started the climb--do you look like that big of a wuss? And after you start to climb, it is the piles of horse shit that make every step both irritating and dangerous. Who wants to step in that? The first 1/4 of the climb is more about avoiding poop than it is about the climb (sorry about the vague Miley Cyrus reference).

By now, you are working hard; it is after all, a volcano and volcanoes are mountains that ooze, drool, spit and rumble. And you start to think that the most annoying part of the whole experience is Arturo, your guide, who walks up this thing twice a day, every day of the week, and who never loses his smile, his chipper, cheery smile, as he darts ahead, waits for you to catch up and asks, "?todos estan bien?" ("everyone okay?") only to take off again after the last person has caught up.

But then you realize that the young Australian couple, the two people who speak not a word of Spanish, are way ahead of you and seeing their disappearing asses kind of pisses you off. If they slowed down just a bit, then maybe Arturo would, too, so maybe you could catch enough air to blow out the fire that has started to burn in your lungs. 

But no, there is no point in slowing down, because you realize that the slower you go, the longer it will take to get to the top, so you pretend that all of the hours spent running on a treadmill and gliding on the elliptical trainer in order to improve your heart's ability to pump blood efficiently, that all of the times you have hoisted yourself up and down, weights in hand, in order create muscles in your butt, have really paid off. And so you realize that you, in that particular moment of time up there on the side of a f**king volcano for crissakes, are the most annoying thing.

But wait, you are now in a cloud; a cloud! a cloud? Yes, a cloud and you realize you are very close the top, the top of a volcano from which you will not be able to see a damn thing because YOU ARE IN A CLOUD.

So there you are, near the top of the volcano, thinking, "Man, I wish those clouds would go away," thinking that, maybe for Arturo the clouds are not annoying, but he is up here all the time and is probably not impressed with the view, or himself for that matter, not the way you were hoping to be when you told all of your friends about the great experience of climbing a volcano, an actual honestogod active volcano and showed them all the great pictures.

But wait, you are there, finally there at the top! And you think, "Gee, what is that little shack?" and then you see the sign hanging from the roof. "Pacaya Design Souveniers," it says. You realize that even here on top of a volcano they will try to get you, and you look at the ugliest jewelry you have ever seen in your life: little pebbles of volcanic rock glued together and set in silver with price tags that make you marvel a how gullible someone must think you are if they think you would ever consider buying, let alone wearing, dirt for earrings.







Out come the bags of marshmallows that, yes, the Australians have carted up the volcano, and Arturo gleefully bounces around from one steaming hole to another, searching for the right amount of heat to melt sugar. You are in a moonscape created by the last eruption that happened 15 months ago and it is windy and cold and damp because you are still in a cloud.

But the clouds, yes the clouds! are starting to blow away and within the span of one second you think about a) the photos you will now be able to take, and b) the edge fear that has plagued you all your life but for some reason you forgot about when you agreed to (finally!) climb Pacaya.

But there is no time to ruminate because off goes Arturo, Australians close behind, so you do your best to put that edge fear thing away, back in the box it had been stored in, but now that you are climbing down, the direction that gives life to your fear, you never ever lose the sensation that you will now fall off the world, only to land on the sharpest stuff in the universe--volcanic rock.
Finally, you realize that the scree you are now walking--no, not walking, but sliding, surfing skiing--in is the most annoying part of the experience. You think fondly back the the route up, the route that did not go through the scree-covered path of the last eruption, and wish for the sure-footedness of rock covered in horse shit.

Then you fall. Then you fall again. And again. Not too hard, though, because after all, you are walking down at a sharp angle so there is not too far to go before your butt hits the scree, but the slide after the fall is irritating as hell. And then you realize that those damn Australians are inexplicably behind you, and they are laughing. You think that you might hit them with your stick, should you ever make it back on your feet long enough to swing it.

Back on your feet, you realize that the climb down is physically much more demanding than the climb up. Your quads quiver from the effort of keeping you erect (an effort that is not fully realized (see last paragraph)), and your knees, especially your left one, is reminding you that tendons are precious things that should be treated with better care than you are currently giving them.

Wistfully, you remember los taxis naturales--the horses--that turned back long ago, and your knee is talking to you:"dumbass," it says. In numb agreement, you move on, or rather, down, one foot after the other. The only glimmer of grim joy is that you are now ahead of the Australians and no longer have to look at their trim, bouncy asses.

There is Arturo. Wait, is he on flat ground? Well, flatter ground anyway, and you know the end is near.
You have made it; you have climbed up and then down a volcano. You have managed to do what you have avoided for fours years. You feel at once silly and proud for having participated in An Experience. You laugh at little to yourself about all the things that seemed so annoying in the moment, but really were only the elements that make the experience memorable.

"Not bad, not bad at all," you think to yourself early the next morning before you get out of bed. And then you do get out of bed and the muscles in your legs, your quadriceps,  sweetjesusgodalmighty hurt more than you ever remember a muscle hurting. And now you know the most annoying thing about climbing Pacaya.