GETTING IN
As mentioned here, after receiving a spiritual battering courtesy of Nicaragua’s chicken buses and El Salvador’s pervasive noise pollution, I booked myself onto an expensive shuttle to go directly from La Unión to Antigua, Guatemala. By this point, I’d deemed my reserves of time and patience more precious than my ever-dwindling budget – and I don’t regret the decision at all. This was the smoothest journey and border crossing of the entire month! The shuttle (booked via Bigfoot) actually arrived an hour earlier than expected, which necessitated a hastily-arranged taxi to a hospital on the main highway outside town at 10:30am, where the driver was ready and waiting; a level of service I’d long since ceased to expect! We had seven passengers in the minivan during our peak (and only five for most of the ride), all of whom were Europeans well-accustomed to using earphones and/or reading books on transport. Yes, I was $65 poorer, but after the stress of the prior couple of days, I found it a small price to pay for peace and quiet – two things that I’d considered impossible to find on Central American vehicles.
IIRC it took around six hours to reach the La Hachadura/Pedro de Alvarado border crossing, where the exit and entry stamps were so swiftly given that I barely had time to take any pics (a girl who’d been on the shuttle since León, Nicaragua, informed me that our driver had paid some bribes to fast-track the process which – if true – I’m super grateful for!). From there, it was another three hours to Antigua, though the journey found itself slightly prolonged by it being a Sunday during Lent, a day on which the very Christian locals in the area tend to converge upon Antigua’s city centre for ornate processions, exacerbating all traffic in the region. We eventually got there after 8pm. The only downside of the shuttle was the lack of vegetarian food – the driver stopped at a couple of gas stations and a fried chicken place, none of which provided much in the way of sustenance for poor lil’ me – so I was hangry as hell by the time I’d checked in and thus spent little time engaging with the devotional outpourings all around me as I beelined from hostel to food to bed. A decision I very much regret in hindsight.
Antigua
WHERE
Antigua might well lay claim to being my fave Central American city. A former capital during the days of the Spanish Empire, its blend of colonial architecture, cobblestone streets, and a vibrant bar scene isn’t particularly unusual for the region, but there’s a laid-back vibe round these parts that lends winsome charm to its aesthetic appeal. And that’s not even mentioning its proximity to some spectacular nature, nestled as it is in the Guatemalan highlands and flanked on multiple sides by ominous volcanoes. I wish I’d spent at least another night here, but I was behind schedule and had only one full day before heading to the most famed volcano in the area: Acatenango.
The Acatenango hike is one of the principal draws not just in Guatemala, but in all Central America. I’d met countless backpackers who’d described it as both essential and also one of the most challenging things they’d ever done. The latter was of concern to me. I’m a very experienced hiker, remain physically fit, and have historically had no issues with altitude – but I’m not getting any younger and hadn’t summitted a proper mountain since pre-Covid. Moreover, I’d done a ‘test’ volcano hike over at Ometepe, and had found it much harder than expected. I needn’t have worried, however: the ballyhoo around Acatenango’s perceived difficulty is likely perpetuated by those that have minimal experience with hiking at altitude (it’s not even that high at 3976m). I absolutely killed it – leading the pack most of the way – and the egotist in me couldn’t help but get a little kick out of the fact that our group included three struggling college athletes (their first time attempting anything like this tbf, no doubt they’ll be killing me in future!). Mountains are always special and I didn’t realise how much I missed the ever-morphing vegetation, the sensation of rising above the clouds, and the stimulus that comes from my competitive frontrunning. But this isn’t any ordinary mountain, it’s an active volcano that one overnights on to behold the extravaganza of neighbouring Volcán Fuego’s Strombolian lava blasts. I’ve been at much higher altitude and slept on active volcanoes elsewhere in the world, but this is a spectacle whose implausible majesty elevates it to the realm of the immortals. The backpackers I spoke to about it were right about one thing: it is essential.
Note that the full Acatenango experience involves three hikes: a 5-7 hour ascent to reach the base camp; a 3-4 hour climb to neighbouring Fuego in order to witness its eruptions up close (this costs an additional 250 quetzales/$33); and another couple of hours’ round trip to summit Acatenango for sunrise. The latter two hikes are optional, and the majority of our group selected one or the other as opposed to both like I did. The initial, mandatory ascent is tough – one girl had to turn back at this early stage due to illness – but it is totally manageable for anyone with moderate fitness levels. Guides tend to go very slowly and enforce regular rest breaks (much to the consternation of people like myself who like to keep moving as fast as possible). There were folks in our group who struggled the whole way, but who eventually made it to base camp and sat out the two optional hikes – which is absolutely fine, as you still get a terrific view of Volcán Fuego’s pyrotechnics from the comfort of the cabins. For those intimidated by it: Acatenango is a physical endurance test, but know that it’s very much possible to limit the extent of that test.
Acatenango
There’s no shortage of tour operators that take you there and back. Wicho & Charlie’s, Tropicana, OX Expeditions, Old Town Outfitters, and CA Travellers are amongst the most popular names. Peak season requires booking well in advance however, which is not conducive to the way I roll. I rocked up in Antigua on Sunday night without a reservation and was unable to sign with any of the aforementioned names. There were spots available with lesser-known and/or cheaper operators, but I ended up paying a little more to go with Acatenango Local Adventure for two reasons: 1) the promise of vegan meals; 2) the smaller group sizes. Their being a small, locally-run enterprise seemed a bonus too. The meals weren’t quite as advertised, but they were nonetheless a significant step up from ‘spaghetti in tomato sauce x3’ as I was offered elsewhere. We were a smaller group of about 15, compared to many others who were 30+, and our campsite was relatively advanced – cabins as opposed to tents, an enclosed ‘toilet’ which was really a glorified hole in the ground. We had friendly, capable guides too (don’t expect fluent English, but that applies to all tour operators here).
I’d be more inclined to recommend the company were it not for the drama that followed once we got off the mountain. Everyone else was heading back to Antigua to rest up but, conscious of time constraints and confident in my ability to rebound physically, I’d decided to continue my onward travel on a direct shuttle that was being offered to Lake Atitlán – considered by many to be Guatemala’s most scenic destination, and a noted centre of Mayan culture. Sadly, as I was the only one signed up for the service during a time of exorbitant gas prices (thanks to the fucktards Trump and Netanyahu), I had to be shipped out to another shuttle provider. This turned into an epic fail (read about it in next section). I eventually arrived in Panajachel – the main hub on Atitlán – battered, bruised, and very very fatigued. Luckily, this was another situation where I had a hostel ‘dorm’ all to myself (at least for my first night), and I was able to reset enough to do a little exploring around the lake the next day. I first visited the hippieville of San Marcos due to its abundance of plant-based food. Be aware also that it has an abundance of walking stereotypes (think dreadlocks, tie-dyes, spaced out visages, etc.) which is considerably less appealing, but I enjoyed my lunch very much! I then stopped over at the colourful buildings of Santa Catarina Palopó, although my late arrival time prevented me from exploring too thoroughly there.
There are numerous possibilities around Atitlán (more hiking, partying, cultural activities). My main concern, however, was that I was on the wrong side of Guatemala to my next intended destination (Flores), and that transport needed to be arranged accordingly. I spent much of my day trying to figure out and secure the most viable route for the next morning. Unfortunately, this backfired even more spectacularly than the shuttle to Atitlán. By the time I reached Flores over a day later, I was drained, exasperated, and determined to renounce Central American transport forevermore. Again, I gave myself some recovery time, rebounded a little thanks to my picturesque surrounds (Flores is one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in the Americas, and Isla de Flores’s pretty, historic streets were mostly deserted during my wanderings), and finalised arrangements for the following day. I would visit the legendary ruins of Tikal in the morning, before being deposited at a roadside junction (of course!) where I’d attempt to flag down a passing colectivo to Belize. Tikal was every bit as awe-inspiring as I’d hoped, despite the 4am alarm required to get there (by this point, early morning starts had become habitual anyway). Once home to one of the Mayan civilisation’s most important cities, flourishing between 200-900 CE, the site today is a genuine marvel: remnants of bygone wonder, scattered across a lush expanse of jungle; time-worn, sometimes even crumbling, yet never anything less than glorious to behold. It went some way to restoring the enthusiasm that had been savaged during my road travels in Guatemala and was as worthy a closing act as I could have hoped for.
Lake Atitlán
GETTING AROUND
Speaking of those road travels, I’d thought Nicaragua had the worst transport system in Central America. I was wrong. My experiences in Guatemala were so torturous that, despite loving the country and its people, you’d have to pay me to return. I’d sworn off public transit after all the chicken bus horrors, and tried my best to stick to private shuttles whilst here in Guatemala. As mentioned earlier, I ended up being passed to a third-party shuttle service for my Lake Atitlán leg. After the brief elation of descending Acatenango and enjoying some well-earned beers, our group got bussed back to Antigua around lunchtime. I went part of the way with them, but was told to disembark at a random town and wait on the roadside for the passing Atitlán shuttle to collect me. I was told it’d come by within ten minutes, and was left without any contact details for the company/driver despite my requests. I’d had plenty of experience with roadside waits in Central America so wasn’t particularly concerned by this scenario, but I was eager to reach the lake ASAP so that my overworked legs could finally rest up. I waited on broken pavement slabs for thirty minutes – with the town’s tramps, strays, hobos, schoolkids, and police officers all bearing witness to my ordeal – before panic started kicking in. I frantically tried contacting both my Acatenango tour provider and other members of the hiking group in order to determine what the hell was going on and figure out my next move. At some point, I thought of abandoning the Atitlán plan completely and backtracking to Antigua like everyone else, but I was constantly informed that the shuttle would ‘only be ten more minutes’; a lie that I believed for a full ninety minutes before it finally turned up. The morning’s euphoria of smashing the Acatenango hike had swiftly disintegrated thanks to the reality of #latinotime, which had left me baking on a filthy curb with my backpacks for what felt like an eternity. An unwanted and unnecessary psychological ordeal to add to a steadily-growing list.
This was nothing, however, compared to the next journey I attempted. I needed to get from Panajachel to Flores, which was pretty much the other side of the country. I was determined to nail this leg and to avoid all the transport issues I’d suffered up until this point. A ‘direct’ shuttle to Flores is advertised all over Panajachel’s main street, but in reality it’s a minivan to the capital – Guatemala City – where you catch a connecting bus to Flores. Never have I experienced a bigger shitshow. The shuttle was meant to depart at 5am. It didn’t turn up at my accommodation until 6:30am, by which point I’d given up on reaching Flores and was already recalibrating my remaining itinerary. A friendly, English-speaking abuela with a flight to catch was the only other passenger when I got on, and she informed me that these delays-without-explanation were all too normal in Guatemala, much to its citizens’ collective dismay. We reached the capital by 9am, where I found that I’d been erroneously booked onto a 10pm bus instead of a 10am bus. It then took half an hour of begging and pleading to get the ticket changed to an AM departure, which turned out to be moot anyway as I waited for almost four hours at this godforsaken terminal, watching helplessly as buses materialised, were punctiliously hosed down, only to be told that we couldn’t board and that no one knew when we’d be allowed to. (I’d befriended the other visible foreigner, a young French dude, and had also drawn the attention of many amiable locals, all of whom were in much the same boat and tellingly untroubled by this interminable wait.) When we finally did depart, the nine-hour ride to Flores devolved into a twenty-hour assault on one’s increasingly-precarious mental state. The bus backtracked, went off-piste, drove down country paths and mountain roads, and went at snail’s pace all through the night – with ZERO explanation offered to us by the drivers. (Guatemala had been experiencing protests relating to fuel costs exacerbated by deplorable cunts, and my understanding was that these protests had caused the partial closure of a number of the country’s highways, hence the lackadaisical meandering.)
The schedule that I’d signed up for had me departing Atitlán at 5am and arriving in Flores at 4pm. I awaited that 5am shuttle knowing full well that the journey would take longer than planned because #latinotime. Even when accounting for that, never in my worst nightmares could I have envisioned reaching my destination twenty seven hours later at 8am the next morning. I’d specifically avoided taking a night bus as I was informed that these are considerably riskier (thanks to gangs of roaming bandits + the questionable quality of the country’s more far-flung roads), yet I ended up travelling all night anyway. It was a hellish journey, made all the more so due to the staff’s total disregard for the passengers, as well as the fact that I was unable to eat a proper meal during the entire trek. The bus occasionally stopped at gas stations where we could get snacks, and there was a 1am stop at a highway eatery that served only meat. I was still thrilled at passing the Acatenango test with such flying colours, but I hadn’t signed up for another endurance test so soon after, and I was beyond pissed off by being forced to undergo it in such irresponsible manner. Fortunately, my excellent hostel in Flores (Macarena) was very understanding of the situation and allowed me to change my reservation date and check in early when I finally arrived the next morning. By this point, however, I’d sworn off Guatemala entirely. I’ve travelled in India, Ethiopia, and Mozambique, and I’ll say this: Guatemala’s transport system – based on my admittedly limited experience of it – is the worst in the world. There was much irony in the fact that I’d dropped $ on more expensive options in order to bypass the dysfunction of the local transport, only to end up bitten so sorely on the backside as a result. Fuck every Guatemalan vehicle and its respective driver. Seriously.
(In the interest of fairness: I took lanchas (water taxis) across the lake at Atitlán, and a colectivo with the sweetest Mayan driver to Santa Catarina and back. These were affordable and reliable. Small-scale journeys seem to work out okay in Guatemala, but heaven forbid you attempt anything that requires travel between urban centres.)
Flores + Tikal
REFLECTIONS
The sad thing about Guatemala’s transport being so execrable is that the country and its people are legitimately beautiful. They deserve better, and part of me wishes I’d given myself more time to spend here. Antigua and Flores were irresistibly picturesque, and the former in particular merits a lengthier stay than I gave it – its surplus of visual appeal, plant-based options, and nighttime activities is just about all I require from a great city. I also regret not fully immersing myself in the piety of the Easter procession that had drawn enormous crowds during my first night. Much like in neighbouring El Salvador and Belize, Guatemalans seem ultra-devout in their Christian convictions, but there’s a kindness and inclusivity in these expressions that makes such reverence palatable even for a committed agnostic like myself.
Acatenango and Tikal had been lined up as potential trip highlights long before I landed in Central America, and they both lived up to the hype and then some. Acatenango was especially validating: it’s a great comfort to know that I can still perform physical feats such as these with the same aplomb as in my pre-Covid heyday. (Though it was also a reminder that I desperately need a new phone, as the pics and vids I captured from our night at Fuego pale in comparison to what my fellow group members recorded.) And Tikal was exceptional. I felt like a Temu Indiana Jones, scampering around a rainforest and bounding up and down these ancient ruins from millennia past. Both my inner nature lover and history geek were incredibly well-served by what Guatemala had to offer.
Finally, a word on the friendliness of the people. Guatemala is loud like much of Central America (earphones don’t exist), but despite the manifold travails on the country’s roads, I found myself far less irritable here than elsewhere, likely because so many locals were willing to strike up conversations with me wherever I went. These convos were obviously fairly limited in nature due to my Spanish, but smiles and wild gesturing often communicated what words could not. Be it hiking up mountains, waiting interminably at bus stations, or just chowing down in a restaurant, the overarching picture was of an all-embracing populace who treat obvious outsiders with enviable care. I don’t ever wish to return to Guatemala in its current state – those ‘shuttles’ will haunt me forever – but I’d nonetheless recommend it in a heartbeat for its people as well as its incomparable sights. Just budget a shit tonne of money to pay for private vehicles the whole way, eh.
Click here for the full Guatemala gallery with some additional trip details.
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