Cold lava and G-string: a fuego story

Everyone stood up in a split second, crowding the makeshift windows, trying to see if the eruption that had just made the whole cabin shake had cracked the volcano in half. It had to. The force of it woke all of us instantly, like a grenade going off right where we were sleeping, hiding from the cold. Through the dirty plastic panes, we saw just enough to realize it was another normal eruption: stronger, yes, but not apocalyptic like it had felt moments ago. Exhausted from the trek, the altitude, and the lack of warmth, we all collapsed back onto the single giant mattress that covered the cabin floor, the sound of sleeping bags crackling in the otherwise silent night.

“You have an hour to relax, and we are going to hike two more hours to Fuego after.”

Our group of 17 hikers had made it to the base camp of Acatenango volcano, completely demolished by the pace forced upon us by the guides. Now, they were telling us that this was not over, and one by one, my fellow trekkers were quietly deciding that they would not attempt the climb to Fuego. I, for once, was too stubborn to listen to my body: I had to do it. This was the main reason I came to Guatemala, after all.

“Okay, it’s time. We are leaving in five minutes.”

I managed to convince three of my sleep mates, a desperate effort not to have to endure this by myself. We started with a descent under the sunset, a welcome gift that would almost kill me a few hours later, when we had to climb it back up. About 35 minutes in, the sun had fully set and the wind was picking up. One of the guys in our group had only a hoodie on, and I couldn’t help enjoying watching him suffer. During our bus ride to the base of the mountain, my driver had pressed my bag between two others, causing all the water inside to leak, despite the warning I had given him. Halfway through the climb, after I realized, told the story and asked if anyone had water to spare, I saw him roll his eyes. Later, at base camp, he got frustrated again because I had chosen one of the puffiest sleeping bags.

“I should have this one. I’m taller than you, and it’s a tall one.”

Go fuck yourself, I thought. “No. I picked it because it’s fluffy and I get cold easily,” I said. Now, shaking in front of me while we waited in line for another group of hikers to descend the volcano, I couldn’t help enjoying the show.

The human traffic jam was partly a relief, as we were no longer struggling with the climb, and partly an annoyance, as the cold was slowly eating away at the last of our energy. I remember thinking it must be an awful experience to climb Everest: the same traffic but in even worse conditions and climate. I vowed to myself never to put that on my bucket list.

It took us almost twice as long to ascend, but when we finally got there, I was absolutely speechless. The volcano kept erupting, lava flowing and throwing rocks into the air. We were very close, but even at that distance, the wind was so strong it carried the heat away before it could reach us. Even with all my layers, sitting on a rock with nothing to cover me from the blow, I was starting to get extremely cold. The good thing, I guess, is that I was completely hypnotized by the chaos happening before my eyes. “Can we go down now? I think I’m starting to have hypothermia”. I side-smiled when I heard him say it to the guide. They gathered us and we started our descent, leaving the light for the darkness. I was so close to the end but felt weak to the core at the thought of taking one more step. A few other hikers and I had been struggling to keep up with the guide’s pace, and since I was the only one in the slower group with a headlamp, I had to turn every three minutes to make sure they were still following behind. Now it was the last stretch, uphill all the way, and I felt dehydrated and on the verge of fainting. I had been stopping every ten steps to catch my breath and steady my vertigo. One of the guides had to come back to check on me, as even the people I was leading were now far ahead at the front. I knew I hadn’t taken in enough water -or enough snacks, for that matter- and my body was starting to shut down.After what felt like an eternity, I finally made it up the last part of the path, my eyes almost watering at the sight of the cabin and everyone gathered around the fire. All the hikers who hadn’t gone with us to Fuego were already asleep, and I was eager to do the same, but I knew I was in critical need of food and most of all water. I told my story about the bus driver and my water being leaked to one of the guides, who initially refused to give me any, until he clearly saw the distress on my face. He told me to follow him behind one of the cabins and dug up a huge water jug from under literal dirt.

“That’s where we hide our water.”

I asked if it was safe to drink or if I would get sick. He dodged the question, and I grew anxious at the thought of going back to how I had felt a few days earlier.

“I almost shit myself on Papaya volcano. I’d very much like not to have the same fate here,” I said. The pride I had carried for the past few days, trying to hide my belly pain in every situation, had gone completely down the drain. I just needed water, no matter what disaster might follow.

He filled my empty plastic bottle, and I walked back to the fire, greeted by my fellow hikers and a hot plate of pasta with sauce. We sat there, watching the fire and the volcano erupting in the background, as I reluctantly drank from my bottle. I was already feeling better and hoped this wasn’t a trade for something worse. I thought about all the times something humiliating had happened to me, and although shitting my pants is not yet on that list, which is honestly impressive for an avid traveler, I decided it would still be better than dying of exhaustion. “What’s the most humiliating experience you ever had?”

To my surprise, everyone loved the question. Story after story came out, laughter spreading through the group, with no one caring how they might be perceived. It gave me a sense of peace as I finished my water and shared my own story. One time, I had walked for about an hour in my neighbourhood with a g-string stuck to my vest from static, only realizing once I got home that I had been parading it on my back for everyone to see.

In the end, the water was just fine. I made it through the climb down, exhausted and dehydrated, but alive and more stubborn than ever. The memory of the erupting volcano, lava flying into the night sky and the wind carrying the heat away will stay with me forever. I felt proud of what I had pushed myself to do, and quietly certain that Everest would never, ever make it onto my bucket list. After all, every dead body on Everest was once a highly motivated person. Clearly, motivation alone isn’t enough to conquer extreme challenges. You have to know your limits, and mine are at the top of a 3,800‑meters hike to Fuego.