You never know how a place will make you feel until you get there. Sitting in the plane, staring out the window at the dense Guatemalan landscape below I writhed with a growing sensation of excitement and nausea. The rugged mountainous green and brown jungles stretching out to the horizon almost reminded me of my childhood growing up in Tennessee, But there was something different. Something unfamiliar. I didn’t know anybody down there. I didn’t know the language, the customs, where to go or how to get by. Just that I needed to be doing this. This was right for me, right at that moment in my life.

Flying into Guatemala City

I crept closer and closer to the glass. The anticipation was killing me. When my friend Caitlin had proposed this trip to me six weeks earlier, I honestly never thought we’d actually make it that far. I’m a great starter but more often than not my grand ideas fizzle out in a stew of pragmatism and obligations. But not this time. In the span of six weeks we had quit our jobs, given up our apartment and most of our stuff, put the rest in a storage locker, gotten half a dozen shots, sold whatever we could to raise funds and hopped on a plane to the third world. Then, suddenly, we were there.

Antigua Guatemala in the shadow of Volcan Agua

When the plane barreled into downtown Guatemala City, or “Guate” as the locals call it, filthy brown skyscrapers towering above us on both sides and a rolling sea of shacks and bunkers bellow, I knew we were far, far from home and the next two months would be two of the best or worst of my life. We left the airport, packs on our backs and ready to roll and pushed through the stifling heat and crowds until we found the lone local holding up a sign with our names on it. Yeah, we hired that guy. Fearing the culture shock might be a bit much, we had arranged a car to take us to a hostel we had pre-booked in Antigua. This was the extent of our planning. After that we were to rely on an old map of Central America, an outdated Lonely Planet borrowed from some friends and most importantly… the word on the street.

Antigua is beautiful and wildly tame. What some people see as “gritty and grimy” I see as Guatemala’s Boston. Amazing architecture, generations of local culture, arts, religion; in about ten days you’ve seen everything and you’re ready to roll on to something a touch more “real”. We said goodbye to our hospitable hosts, Mario, Noelia and their teenage son (who had taken me out to be utterly humiliated playing soccer with him and his friends), and we said goodbye to an excellent transition town, setting forth on the adventure this trip was destined to become.

Girls selling Popcorn on a “Chicken” bus

Heading east on a glistening and masterfully adorned chicken bus covered in chrome and packed in four to a seat, I began to notice the roar of the beckoning road being drowned out now by the sounds of the world around me. Blaring Soca music crackled on the neon illuminated sound system, wind and dust whipped through the open Blue Bird school bus windows, young hollering girls weaved through the aisles selling chips and cold pop and an older Mayan woman sat peacefully in the seat in front of me singing softly to a small baby she held wrapped in her robes. After a while, the chaos of noise around me began to cancel itself out and it faded slowly, slowly away into a deep, low, static-filled hum.

All that remained was the sweet sleeping song of the woman in front of me, her soft effortless voice, in a language few on the bus could understand, especially me, soothing and comforting all those around her. I leaned in a touch, the old man in my lap forced to lean in with me.

I couldn’t help but smile. A couple of girls in the seat with us saw me and smiled at me smiling. I leaned back, stared out the window at the alien landscapes flying by and soaked it all in. This was Central America. This was why I was there. I didn’t mind that one bit.

The next day we planned on climbing an active volcano, but this day was one for the people.

Volcan Pacaya Awaits!