travel · Guatemala · Jan 17, 2022 – Jan 24, 2022

Guatemala

Tikal at sunrise, Lake Atitlán from a terrace, Antigua's arch, and a volcano that erupts on schedule while you watch from the next mountain over.

Lake Atitlán, flat and blue, with two volcanoes on the far shore under a clear sky — Lake Atitlán at midday, volcanoes standing in for a horizon.

Tikal came first, before the light did. From the top of a temple the jungle runs flat to the horizon in every direction and the other temples poke up through it like they are floating.

Ryan sitting on the stone edge at the top of a Tikal temple at sunrise, the jungle canopy stretching to the horizon behind him — Top of a temple at Tikal, just after sunrise, the jungle going on forever.

A steep, moss-covered stepped temple at Tikal under a grey sky, with visitors small at its base — One of the temples at Tikal, still mostly green.

A stone temple at Tikal with a tall roof comb, seen from the grass plaza in front of it — From the plaza, looking up.

Breakfast on a wooden table under a thatched terrace, with Lake Atitlán and two volcanoes in the background — Breakfast on the terrace. The view did not change all week and nobody minded.

Lake Atitlán is the opposite kind of place: nothing to do but sit on a terrace, drink the coffee, and watch three volcanoes change colour until dark.

Antigua is cobbles and pastel walls and the arch everyone photographs. The last night was spent on the slopes of Acatenango, across the valley from Fuego, which erupts every fifteen or twenty minutes. You see the glow first and hear it a few seconds later.

A colourful mural of a woman in traditional dress with a headdress of corn, painted on a wall beside a doorway — A mural near the lake, corn for a crown.

Lake Atitlán at dusk, the water reflecting a volcano and an orange and grey sky — Dusk from the water's edge.

The yellow Santa Catalina Arch over a cobbled street in Antigua, with a volcano visible through it — Antigua's arch, with the volcano lining up behind it the way it does on every postcard.

Volcán de Fuego erupting at night, a plume of lava lit orange against a dark blue sky, with the lights of towns spread across the valley below — Fuego from the ridge of Acatenango, sometime after nine. It erupts every fifteen or twenty minutes; you see the glow first and hear it a few seconds later, and every single time everyone on the ridge goes quiet.