Quetzaltrekkers
Those who have read this blog from the beginning know I began it to practice juggling, in the metaphorical sense. In my mind’s eye, the movements would always be deft, the timing impeccable—the balls would never touch the ground. That did not happen. And by some cosmic justice, I am experiencing what I imagine a poorly juggled ball would feel like, hurtling across the Atlantic by fits and starts on a retired ICBM from the Cold War. I have found inspiration in the intrepid pilot ferrying me to my friends in England: if he is willing to white-knuckle this jet stream daily, facing headwinds that bat him about like a whiffle ball in a wind tunnel and steel himself each morning to do it all over again, I think I can face the challenge of thinking of words and then putting them in order with periods in between. The trip computer says we are going 609 mph, and we are jumping ahead fourteen hours over the course of an eight hour flight. Luckily, I am no stranger to time going by faster than it says on my watch. This was my experience of Guatemala.
If memory serves, where I left the story prior was on a cliffhanger. The Spanish school I went to, Pop-Wuj, was merely an antecedent to volunteering with Quetzaltrekkers, which was what I went to Guatemala for in the first place. I began to write a long-form story of my first hike with the organization that—as time whizzed by heedless of the clock—subsumed more and more subsequent hikes until what I had to digest and regurgitate was like an ant eating an elephant. Only one thing was swallowed whole though, immediately upon beginning volunteering with the organization: all of my free time. That experience was universal among the volunteers, and one simply had to embrace it. For the first several weeks, I was optimistic I would get up to speed, and as I gained efficiency, carve out more personal time for things like writing blog posts. But if anything, my responsibilities only increased with my knowledge and abilities as I scaled the ladder of seniority multiple rungs at a time. Most volunteers, including myself, stay for about ten weeks, so there is a continuous boom and bust cycle of veterans leaving and new ones being forged in the crucible. And for most of us, trail guiding is not a prior work experience, so the start is a sprint just to become competent—prepping for treks, learning the routes and speeches, acclimating to hiking at altitude, developing functional Spanish, and discovering the joys of doing office admin and dishes for a dozen or so people.
Other than a hiatus during the height of covid, the organization has functioned continuously since 1995, with new volunteers coming in and ramping up to speed with the help of old volunteers, before becoming the old volunteers themselves within a number of weeks and grooming the new inductees. It is hard but rewarding work. There are the obvious benefits, like hiking up mountains to see horizons peppered with volcanoes like jagged teeth—some belching smoke and lava—waiting for a golden sun to burst forth from its maw. Then there are the indirect benefits, the primary being funding a school for 160 children and a home for up to twenty-five students that have no other means of support. The school, Escuela de la Calle or “School of the Street,” was begun by two teachers in the wake of the civil war that tore Guatemala apart from 1960-1996. They tried funding the school through multiple businesses, such as a bakery, but none were particularly profitable. It was not until a western expat who had become enamored with the beautiful landscapes of highland Guatemala told the two teachers that tourists would pay to be guided through the wilderness that Quetzaltrekkers was born.
The project started out with just two volunteers, though over time it ballooned to roughly a dozen. The guides became a community unto themselves, renting sharehouses, throwing parties for expats and locals (with all profits going to the school), and contributing to the nightlife and community of Xela—otherwise quite a sleepy city. Eventually, competing bars and the police became tired of the antics and put a stop to the events, but there are still dozens of party posters on the walls of the common room, some from over a decade ago, commemorating the fun they had.
Back in 2007 at twenty years old, my oldest brother was a Quetzaltrekker, and he remembered the community fondly. Well ahead of its time, it was a bastion of inclusion. One of their favorite hangout spots was the local gay bar, and they would advertise that their parties were gay-friendly. I remember my brother returning to the U.S. after four months in Guatemala—which I couldn’t have found on a map at fourteen years old—having distinctly matured, with newfound outdoor skills sufficient to plan and execute a multi-day hike with me and our middle brother. The trip he took us on kickstarted my love for hiking and camping.
Though I had been curious about Guatemala and Quetzaltrekkers for years, it wasn’t until last year when my friend Silvia said she would be backpacking through and invited me that I made an actual plan. Over eight days, we saw Antigua, summited Acatenango, hiked the Xela—Lago de Atitlàn route with Quetzaltrekkers, and spent a night at the lake.
It was a whirlwind of a trip that I struggled to summarize to friends and family when I got home. But as beautiful and overwhelming as the experience was, I was at least certain of one thing: I wanted to guide with Quetzaltrekkers. I told them as much after the hike and filled out an application online setting my availability for a year later. I think they were doubtful of the likelihood I would still be interested after so much time; in truth, I was too, but almost exactly one year later in November 2023, there I was learning the ropes.
In the past ten weeks hiking and guiding with Quetzaltrekkers, I have gained enough wilderness know-how to confidently solo hike and foot calluses that would make a hobbit jealous. I feel more than ready for my year in New Zealand. If it weren’t for the expiration date on my working holiday visa fast approaching, I probably would have stayed in Guatemala longer; I’m almost certain I will return to guide. If you are considering going to Guatemala—or even if you aren’t—I can’t recommend enough that you spend your time and money with this organization. All of the profits go toward the school and the home for children. If you can’t see yourself hiking but still want to contribute to the cause, please consider donating directly to Escuela de la Calle here. I’m planning to write a thorough depiction of my experience on the five-day Nebaj—Todos Santos hike with Quetzaltrekkers, which was my favorite and last hike. But for now, I’m going to skip to the present—my time in England.