I took a solo trip to Guatemala as a new mom — and it changed my life

I took a solo trip to Guatemala as a new mom — and it changed my life

“I never would have guessed that you’re a mother,” Lena, a fellow traveller, says to me as our collective shuttle meanders through the dizzying maze of streets that make up Guatemala City.

It’s the last day of my weeklong trip to Central America, and the first time I have travelled solo since giving birth to my son. Until this point, I haven’t been away from him for more than a couple of hours at a time.

But Lena’s observation reflects something I’ve realized since leaving my 18-month-old toddler at home (in the care of my supportive husband) and venturing back out into the world: I haven’t felt like a mother here. And I have not mourned the loss of that feeling once since stepping foot in Guatemala.

While I love my son, I was eager to head out on my own and rediscover who I am: not a mother, not a wife, not the person I was before. But I’m also terrified of who that person might turn out to be, and guilt-stricken by the relief I feel when I say goodbye, and anxious about mentally cracking wide open like a postpartum Humpty Dumpty, unable to put myself back together again. Conflicting emotions are my constant travel companions.

I catch a few restless hours of sleep when I arrive in Guatemala City and hop on another plane to Flores, in the country’s north. My destination is the ancient Mayan city of Tikal. As a collective shuttle takes me from the airport to my hostel, I relax as the arid landscape transforms into wild, lush jungle.

That afternoon, as the heavy heat of the rainy season begins to ease, I wander alone through the vast ruins of the pre-Columbian city, a major archeological site originally inhabited from the 6th century B.C. to the 10th century A.D.

I stroll down deserted roads, imagining what this place looked like at the height of history. I hum the theme song to “Star Wars” as I clamber up a teetering flight of wooden steps hammered clumsily into the side of Temple IV. At the top, I’m wrapped in a breeze so fresh I feel reborn, and not even the murderous screams of the howler monkeys can disturb my deep sense of wonder.

As a mother, it’s easy to defer to societal expectations: that a woman who travels alone should be young and unfettered; that there is something inherently selfish about leaving your child. At times, I’ve felt as if the word “mother” has been tattooed so often on my body, there’s no room for who I am outside the role. Could this place allow for a new version of myself, one where the warring sides of being a mother and having time for myself could peacefully coexist?

As daylight wanes, I follow in the footsteps of the Mayans also searching for a new beginning. I gasp when I see the Temple of the Great Jaguar breaching the canopy of the dense foliage that has been clawed back over years of excavation. I revel in this lonely space, watching the sun sink low. It’s just me and the ghost of my former self here, only now I no longer feel haunted.

The whirlwind of my trip continues with a flight back to Guatemala City, and a transfer to the cobbled streets of colonial Antigua Guatemala. That night I toast the view of Volcan de Agua erupting over the rim of my locally brewed pint. My contentment bubbles over like the froth of the beer.

The next morning, I join a two-day guided hike up Acatenango, Guatemala’s most well known volcano. I’ve opted for what the company OX Expeditions calls a “Double Whammy,” in order to get up close with a second volcano, Fuego, and its Instagram-famous fiery eruptions. We wind through the cloud forest, past aromatic coffee fields and packs of dogs, stopping on occasion for puppy cuddles.

At one point, during our push to the summit of Acatenango, a fellow hiker asks if I miss my son. I take a beat, sucking the thin air into my heaving lungs, wondering if I should be honest with the response that punches into my gut.

“No. No, I don’t.” I brace myself: for the judgment, for the shame, for the guilt. It doesn’t come.

I’ve always believed that time in nature is the best therapy, and it’s here, on the summit of a volcano, that my brain is no longer in danger of destruction. The intrusive thoughts of maternal failure for leaving my son at home have dissipated with the ash that belches fleetingly from Fuego’s caldera. I realize that the deep, all-consuming love I feel for my son doesn’t require sacrificing who I am on the altar of parenthood.

The final leg of my trip takes me to Lake Atitlan. I run with abandon on trails behind the Laguna Lodge eco-resort. I wander through villages soaked in music and colour. I wake up early to hike up the Mayan Nose, the ombré shadows of the surrounding volcanoes reaching out across the water toward the fiery embrace of the rising sun.
Before I leave, I savour every sip of the rich coffee from hole-in-the-wall cafés, eventually learning to not make the sacrilegious request for milk. I inhale juicy steak and eggs wrapped in freshly baked tortillas for breakfast, and let the tingle of chili chocolate linger on my tongue.

Every moment is just for me, and me alone. And I finally feel like I deserve it. Then, sated and refreshed, I go home.

Guatemala: Heavy rainfall causes flooding and landslides near Fuego Volcano as of early Aug. 29

Heavy rainfall causes flooding and landslides near Fuego Volcano, Guatemala, as of early Aug. 29. Communities isolated.

Event

Heavy rainfall since late Aug. 27 has resulted in localized flooding and landslides near Fuego Volcano as of early Aug. 29. The landslides have isolated the communities of San Pedro Yepocapa and Escuintla. Further heavy rainfall could lead to additional flooding and landslides as well as hamper recovery efforts.

Transport
Flooding could block regional rail lines; freight and passenger train delays and cancellations are possible in areas that see heavy rainfall and potential track inundation.

Floodwaters and debris flows may render bridges, rail networks, or roadways impassable, resulting in overland travel disruptions in and around affected areas. Ponding on road surfaces could cause hazardous driving conditions on regional highways. Authorities could temporarily close some low-lying routes that become inundated by floodwaters. Severe weather could also trigger flight delays and cancellations at airports across the affected region.

Localized business disruptions are likely in low-lying areas; some businesses might not operate at full capacity because of flood damage to facilities, possible evacuations, and employees’ inability to reach work sites. Disruptions to electricity and telecommunications services are also possible where significant flooding impacts utility networks. Residual disruptions are likely once flooding has subsided as authorities work to clear debris and any flood damage.

Advice

Monitor local media for weather updates and related advisories. Confirm all transport reservations and business appointments before travel. Allow extra time for travel in the affected area and plan alternative routes if necessary. Do not drive on flooded roads.

Resources

National Institute of Seismology, Volcanology, Meteorology and Hydrology of Guatemala

The Accidental Innkeeper- How an American Novelist Became a Hotelier in Guatemala

The Accidental Innkeeper: How an American Novelist Became a Hotelier in Guatemala

“These days, my role as an innkeeper occupies me almost as much as fiction,” writes Joyce Maynard, who, during the pandemic, hired locals in a Guatemalan village to turn her writing retreat into a guesthouse.

It’s close to midnight, two weeks into a precious writing residency in New Hampshire where I have come to finish a novel. My telephone rings.

From Lake Atitlán, Guatemala, a few thousand miles away, comes the voice of a woman I’ve never met: “I left the key to my casita on the bed. Can someone let me back in?”

I’ll get right on it, I tell her. A few hours earlier, I had spent an hour on the phone with a plumber discussing the installation of a new Jacuzzi and ordering wood for the sauna. The day before, I had arranged for a guide to take two guests on a hike to see the sun rise above the volcanoes, and the day before that, an airport pickup for a family of five from Indiana, and dinner on the terrace for a couple from Germany celebrating their honeymoon.

With my property manager out sick, the past few days have been busier than usual, but it’s a rare day in which I don’t find myself occupied with at least one guest staying at the modest place I’d bought 23 years ago as a refuge for writing. It now includes two houses, four casitas, two docks, a fleet of kayaks, a sauna, a yoga platform, a waterfall and a pizza oven.

I’ve been a writer all my life. But these days, my role as an innkeeper occupies me almost as much as fiction. I never intended this, but introducing travelers from all over the world — particularly those from the United States, the country of my birth, whose State Department website has posted warnings about travel to Guatemala for years — has become a central concern of my life.

‘It was my private little oasis’
My history in Central America began more than 50 years ago, at age 11, when my mother took my sister and me on a six-week sojourn on buses and a train from the Texas border to San Cristóbal de las Casas in the Mexican state of Chiapas. My experience of Indigenous culture that summer opened up my world.

A decade later, I was invited to join an orchid hunt in the highlands of Guatemala. Never mind that a civil war was going on.

Our slashed tires didn’t keep me from falling in love with the country — most particularly, the 50 square miles of turquoise Lake Atitlán, and the people who made their homes there, who still dressed in traditional Guatemalan clothing made from hand-woven cloth, cultivated maize on the hillsides and followed the Mayan calendar.

I vowed then that I’d return to the lake, though years passed before I did. By then, I’d raised three children and watched them head off for adventures of their own. For $250 a month, I rented a little house on the shores of the lake, signed up for salsa lessons and Spanish school, wrote a novel and experienced a greater sense of well-being than I’d known in years.

I lived alone. I had no phone. There was no internet, so every few weeks I took a boat across the lake to look at my email. At the end of my writing day, I brought my shopping basket to the market to buy vegetables for that night’s dinner. Every morning, I swam a half mile in the lake.

It was on one of my swims that I spotted a sign on the shore: Se Vende. For Sale. The land was wild and steep, covered in brush, with a small adobe house. A dozen species of birds I’d never seen perched in the trees. Across the water stood one of the five volcanoes that encircle the lake.

These were days when a person of limited means could still borrow against her home, which was how I came up with the $85,000 to buy roughly three acres of land on the shores of one of the most beautiful lakes on the planet.

I named the place Casa Paloma. A few times a year, I traveled there to write and swim. It was my private little oasis.

With the help of two young men from the village, Miguel and Mateo, I built a garden, with retaining walls and stone paths winding up the steep hillside. Over the years, the fruit trees we planted matured, and roses bloomed — also orchids, Thunbergia vines, figs, pomegranates, bananas.

I finished half a dozen novels in that house. Every afternoon, I carried a bowl of popcorn down to my dock for the children who came to swim there, and every morning, I greeted the fisherman who showed up in the little bay in front of my house without fail to harvest crabs just as the sun came up behind the volcano.

Having recognized early on that this was a place offering inspiration and peace, I started a writing workshop, hosting a small group of women for a week every winter. For $35 a night, they stayed at a simple hotel in the village but gathered at Casa Paloma every day to work on their manuscripts.

Much changed over those years. A hurricane hit, causing a landslide. Travelers arrived in greater numbers, along with storefronts advertising healers, yoga teachers and shamans (cranial sacral massage, sound healing, a place known as the Fungi Academy). I added on to my house, planted more flowers, built a temazcal — a Mayan sauna — and a little guesthouse where I set up my writing desk. Back in California, I fell in love with my second husband, Jim, and introduced him to the lake. The fact that we were in our 50s now didn’t stop us from climbing the volcano together.

The year after we married, Jim was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The two of us traveled to the lake together for what turned out to be his last winter. After he died, I returned alone. Many times over the years, I’d found solace in those waters. Now I did again.

The pandemic strikes
I had scheduled my memoir workshop for March 2020, the month the pandemic struck the United States. As always, I’d booked a dozen rooms for my writing students in a small village hotel. Though coronavirus had not been reported in Guatemala, I was uncertain whether anyone would show up, but 16 women traveled there.

Two days later, the president of Guatemala announced that the airport was closing, and eight women flew home. Eight stayed on — making do with meals of rice and beans and guacamole, and plenty of wine.

Twelve days later, the State Department provided a plane to take U.S. citizens home. But I decided to remain, and invited two of the women from the workshop, Jenny and Xiren, to stay with me for a few weeks.

In the end, we stayed for six months — Casa Paloma, we realized, was probably the best place to be. People in the village appeared blessedly free of Covid. But another issue plagued them: With all tourists gone, they had no way of supporting their families.

Some of the expats in town took up a collection to help. I had lived in this place long enough to know what the community needed more: jobs. So I embarked on the project of building a guesthouse.

Every day, a crew of about 20 men made their way down the hillside with their picks and shovels, bags of cement or stones on their backs. Every morning, just as the sun was coming up, they greeted Jenny, Xiren and me as we sat at our laptops.

Sometimes a harpoon fisherman stopped by with a fish he’d caught 10 minutes before. That would be dinner, eaten by candlelight.

In the months that followed, I kept coming up with building projects. Five more casitas, each one different. One featured stone walls with hand-carved stone heads built into them, made by a man in the village. In one we built a high wall using the old methods of adobe construction. I bought a chair made by a local craftsman, carved out of a single massive avocado tree. He carried it on his back the mile or so from his home.

I am not a wealthy woman. In California, I could never have employed a crew for 18 months. As it was, paying the men a good local wage stretched me to my limits. But I knew this: When you gave a person a job in this village, a family of 10 would eat that night.

The men did beautiful work. Sometimes, checking in with them at the end of the day, I’d discover some detail — a spiral of tiny snail shells cemented into a shower wall, a broken ceramic monkey attached to a twisted piece of wood, with bougainvillea spilling from its head and silver paper from a chocolate bar wrapper for eyes. Miguel and Mateo trained plants to grow in the shapes of a giraffe, a llama, a rabbit and a heart. A carpenter named Bartolo built me a table of conacaste wood in the style of one I found on Pinterest that was designed by the woodworker George Nakashima.

Our days and weeks took on a rhythm. Every morning, as I made my way up the hill to my writing desk with my laptop and my coffee, I’d greet the crew of men coming down. As I sat at my desk, I’d hear the steady beat of the men’s hammers, the sound of rocks emptying from buckets.

It came to me that in all my years of writing books — almost half a century — I’d never known such an immediate connection between the stories I made up in my head and the world of physical labor. When the men and I called out our greetings every morning, we knew that each of us had a job to do. The one supported the other.

By the following winter, just over a year from when the world had shut down, with vaccines available at last, we welcomed 12 writing students. This time, they could stay on my property in the five new houses the men had built, sharing meals on the expanded veranda, looking out at the lake, with meals prepared by our local chef, Rosa.

I’m a writer, not a businesswoman. It came to me that if a person empties her bank account to build a property for 16 guests that requires a crew of more than 20 people to maintain it, the place cannot sit empty. And that is how I came to be the host of a hotel and retreat center.

With the time and thought I’ve devoted to building Casa Paloma, I probably could have written a few more books. The casitas bear the names of some I have written: “To Die For,” “At Home in the World,” “Count the Ways.” One, Casa Una, is named for my newest granddaughter. Over the last year, my team, made up almost entirely now of local men and women, has hosted more than 300 groups of guests — yoga practitioners, hikers intent on tackling the volcano, couples celebrating a honeymoon, families bringing children they had adopted years ago to the country of their birth for the first time. This past high season, we were booked almost every night.

Looking back
Back in 2020 — that stretch of months when it felt as though the world stood still — I experienced a state of such unprecedented concentration that I was able to finish a novel.

So — with the men still working — I started another novel about a woman from the United States who, in the aftermath of a personal tragedy, lands in a small village on the shores of a lake surrounded by volcanoes, in an unnamed Central American country. She finds herself unexpectedly running a magical hotel surrounded by orchids and birds.

At the time, I believed that what I was writing was a work of pure fiction, almost a fairy tale. It was a full year later that the thought occurred to me: I’d built a hotel, myself. Now I’d better figure out how to run one. And I did.
The pandemic strikes
I had scheduled my memoir workshop for March 2020, the month the pandemic struck the United States. As always, I’d booked a dozen rooms for my writing students in a small village hotel. Though coronavirus had not been reported in Guatemala, I was uncertain whether anyone would show up, but 16 women traveled there.

Two days later, the president of Guatemala announced that the airport was closing, and eight women flew home. Eight stayed on — making do with meals of rice and beans and guacamole, and plenty of wine.

Twelve days later, the State Department provided a plane to take U.S. citizens home. But I decided to remain, and invited two of the women from the workshop, Jenny and Xiren, to stay with me for a few weeks.

In the end, we stayed for six months — Casa Paloma, we realized, was probably the best place to be. People in the village appeared blessedly free of Covid. But another issue plagued them: With all tourists gone, they had no way of supporting their families.

Some of the expats in town took up a collection to help. I had lived in this place long enough to know what the community needed more: jobs. So I embarked on the project of building a guesthouse.

Every day, a crew of about 20 men made their way down the hillside with their picks and shovels, bags of cement or stones on their backs. Every morning, just as the sun was coming up, they greeted Jenny, Xiren and me as we sat at our laptops.

Sometimes a harpoon fisherman stopped by with a fish he’d caught 10 minutes before. That would be dinner, eaten by candlelight.

In the months that followed, I kept coming up with building projects. Five more casitas, each one different. One featured stone walls with hand-carved stone heads built into them, made by a man in the village. In one we built a high wall using the old methods of adobe construction. I bought a chair made by a local craftsman, carved out of a single massive avocado tree. He carried it on his back the mile or so from his home.

I am not a wealthy woman. In California, I could never have employed a crew for 18 months. As it was, paying the men a good local wage stretched me to my limits. But I knew this: When you gave a person a job in this village, a family of 10 would eat that night.

The men did beautiful work. Sometimes, checking in with them at the end of the day, I’d discover some detail — a spiral of tiny snail shells cemented into a shower wall, a broken ceramic monkey attached to a twisted piece of wood, with bougainvillea spilling from its head and silver paper from a chocolate bar wrapper for eyes. Miguel and Mateo trained plants to grow in the shapes of a giraffe, a llama, a rabbit and a heart. A carpenter named Bartolo built me a table of conacaste wood in the style of one I found on Pinterest that was designed by the woodworker George Nakashima.

Our days and weeks took on a rhythm. Every morning, as I made my way up the hill to my writing desk with my laptop and my coffee, I’d greet the crew of men coming down. As I sat at my desk, I’d hear the steady beat of the men’s hammers, the sound of rocks emptying from buckets.

It came to me that in all my years of writing books — almost half a century — I’d never known such an immediate connection between the stories I made up in my head and the world of physical labor. When the men and I called out our greetings every morning, we knew that each of us had a job to do. The one supported the other.

By the following winter, just over a year from when the world had shut down, with vaccines available at last, we welcomed 12 writing students. This time, they could stay on my property in the five new houses the men had built, sharing meals on the expanded veranda, looking out at the lake, with meals prepared by our local chef, Rosa.

I’m a writer, not a businesswoman. It came to me that if a person empties her bank account to build a property for 16 guests that requires a crew of more than 20 people to maintain it, the place cannot sit empty. And that is how I came to be the host of a hotel and retreat center.

With the time and thought I’ve devoted to building Casa Paloma, I probably could have written a few more books. The casitas bear the names of some I have written: “To Die For,” “At Home in the World,” “Count the Ways.” One, Casa Una, is named for my newest granddaughter. Over the last year, my team, made up almost entirely now of local men and women, has hosted more than 300 groups of guests — yoga practitioners, hikers intent on tackling the volcano, couples celebrating a honeymoon, families bringing children they had adopted years ago to the country of their birth for the first time. This past high season, we were booked almost every night.

Looking back
Back in 2020 — that stretch of months when it felt as though the world stood still — I experienced a state of such unprecedented concentration that I was able to finish a novel.

So — with the men still working — I started another novel about a woman from the United States who, in the aftermath of a personal tragedy, lands in a small village on the shores of a lake surrounded by volcanoes, in an unnamed Central American country. She finds herself unexpectedly running a magical hotel surrounded by orchids and birds.

At the time, I believed that what I was writing was a work of pure fiction, almost a fairy tale. It was a full year later that the thought occurred to me: I’d built a hotel, myself. Now I’d better figure out how to run one. And I did.

Guatemala participates for the first time in the Arabian Travel Market tourism fair

Guatemala participates for the first time in the Arabian Travel Market tourism fair

In order to position Guatemala in a new market of travelers and promote the country as a tourist destination in the United Arab Emirates, a small delegation participates in the Arabian Travel Market from May 1 to 4, which also places itself in front of potential buyers. the tourist offer and services.

The Guatemalan delegation is made up of two businessmen: Mayan Gateway and San Pedro Spanisch School, in addition to INGUAT and the support of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, through the Guatemalan embassy in the Middle Eastern country.

The Guatemala stand provides the opportunity for international business partners to learn more about the cultural and natural wealth of our country as a tourist destination. In addition, activities will be carried out that include: coffee tasting by Guatemalan Coffees with the presence of barista and world champion Raúl Rodas. Presence of folkloric ballet from INGUAT and intervention by artists Emilie Dubois and Guillermo Cantón.

Arabian Travel Market is the market-leading international travel and tourism event unlocking business potential within the Middle East for inbound and outbound tourism professionals. With the participation of 52 countries, 300 exhibitors and more than 7 thousand professional visitors.

10 Must-Visit Attractions in Guatemala

10 Must-Visit Attractions in Guatemala

Guatemala, known as the country of eternal spring for its privileged climate throughout the year, offers its visitors cities and archeological sites considered cultural heritage of humanity and natural beauties such as Lake Atitlan, one of the most beautiful in the world.

Thanks to its great millennial culture, in Guatemala, 21 languages are spoken that come from Mayan and others of different origins such as Xinca, and Garifuna, in addition to Spanish which is the official language. While Guatemala has several landmarks that are visitors’ favorites, there are lesser-known ones that hold fascinating secrets for those who love adventure and exploration.

Here we present 10 of the most recommended places to visit in this attractive Central American country.

La Antigua
This colonial city, cultural heritage of humanity, was founded in 1541 by the Spanish Crown and has baroque-style buildings that have been magnificently preserved, making it the most visited site in the country by national and foreign tourists. The main tourist attractions of La Antigua are the Palace of the Captains General, The Convent and Arch of Santa Catalina, The Plaza Mayor, The Jade Museum, The Old Cathedral of Guatemala, the museum of the University of San Carlos, the Holy Route of Brother Pedro, among others. Many visitors travel especially to La Antigua to observe the traditional annual Easter celebration that takes place in its streets and that is an impressive expression of religious fervor carried out by the inhabitants of the place.

Tikal National Park
This is the second most visited tourist destination in the country because it has valuable and impressive treasures of the ancient Mayan civilization. It is the most famous natural and cultural reserve in Guatemala and was declared a national park in 1955 and a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1979. Tikal is the largest excavated site in America and contains some of the most fascinating archeological remains of the ancient Mayan civilization. This important ceremonial center includes temples and palaces that are currently in excellent condition, as well as public squares. Inside the vestiges of the surroundings, there are houses scattered throughout the area.

Lake Atitlan
Considered among the 10 most beautiful lakes in the world, Atitlán is the deepest in Central America and is located in an area inhabited by Mayan populations that adopted the Catholic religion over time, which has made it one of the most attractive regions from the anthropological point of view thanks to the richness of this mixture of cultures. The hills and volcanoes around the lake offer exuberant forests, ideal for hiking. In addition, visitors can observe a great variety of birds, including woodpeckers, up to the Quetzal, the national bird.

Yaxha Nakum Naranjo ParkIts name comes from the archeological sites that make up it and that are located in the Department of Petén. The ruins of the ancient city of Yaxha are located on the northern bank of the lake known by the same name. The area is bordered by Tikal National Park. It has an outstanding set of archeological sites and houses a complex habitat of wetlands, and high and low forests, which give it a unique characteristic.

Chichicastenango
It is one of the emblematic towns of Mayan culture and one of the most important in the country. In the Church of Santo Tomás, located in the center of the town, was found the sacred Mayan book that narrates the origin of humanity. Chichicastenango is located in the Quiché Department, about 90 miles from Guatemala City. On this site was found the Popol Vuh, a Mayan religious book that explains the mythical origin of humanity in the Quiché culture.

Semuc Champey
It is one of the most important natural paradises, located in the north of Guatemala and especially preserved by the tourism authorities of the country. It is a source of water from the Cahabón River that has turquoise, blue and green tones, depending on the seasons. The place is an important tourist attraction for the region. It is located in a valley with steep slopes, bordered by a tropical edge with a great variety of flora. The subtropical forest that surrounds the place collaborates so that there is an great ecological wealth. Among the outstanding species are birds, mammals, reptiles, amphibians and fish, as well as a great variety of trees.

Caves of King Marcos
Here visitors can visit caves and swim in hot springs. The caves have been visited since pre-Columbian times. But they were reported as having been discovered in May 1998, a time since which they have been explored by experts in underground cavities. In Mayan culture, caves are considered gates to the underworld. Because of that, places such as the Caves of King Marcos have been settings of rituals, ceremonies and veneration.

Quiriguá Archeological Park
This is one of the three world heritage sites in Guatemala. It has important archeological vestiges, including giant stone-carved monoliths (up to 34 feet high), created by Mayan culture. The importance of Quirigua at a cultural level lies in the fact that despite being a small center, it has one of the largest squares in the Mayan area, as well as the most impressive sculptural ensemble, with the tallest sculpted monument (Estela E) that has been recorded to date in Mesoamerica.

Pacaya Volcano
It is the active volcano most visited by tourists from all over the world because it is very easy to climb, even for the less experienced adventurers. Their ascent is supported by guides who know the climbable paths. It has several scalable peaks that have the following names: Cerro Hoja de Queso, Cerro de Agua, Cerro Chiquito and Cerro Chino. For a person who does between little and no exercise the ascent time is 1 hour with 45 minutes. While the descent is done in about 1 hour.

Chicabal Lagoon
It is a lake located in the crater of a volcano that has traditionally been one of the most important for the realization of different ceremonies of the Max culture, so it is not allowed to swim in the place. On its banks are different altars used by Mayan priests. Sightseeing is not allowed in early May so as not to disturb the ceremonies and celebrations of the Mam population.

In addition to these sites, in the geography of Guatemala, there are many places for visitors to enjoy unique experiences such as yoga, in Tikal National Park, rafting in the Pacific area, mountaineering mainly in 13 volcanoes, canopy and paragliding in Lake Atitlan, among other activities.