Acatenango Hike - Another adventure of yours truly.

So we had a briefing. You know, the kind where they casually say, “It’s a bit challenging, but everyone can do it”, like it’s a light walk in the park.

I nodded confidently, not knowing this decision would humble me real quick.

I rented two hiking poles because mine are all the way in the Philippines. To be fair, backpacking in the Americas and doing a major hike was NOT part of the plan when I left home a year ago.

Then we had to repack our bags because apparently, we each had to carry our own lunch from the tour agency. At that moment, when I was fitting my backpack, I should’ve given away some of my water.

We left the agency, walked along the road… took a right… and that’s when it began. Immediately, I knew I had been lied to.

There was no “easy start.” No “warm-up.” Just straight steep UPHILL. Like, who designed this trail?? A stairmaster on ster*ids??

And then the dust.

Oh, the dust.

If you know me, you know I have a dust allergy. So, imagine starting a hike already fighting for your life.

Hikers coming down from the summit were literally running on the steep path, kicking up clouds of dust. At some point, visibility was questionable. And so was my decision-making in life.

Somewhere along the way, I had a realization: I really prefer hiking alone. This was actually my first time hiking with a group.

I’ve done Mt. Fuji, Mt. Halla, Sri Pada, Mt. Kelimutu, Camino de Santiago, Abuna Yemata, Taroko, Huashan (Plank Walk) - all solo. And I’ve done Aragats, Hell’s Gate, and Matka Canyon with A friend.

In all those hikes, I stop when I need to stop. No pressure. I move at my own pace, and my lungs are very thankful for that.

But with a group, you feel like you always have to keep going, even when you’re already out of breath and questioning your entire existence.

But this hike is not something you can casually do alone. A guide is required.

So there I was. Part of a group of 30 people… all climbing, while I was slowly negotiating with my lungs.

My soul just wanted to stop and rest every 5 minutes, stare into the distance, and rethink all my life choices.

Also, no cute selfies, no “walking feet” shots this time while hiking. My hands were fully booked holding hiking poles like my life depended on it, because honestly, it did.

It was just: step, breathe, suffer. Repeat. No time to think about documenting the hike. All I could think was: “I just hope I make it to the summit and not give up and turn around.”

Hmmm… I 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 managed to get a few photos of the view, though during breaks.

Guess who arrived last?

And of course, the final part, going to the summit and campsite, wasn’t even a proper trail. Just a solid 10 minutes of scrambling and a bit of ravine action for extra thrill. BUT plot twist. There is an advantage to being last. I ended up hiking with one of the guides, and finally, FINALLY, got a video of myself. He even swapped backpacks with me to lighten my load (bless him).

So yes, last place. But with benefits.

At night, we gathered around a bonfire and had dinner while half of the group casually decided to do an optional hike to get closer to the erupting volcano. Optional. As in, you can choose more suffering after a whole day of suffering.

Then the cold hit. Not “oh it’s chilly” cold. More like “I can feel this in my bones and future generations,” cold. And in the middle of sleep, the volcano got more intense. It started roaring louder. Like actual rumbling that you can feel the shake where you’re lying down to sleep.

There I was fully cocooned in a sleeping bag, wearing a sando, long sleeves, two jackets, leggings, pants, socks, gloves, and still freezing. At that point, I wasn’t sure if I was camping or being slowly frozen for preservation.

And just to complete the experience, I had altitude sickness too. Headache. Dry throat. So there I was. Freezing, listening to a volcano roaring, and now my body has decided to add a little extra drama.

Come morning, I found out I wasn’t alone. A lot of people got sick that night, and some even threw up.

The following day, most of the group didn’t join the optional sunrise hike to the other side of the volcano, and honestly, same.

From what I heard, it was more scrambling than hiking, so I happily opted out. At that point, I had already suffered enough the day before.

But the morning still showed off. A sea of clouds. A volcano spewing smoke and fire. And that quiet, surreal moment where everything feels worth it.

Going down, I thought, “Finally, the easy part.”

HAHA.

Halfway down that steep descent, I slipped and injured my knee. The same weak knee from 10 years ago when I climbed Sri Pada. So yes, history really said hello again. From there, every step was painful. And to make it more exciting, I kept falling because the guide who was “helping” me was pulling me to go faster due to time.

Eventually, I found a hiker who could translate between us. That’s when the guide finally understood that I was actually in pain, and forcing me to move faster would only make it worse. So he suggested the horse. I took it. No pride left at that point.

Even if it meant paying the full price for just less than half the way down, it was still better than destroying my knee completely and ending up paying for a private ride back to Antigua.

Not my dream ending, but definitely my safest (and honestly, cheaper) option.

And yes, this whole adventure - this 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐤𝐞 - 10/10.

I almost cried, but also weirdly proud that I survived it.