There is the possibility, if one allows it, to hear the voice of the mountains. And when that happens, it cannot be forgotten. It feels like it is a deep breath and desire to cry, not sadness, but happiness. To feel complete. (Two songs that remind me of that feeling are “somethinggreater” by Parcels and “wash my sins away” by berlioz.)
That is how my relationship with volcanoes, with mountains, began. They—because I believe them with identity—have seen me in my most vulnerable moments. I feel that my life has changed, and I can only think of Mariana Matija’s phrase in Niñapajaroglaciar: “the body is the fair of understanding things through direct experience.” With that same certainty, my own version of Sereno’s collection, Tierra en Relieves, was born: my purpose is to get to know myself through the topography of Guatemala, my country.
There are things so surprising that they refuse to be just words. I like to think that, in different ways, both Analuz and I seek to capture the greatness, the inexpressible and bring it home. That is why the art in its sails and my flow between trails.
Agua Volcano – Hunapú-
I don’t remember the exact moment I met him. I genuinely believe that there is no moment in my existence when I can imagine myself without him. Every time I try to think about my experience as a Guatemalan, his shape appears imposing itself on others: a perfect triangle, a sleeping cat, as Guatemalan singer-songwriter Pedro Boche would say. Maybe it’s because he was the one I was first introduced to. I’ve known him since elementary school, I saw him on trips to Antigua on family outings. His presence comforts me, accompanies me while I play with my memories.
I was always curious about him and his little white hat. Recently I have had the opportunity to get closer. In 2024 I wanted it to be more than just a landscape. In July I went to visit the Luis de Lión House Museum (@proyectoluisdelion) in San Juan del Obispo, Sacatepéquez, on the slopes of the volcano. I imagine what it would be like to be born and grow up with him, having him as an observer of my most organic and genuine years.
In August I decided to participate in the “Shiguala” mountain race (@trailrunning_shiguala): 18 kilometers and 2,200 meters of elevation gain along the extreme route, from Ciudad Vieja, Sacatepéquez. It was the first time I ventured into its paths. I was very nervous. On the way to the start I could only see how big it is: colossal, earthly. What excited me the most was to go inside. I didn’t want a minute of asphalt, but clearly it’s not possible. The race starts from the municipality of Ciudad Vieja and looks south for the path that leads to another world.
At kilometer 1.5 I was just leaving the “arena” of the volcano’s slope. They guided me on the way. To the right, small and medium-sized coffee plantations, as well as some thin trees with leafy crowns. To my left, a mixture of trees that I don’t know how to identify, but I was full of them. My legs and heart already felt the change of terrain and the inclination. I had to stop for a few seconds to take a deep breath and, at that moment, I saw to the right. I was greeted by the colossal brothers: Volcán de Fuego and Acatenango, in blue and green tones, surrounded by white clouds (altocumulus, if I’m not wrong). My maaaadre! I thought. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How is it possible that in such a short distance I am already seeing so much?
I resumed my run. As I passed the coffee fields, the real adventure began. I began to notice how the road was closing: it had branches above, down at the ankles, on the sides, exposed roots that look like waves on the ground. Green here, green there, a few touches of amber flowing between the leaves and the coffee. Added to that were my agitated heart and my breathing. My feet began to lean forward. I went up, up and up. I took out my poles to help me and, to my surprise, the path opened up as if I were entering a neighborhood of trees. Some had twigs all around them as if they were vines, others, colored moss. I kept climbing and could only ask myself: what are you doing here?
When it seemed that it would remain the same, I entered another space. My sky opened. I suppose life is like that too. My eyes looked straight ahead: tall grass in a soft shade of green, dancing to the sound of the wind, stones dressed in bright green moss, tall trees, some leafy and others bald, all watching me climb. Behind me, when I turned, I understood that I was just another person. I felt so small. I saw the Volcán de Fuego and the Acatenango. I saw mountain ranges accompanied by clouds. My gaze had no limits. Beyond there was always something to observe.
I reached the antennas and only stayed for two minutes. I felt the paralyzing cold. I urgently needed to put on another layer to limit the wind on my skin and start the descent. I bundled up and went down. In retrospect I realize that the person I met going up was not the same as when I went down. Not him, not me. The descent is hard. The walls I ran into at the beginning were now slippery slopes full of obstacles: stones, roots and steep steps.
It was a challenge for me to be able to descend with my mind in place. By that time 4 hours and 28 minutes had already passed. My feet were a little suffocated: I had tightened my sneakers more than necessary. Running into these trails again to reach the finish line required me to look within myself for strength. Strength to know that I could finish, strength to rest and eat, strength to stop, to no longer continue, but in an appropriate place. I searched through my experiences, other people’s comments and music. It was very difficult for me to find, but while I explored my own nooks and crannies, my legs took me along the volcano’s own legs towards the finish line. I cried with pure pride. I arrived. I crossed the finish line and with it the proof that I can achieve many things, even if the path is steep.
Today, I think about everything I went up and down, the times I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore, like the moments when I lied loudly… I smile. I guess several facts can be true at the same time. I traced the route on Google Earth and the numbers surprised me: a median slope of 18° (33%) and maximum stretches of 54° (136%). When I see the Agua Volcano, I remember. When I see the sail of Sereno, I remember. That’s what I want: to remember who I was during that adventure and the lessons I learned that day.
By Ana Rosales
