Travels in Guatemala

This story requires a prologue, so let’s call this bit “The Prologue”

Sometime back in the 1980’s three of us, Ron, John and I planned to travel together to Guatemala for an extended summer trip in Ron’s VW Westphalia camper. The idea was for about 12 weeks but I could only get 6, so it was decided that they would drive down and I would fly down and join them 6 weeks later. At the last minute Ron met Terri, a statuesque dark haired beauty, and so of course he invited her to join us; not a unanimous decision! So it was decided that she would join me flying down at the later date.

A slight side detail: Since they would pass through and stay in Mexico City, Ron offered to make reservations for us at their hotel for when we arrived. The big day came and Terri and I flew to Mexico City and then took the bus into town: it was mid Saturday afternoon when we arrived at the hotel and there were, of course no reservations and no rooms available! Except for the “honeymoon suite”, we had no choice, we took it!

Anyhow, back to the story: We’d made plans to fly on the Sunday to Tapachula, a small Pacific coast town on the Mexico/Guatemala border where Ron and John would meet us. When we exited customs there they were waiting and we quickly left the airport heading for the border. Ron produced a pre-prepared lunch and insisted that we eat before we crossed the border, it was important to him that the crucial component of the sandwiches, which turned out to be psylocybin mushrooms, have their effects as we passed through Guatemala’s border immigration! I’m still not sure why.

My first awareness of the mushrooms happened once we were underway in Guatemala, we were driving along a quiet country road when we came to a bridge over a deep canyon, it looked so intriguing that we stopped and walked back. It was absolutely spectacular: a deep, steep sided canyon with a fast flowing river about 200+ ft below. the canyon sides were covered with ferns, orchids and lichens with rivulets cascading down. Hundreds of brilliant small parrots were flashing in and out of the beams of sunlight and dozens of multicolored butterflies flitted from flower to flower. The vision was real, but the mushrooms made it a spectacular, vividly memorable image that has lasted for a lifetime.

From the fellow travelers that one meets on the road Ron and John had found a source for “hongos” - the Indian name for “mushrooms” and they had also been told of the “Shangri-La” of Psylocybin mushrooms: Santa Maria de Jesus, a small village miles off in the interior, in the state of Quezaltenango.

The trip evolved into a situation where Ron and Terri spent most of their time in de luxe country villas and hotels, and thus leaving John and I to our own devices and having the use of the VW. We had found a very beautiful spot in the village of Panajachel which was on the shore of Lake Atitlan, a large turquoise lake surrounded by several volcanoes: one was active and every day poured out plumes of smoke and huge chunks of pumice floated in the lake. We were having dinner in a small cafe one evening and discussing whether we should go looking for Santa Maria the next day: there was a young American woman alone at the next table and we invited her to join us which then led to our inviting her to join us in our quest.
We picked up Susan and left at dawn the next day driving a primitive road that ran around the lake for about 25 miles. Once we’d reached the far shore we headed west across a barren plateau on very rough and often unmade roads: on our map Santa Maria was still about 50+ miles ahead. At about 11am we arrived at the village which was just a small cluster of cottages along the main street; the heat was intense, it was probably around 110 degrees! We parked the van and got out and were immediately surrounded by lots of kids, Susan, who was fluent in Spanish told them we’d come to buy hongos and the price of 5 cents each was agreed to. Immediately all the kids raced off and within 10-15 minutes they returned all clutching handsfull of mushrooms, we paid them all off and then consolidated our booty; we had a fairly large paper bagfull, probably about 1-2 pounds!

As we drove back out of the village I recalled seeing on the way in a huge tree which covered an area just off the highway: since we hadn’t eaten, breakfast sounded appropriate so I pulled off the road into the cool shade of that tree. We had all the where-with-all to cook our meals so a mushroom omelet with a bottle of cold beer sounded like a great idea. I did the cooking: about 1/2lb of mushrooms between three should be enough, right? So I started washing the mushrooms and cracking the eggs. Within minutes breakfast was ready: our table was set up in the shade, three chairs, tablecloth, napkins and three cold beers and glasses and we were in paradise. In retrospect I realise that one mushroom each would have been more than adequate!
Immediately after breakfast I felt something happening to me, odd uncomfortable sensations that I’d never felt before, a shortness of breath, the inability to take a deep breath, hot, hot, hot; sweating like mad. John and Susan thought we should all take a walk, I declined, thinking instead to take a lie down ‘til this “thing” released me from it’s iron grip!
That’s the only way I remember those sensations: it was like being in the grip of ‘something’ that wouldn’t release me. When I lay down and closed my eyes it was even worse; added to all of the foregoing my body started cartwheeling backwards through a black void! The only way out was to open my eyes and stand up, or to sit in the open; very uncomfortable! This went on for about an hour at which point I thought I’d look for John, which meant walking to the edge of the road which was about 30ft away: “much too far in this heat, I’ll drive.” So I did, I got in the van and drove it forward 30ft and there they were, about 1/4mile away across a meadow sitting under a tree. I tooted the horn and John shouted for me to come, little did he know that walking 30ft was more than I could handle at that point. He started running towards me in extreme slow motion and when he reached the barbed wire fence at the edge of the field he sailed over it just like a hurdler: he came to the van and said “Come on, it’s great over there” and at that point all of my discomfort vanished as though by a magic wand! We walked back across the meadow, found a cool mountain stream and spent the next couple of hours skinnydipping and at that point all the joys of psylocybin kicked in and it was wonderful! So that’s the Prologue, that’s how we got the mushrooms.

As the summer and our adventures continued we traveled and camped in many wonderful and interesting places and met lots of interesting people. Ron and Terri continued their “honeymoon” and John and I took dozens of trips into the mountains always seeking remote villages where the descendants of the Mayan’s wove beautiful fabric designs into their everyday clothes; by the end of the trip all the spare space in the van was taken with Indian textiles!
Ron being the obsessive that he is had the idea that “if a little is good, then a lot more must be much better!” So based on this philosophy he made plans that we should visit the Mayan city of Tikal during the period of the full moon: in fact he planned that we should spend the night of the full moon on top of the most sacred of the Mayan temples reinforced with the finest French wine [transported there specifically for this], psylocybin mushrooms, Thai ganga, which I contributed plus any thing else appropriate that might turn up on our travels! Which is why we found ourselves in the middle of the jungle at Tikal at full moon.

Tikal is an amazing place; it was the main center of the Mayan culture which covered most of Central America from about 2000+ BC ‘til 900 AD, when for reasons still unknown, their civilization vanished! Much is still unknown, their hieroglyphics had not been decoded back then and large aspects of the culture were a mystery. Tikal is huge, comprising many temples, plazas, civic structures and pyramids that have been restored and endless miles still covered by the plants, trees and vines of the jungle. Back then it was a fairly unsophisticated operation; the only accommodation was a few thatched cottages alongside the airstrip and there was only one place to eat, similarly a small thatched structure that served the most basic meals at several outdoor tables. You could drive there, but it was about 12 - 14 hours from Guatemala city on an unpaved jungle road so we flew, leaving the VW at the airport.

Mid afternoon of the day before the full moon we were lazing around in the cottage we’d rented; we were drinking beer and John brought out the jar of peanut butter in which the mushrooms were buried. We were not sure of their legality there so we’d stored them covered in peanut butter in a jar. It was sort of like a lazy afternoon snack, salt crackers with peanut butter and some cold beers and not much incentive to do much else: so we just sat and nibbled and drank for a couple of hours. It was about an hours walk on a jungle trail to Temple IV, so John and I set out at about 6pm to get there before dark. Ron and Terri were going to follow on later. About half way there was another complex of pyramids so we rested there for a short while and noticed a young Indian guy, approx. 20-25 showing off for a young American woman who had a young boy with her. The pyramid was stepped, but the steps were about 24” tall and very steep. He was racing up and down the steps as though it was a residential staircase, we watched amused and wrote it off to youthful exuberance.

When we arrived at Temple IV it was sunset: the only way up to the top was by pulling yourself up using ropes that were permanently secured there. The temple, which is 212ft high had not been restored and was still covered with vegetation and vines. We got up to a level platform at about the 150ft point and from there to the top there was a steel ladder fastened into the vertical stone wall: the rungs on that ladder were about 24” apart and it was exhausting getting up the last few feet. Down at the ground level in the dense jungle it was almost dark and very hot and humid, up above the treetops there was a beautiful cool breeze and a spectacular sunset. We sat on a flat platform on the west side of the pyramid enjoying the cool air and the sunset and off to our left about 75 ft away were four young women talking heatedly in German.
Suddenly, as if on cue from a Disney director, two beautiful huge white storks came into our right peripheral field of vision flying in perfect synchronization, in slow motion and directly into the psychedelic color scheme that was the sunset. It was so perfect that it would have been a cliche in a film. The German conversation paused for a moment and then resumed as an almost inaudible babble, but in the midst of it I clearly heard the words “Royal Air Force”. I got up and went over to where they were sitting and introduced myself: they spoke English and when I asked them about the RAF reference one told me that there was an RAF station near to where she lived in Germany and she was telling her friends the storks were so perfect that they reminded her of the RAF aerobatic team!

As John and I sat there enjoying the twilight the German girls left and we were suddenly alone up there: I had twinges of mushroom paranoia and started wondering if I really wanted to spend the next 12 hours sitting in total darkness on this stone ledge high above the jungle. The answer was “no” and I told John that I really didn’t want to stay and given how fast the light was fading if I was going to leave I had to do it immediately. He was adamant, he was going to stay the night, so I reluctantly started down the ladder alone. I made it to the jungle floor and was suddenly surprised to find that it was totally, absolutely black down there: not a glimmer of daylight penetrated through the trees. I was lost, I had no idea where the trail was, all I could see was total blackness in all directions: that is total blackness decorated with psychedelic hallucinations courtesy of the mushrooms!
I called out to John that I couldn’t see a thing, could he come and help. At first he was reluctant to do so but finally he came down and together we started walking along the trail: I asked him how he could see in such darkness and all he could tell me was that the path was like a tunnel through the darkness and that the patterns were broken indicating where the tunnel was. Hard to explain but easy to visualize, rather like two superimposed moiré patterns.
This visit to Tikal was my first exposure to the jungle: everything about it was new and wonderful, but the sounds were something I hadn’t anticipated. By day the sounds that several million insects make when they all join in a colossal chorus is unimaginable: it’s maybe slightly like being at the center of a soccer field when 100,000 fans sing and the sound reverberates and runs around the stadium in waves, except that insects have a much greater range than mere mortals and their combined choruses verge on choral ecstasy. There was a period when pop musicians discovered the joys of manipulating sounds in the studio: one of the most basic was to fade effects from the left chanel to the right and then back again and so on so that to the listener it sounded as though the music was spinning around inside his head: that’s exactly what the insects do. As we walked along that trail in total darkness there was an entirely different chorus of sounds: the most chilling was something very large roaring just like the 20th Centuries lion and only a few feet off to our left. Howler monkeys make an enormous racket which also can be a bit disconcerting under the circumstances and there were thousands of birds, parrots, toucans and storks all adding to the soundtrack.
We finally caught up with the German girls and joined them at which point John chose to return to the pyramid and I continued with them back to the cottage where Ron and Terri were getting ready for a night on the jungle.

Ron was now ready to tackle Temple IV: he had bathed, shaved, dabbed his anti-perspirant on in all the right places and dressed for the occasion. He had on his short shorts, his skinny tanktop and running shoes: with all that skin exposed and all that aftershave fragrance he was the anticipated evening meal for several million mosquitoes that night, and each one left a small red itchy spot to prove it. The next day he looked as though he’d splattered with red paint from a spraygun from head to toe! But I digress.
At this point I was feeling very good; it had been several hours since we’d eaten the mushrooms and the initial effects had generally dissipated leaving a warm inner glow, I was ready to return to the Pyramid.

This time we were smart enough to bring a flashlight and as we neared the first restored temple we heard the sounds of a flute wafting through the night air. The temple was part of a huge complex of buildings that surrounded an open space; the full moon illuminated the entire complex and somewhere high in one of the buildings someone was playing, it was a magical moment. I thought immediately of Paul Horn who at that period was recording flute improvisations in similar environments, ie the Taj Mahal and at the Egyptian pyramids. We enjoyed this moment and then continued on to Temple IV where John was waiting. When we arrived we negotiated the first section up to the ladder and then all the way up into the moonlight that lit the tops of the jungle to the horizon and illuminated all the adjacent structures that poked up through the trees. It was a brilliant sight and well worth all the effort to be able to partake in it. The four of us sat there for 2-3 hours and then by unanimous consent agreed that we’d had enough ecstasy for that day and it was time to get back to the airstrip and our cottage.

When we descended the ladder sitting leaning against the wall of the pyramid was the young American woman that we’d seen earlier in the day, she had the young Mayan guy who we’d seen running up and down the steps cradled in her lap, apparently asleep. “Do any of you know anything about scorpion bites?” she asked. “My friend felt something fall down the back of his shirt and when he reached for it stung him and he’s been unconscious ever since” Well John, our hero, stepped forward and said that we would have to get him to a doctor! What a dreamer, a doctor, here? But he reached down and gathered up the Indian guy and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
We established a routine for descent which had John in the lead followed by Ron, Terri, the American woman and her son and me at the back with the flashlight shining it ahead so that everyone could see the ropes and stepping places. As soon as we started we saw that the entire area was alive with scorpions, dozens of them scurrying between the rocks that we were walking on, we had to step between them! We didn’t know at the time but they live in the crevices beween and under the stones that the pyramid was constructed with and they come out at night to feed! Amazingly we made it to the ground without mishap and John was the hero of that night coming down 150ft on ropes and vines with the guy over his shoulder. The first thing we saw when we got to the bottom was a VW Beetle with American plates just sitting there like it belonged; it was probably the only vehicle for miles around and it was sitting waiting for us. I reached in and sounded the horn several long loud blasts and within a couple of minutes two gringos just like ourselves emerged from the jungle. It was their car and when we explained the problem they loaded John and his invalid into the back seat and set off down the trail, the rest of us followed on foot.

The forces of good fortune continued to prevail. When the VW arrived back at the landing strip there was a communal fire ring with all of the visitors sitting around it swapping tales and drinking beer. As they lifted the guy out from the back seat two of the visitors came over to help. When John explained the problem they each identified themselves, both were doctors from Riverside, California: one was a snakebite specialist and the other a scorpion sting specialist! And they had medical kits for emergency procedures with them. They were two young doctors who loved to surf and had just been to El Salvador for a surfing vacation and had stopped over at Tikal en route home. By the time we who walked back arrived, everything was taken care of: the guy was sleeping in a tent and he awoke the next morning and went straight to work!