Authors: Juan Pastor
Sonora (2 page)
Antigua sits near the northern base of Volcan Agua. It is
called
Agua because there used to be a lake in the crater,
which formed from rainfall. The Mayans called the volcano
Hunapu, which means “place of flowers” because of the rich
floral vegetation that once populated its sides. In 1541, the
original capital of Guatemala, also called Hunapú, because it
was right at the north base of the volcano, was wiped out
when the north crater wall of Agua collapsed, and the entire
lake, and a mudflow of volcanic material came crashing down
the volcano’s side like a tidal wave, and wiped out the city. The
city was moved to the current site of Antigua, and when
Hunapú was rebuilt, it was named Ciudad Vieja, which is funny
because it means “city of the old woman”. Santa Maria de
Jesus is at the northeast base.
Rosaria and I climbed the volcano once. We took a bus
from
Antigua at 4 AM one morning, a bus full of farmers with
their chickens, pigs, and goats, on the bus with them, to
Ciudad Vieja. Then we started our climb. At the very base of
the volcano there are many terraces where coffee plants are
grown in plantations that are called “fincas”. When Rosaria
and I started our climb, we were accompanied by many
farmers heading out to their small fincas.
Everybody
is partial, I suppose, but my personal belief
is that the best coffee is grown on volcanic soil, and the best
coffee grown on volcanic soil comes from Antigua. And the
best coffee one gets in Antigua comes in little vials of “café
nectar” that is served with piping hot cups of water, and one
add as many drops of the café nectar as suits one’s taste. I
always liked to add a little leche and sucar. Rosaria always
liked just a lot of sucar. Supposedly, when we got older, or so
we were told, we wouldn’t want it any other way than
ennegrecido.
When
Rosaria and I were one third of the way up the
3800 meters of Agua’s height we left the farmers behind, and
continued on our way. About two thirds of the way up, we
encountered clouds. As a child, I had always looked at clouds,
and imagined they were kingdoms, where angels lived, solid
and substantial, but out of reach for someone like me. But
really all clouds are is fog, and it condensed on the skin of
Rosaria and I, and made us glisten. It was hard work, and the
climb was very steep, but we made the crater before nightfall.
We set up a tent. Fortunately, we had also brought sleeping
bags. Even so, it was so cold in the crater at night, we had to
zip the sleeping bags together, and huddle together for
warmth. My father told me that snow used to fall on the peak,
but I never saw it. Supposedly, that is partly how the lake
formed. As we lay in the sleeping bags in our tent, we talked
about how we were lying at the top of a volcano, but at the
base of what once used to be a lake. Before I fell asleep I
leaned over to kiss Rosaria on the cheek. It was an innocent
kiss, meant only to express complete happiness. When we
awoke, left the tent, and walked to the eastern crater edge,
we were treated to the most amazingly beautiful sunrise we
had ever seen.
It’s
experiences like this that trigger wanderlust in a
young girl’s heart. It is said that wanderlust is a yearning that
lies dormant until it is activated by something, some stimulus.
For some reason, when you look at any couple, one member
of that couple aches to be a wanderer, and explorer. The
other wants only to be safe, comfortable, and at home.
Whether an adventurer or explorer, or not, it is good, I
believe, for each person to have one great adventure in her
life. If she doesn’t, she will always secretly have regrets, and
those regrets will turn to anger against anyone she feels is to
blame for her not having that adventure. In my family, my
Papá was the adventurer and risk taker. My Mamá liked her
home, with its pantry full, something cooking on the stove,
the gatos begging for something to eat or sleeping the day
away, and a fire always going in the stove or fireplace, even if
it was not that cold. I think it is genetic, and the gene gets
passed on, and I, for good or bad, got my Papá’s gene. Yet, in
Rosaria’s family, it was the opposite. I don’t think her Mamá
was ever really happy at home. Yet her Papá loved it there,
loved to read and write, play music, always had a home
improvement project going. So it was Rosaria’s Mamá who
passed the gene on to her.
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I check my good luck charm.
"If it is so lucky, why are you laying bleeding in the
desert?"
I hear you say to yourself.
And all I can think of as an answer is, "I'm still alive,
aren't
I? I'd call that lucky, wouldn't you?"
My lucky charm is still there. It is a rosary with a crucifix
chain around my neck.
"Jade is not pink." I hear you say. "Jade is green.
Always
has been."
And again, all I can think of as an answer is, "You are
wrong
again."
There are two types of jade. One type is jadeite. The
other
type is nephrite. Jadeite is rarer, and a little stronger.
Nephrite is found in New Zealand, Russia, China, Switzerland,
and Guatemala. Jadeite is found in Russia, China, and
Guatemala. Nephrite is usually dark green to grey green, but it
can be white, yellow, or red. The very darkest green jade
comes from Canada. Jadeite can have all the green hues, but
also white, black, brown, violet, and pink. There are many
ideas as to what is the better stone, nephrite or jadeite, and
what the best color is. The man I bought my crucifix from in
Antigua said the best jadeite comes from Myanmar. But I
disagree. The best jadeite comes from Guatemala, it is pink,
and my lovely pink rosary is proof of that. If you saw it, you
would only agree with me.