Shivering, huddling in the tent as the nylon fabric buffets aggressively in the wind. Nibbling on a slice of cold, plastic-tasting faux cheese. Waiting for the icy rain to subside. Not exactly how I envisaged passing my birthday.
Antigua, much like Oaxaca became a place that kept drawing us back like a magnet. Partly because we were awaiting respectable weather for climbing the nearby volcanic peak of Acatenango. Mostly because there was a lot of really tasty food.
There’s nothing like a freshly roasted campfire marshmallow. But does it taste any better if it has been cooked in the heat radiating from the depths of the liquid interior of the earth itself? This seems like a question that needs to be investigated further.
The air was thick with humidity, it was like breathing tepid soup. The roads glistened with moisture in the last of the fading light that was filtering between the rolling banks thunderclouds.
So how far can two overland monkeys with no maps get exploring the infamously labyrinthine roads of Mexico’s Copper Canyon region? It turns out that they can make it pretty far.
There comes a time in two perfectly reasonable people’s lives when they decide that driving cross-country to New York is a sensible thing to do. “Now wait a minute” I hear you exclaim “Aren’t you driving to Argentina? That is quite a lot further away from Alaska than New York and therefore a slightly madder thing to do!” I’ll grant you that the plan of driving to Argentina does sound a little crazy, but ultimately it comes down to a question of timeframes.