I moved out of site on Wednesday. The last hour was the most horrible, a weeping host family, heavy bags and an honorable Lic. Enrique (the educational superintendent) who picked me up in his red Rav4 to drive me to the shuttle stop. The 2.5 hour ride to the office I didn’t cry. I was too numb to cry. I started my period on the bus because chaos likes to multiply. I didn’t cry.

Thursday and Friday were office days. I had to do my last medical appointment, get all of my x-rays, paperwork for three paid therapy sessions post-service, and signatures, signatures, signatures. 15 signatures it felt like to accomplish a list as long as my arm. A Security Incident Questionnaire, Host Family Survey, Contract of Non-Indebtedness, return my cell phone chip, my peace corps badge, my post questionnaire, my termination report (in English), my informe técnico (in Spanish), my COS presentation…  And a signature for each, or I wouldn’t be done with Peace Corps. I wouldn’t be an RPCV. Oh also my last VRF- Volunteer Report Form- calculating all of my efforts in site, how many ‘achieved outcomes’ vs. ‘attempted outcomes’ in my project. All of this a massive headache. That’s without all of the emotions. That’s just the paperwork.

On Friday afternoon, Amanda arrived! I couldn’t believe it. A friend and fellow volunteer who has been back home working the last year. She came to finish out our service like we started it: together in Ciudad Vieja, with lots of reflections, doubts, and conversations about Peace Corps and the future. Two more friends joined us for dinner. We went to Ramen in Antigua and though it was Q70 (a righteous penny for my budget) it was worth every centavo. There was a red curtain with a strings that indicated the bathroom location and we took boomerang videos walking in and out of them. I was cracking up. Happy, so happy, in spite of my general numbness to all the change being slingshot my way. Actually, I myself being slingshotted from one world to another.

Keep in mind, Santa Clara La Laguna and Antigua are both in the same country but there is such a difference between these places. I was experiencing culture shock from campo to city, and both in the same country of Guatemala. In Santa Clara, the indigenous people are my host family, co-workers and friends, and in Antigua the indigenous people are street vendors, marginalized, poor. It’s not a subtle difference at all: it’s an extreme one. And what will it feel like to be back in the USA where none of these differences exist, but rather, different but equally present systemic racism and classism in it’s own distinct form. What would that feel like? To drive a car, blend-in, not be the lone gringa? Not draw attention? Not be interesting, but be normal? And be far from Guatemala? And then Amanda, from her established routine and life in Idaho, coming in from afar to bring her friendship and memories from our first year and a half in Peace Corps.

Santa Clara was some distant but close memory, my bell-ringing was on Monday, Amanda arrived for travel, and I was somewhere in between this whirlwind of transition in Antigua paying 4x as much for anything as I would in the pueblo.

So naturally it seemed appropriate to hike a volcano, overnight without stopping until the sunrise.

After ramen we got back to the hostel and I had an important phone call. We haven’t much spoken. We talked for an hour and a half. And like with every ending relationship, it made me happy and sad. Amanda and I went to sleep in our private room in Matiox hostel, the place where he asked me to be his girlfriend with my hand in his. Where he and I stayed up all night on the couch, in each other’s arms, between delirium and infatuation. Now this is a different hostel to me, because that relationship has ended. And so has Peace Corps.

I opened up my email from the Peace Corps fellowship again… only 50% of the semesters would be covered, not 100%. That is a big difference. That is more money than I thought. And yet, this had been my plan. Graduate school for Masters in Education, be a Spanish teacher. Tucson, Arizona. Drive across country. Start another adventure. Now it was just going to cost more than I thought. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that part but Amanda just got here and I was trying not to let something like future debt put a damper on my COS and my upcoming plans. I would find a way. Amanda and I fell asleep in our private room.

I woke up in the double room alone. Amanda and the other PCV had gone to the gym. I was glad for a quiet morning to myself as I walked to the Fat Cat Café for coffee. I called my sister on the way and I think I word-vomited, per-usual, as she listened to me unpack my mount of changes. My despedida lunch at my boss’s was in a few hours. She was nice enough to invite all of the extenders (and Amanda!) for a goodbye lunch at her house. I was nervous and excited to see her house because I wandered what her life looked like, what her house was like… Amanda got back from the gym and we grabbed a tuk-tuk and made our way over.

Lunch was SO TASTY, the type of food I couldn’t find in Santa Clara if I wanted to… We took group pictures. I lost my instant camera somewhere between the hostel and the tuk-tuk which had me bummed out and feeling guilty because my parent’s bought it for me for Christmas. But my mind wasn’t in one place and public transit can be so scattered. I shared funny anecdotes about my last days in site and Amanda caught all of us up on her life in Idaho. We ate, took pictures, and headed back to Antigua. I left with some really nice goodbye gifts and cards, but more than anything, a wonderful time with everyone. And this great picture.

Amanda and I got back to Antigua at 4:30p. We didn’t have a place to nap or a plan. We just knew we needed sleep and peanut butter for the hike. We went to Bodegona and caught up as we walked. We found dinner, sandwiches, and soon it would be 9pm. Not enough time for a nap (nor a place for a nap). For the volcano, we would meet in Antigua at 10pm, that’s PM, drive to the base of the mountain (45 minutes), and start a 6-hour hike to see the sunrise. Abby did it in February with two non-hikers so I thought we coudl do it too. At the last minute, everyone dropped out and it was us three ladies: Abby, Amanda and me.

I’ve hiked Pacaya (thrice) and that is Guatemala’s friendliest volcano, because it’s an easy hike. Having said that, my Dad looked at me while hiking it with both walking sticks in hand and asked/griped: “Natalie when is this thing gonna flatten out?” Verbatim. I laughed. My mom was breathing like she was teaching her child-birthing classes again. We made it as the sun was setting, and we saw Volcan Fuego erupting red lava from a distance and took video. That was my Dad’s favorite part. I think my Mom liked the whole thing, but they were tired afterwards.

That was Pacaya, the easy three-hour hike. However, Acatenango was something I’d only heard about. Why hike overnight? Because we had only one night to do this thing, and on Sunday my host family was coming for my bell-ringing on Monday at 10am. Amanda and I had to take advantage of her time/visit and hike.

We got out of the car at some office and an energetic tour operator named Elwin introduced us to our other guide, Eldris who was nene (so young), and gave us extra gloves, jackets and gear. I was not prepared for the cold, but my whole life was in one and a half suitcases in the Peace Corps office and the rest of my belongings distributed about Santa Clara as recuerdos cuz I didn’t have room in my bags. Amanda and Abby were prepared with gear but I had to borrow Abby’s flashlight, her socks, boots from Ryan, a coat and gloves from the tour guide.. I put all of these in my sleeping bag case to carry up. It would not be comfortable, but this is what we signed up to do. I paid: “Why am I paying for this?” I thought, and we got back in Abby’s car to drive to the base. Our nene guide Eldris told us it was his birthday, or it would be his birthday, when the clock strikes midnight. I wondered: does he tell everyone that for a better tip? And as we started our hike at midnight, my body was doing this thing I didn’t want to do.

“Muchos dicen que la primera hora es la más difícil entonces hay que ver su ritmo.” Don’t go fast. Abby was the slowest and that was because she had done this before. She said: “I don’t want to sweat” because it would make for cold later… And I just moved faster so that it could be over, but the fastest, as always, was Amanda. Amanda is an ultra runner and I admire her so much for that, the way you admire something you never hope to be or do because you would never. That type of admire. 

And the first two hours was Amanda at the top reigniting her Spanish with the guide in her singsong voice while Abby and I growled below. Abby had a bad tummy and I can’t imagine hiking a volcano while feeling sick. The path was all loose volcanic rock and each step was like shuffling into the earth. I couldn’t decide how hot or cold I was. Amanda gave me a bandana that I had tied around my neck, with a hat from Javier on my head. I have a large cranium and sometimes these things give me headaches because they tighten around me. Happens a lot with sunglasses, hats, headbands.. But the headache could have been from the fact that I was scaling the side of a mountain at 1am. Maybe it was that. Or maybe it was all the many goodbyes I’d just experienced, and how many more there were to go. Or maybe it was simply because I was hiking up the side of a mountain instead of sleeping. Maybe it was that.

An hour passed, an hour and a half… Loose volcanic rock beneath our fee, walking in the dark, hot inside skin, cold outside. The further we went, the more we had to pause often because of me. My heart was pounding every second and I wanted to curse this volcano and this hike, but I couldn’t see it to curse it. I used Abby’s rechargeable flashlight, the same one I owned but left with my host family. Rocky steps after rocky steps, turns and curves and nothing straight. This was my Wild, but more like my: “Why?” just the first syllable.

Where is Cheryl Strayed to whisper into my ear, or Elizabeth what’s-her-name who wrote Eat Pray Love to guide me up this torturous climb? I get very little out of hiking and being outdoors. I like to paint, write, listen to music, talk on the phone, make short videos, photo books… I have a list of hobbies as long as my arm and being outside isn’t one of them. I am a woman of my dial-up, WhatsApp time and yet here I am, in the Peace Corps, hiking up a steep incline to what end? I do not know. And will it end? Maybe it would end me first…

At 2am, we got to the entrance to the hike (go figure— 2 hours in we start?!) and the ticket booth guy said: “it gets much easier now! All switchbacks..” Okay, I said, doubting him. Giving him all the looks like this was all his idea and therefore his fault. I paid my Q50 and got my ticket. Souvenir. We continued, Eldris, Abby, Amanda and me. I was in the back. I am not out of shape, I walk several miles around Santa Clara every day, up and down hills. But not up volcanos. During the hike I learned that Amanda recently ran 31 miles without stopping. It took her 6 hours she said. I almost barfed just imagining It. Abby always did exercise in Santa Clara, she would stretch or do mini-workouts while we watched Boy Meets World or other movies. I just sat there and let her do it, wondering, What? And then there was me.

I pondered Eldris, how he does this job every day.. He says after he hikes he plays soccer. He says he is starting to study English but he asked him what he could say and it wasn’t much.. He isn’t in school which makes me sad. But it’s common. Most kids don’t go to college here. They immigrate or they get lucky enough to find a gig like this. He goes to sleep at 5pm… I guess he only sleeps a couple of hours and then hikes a volcano for work. Sheesh. I asked him how many siblings he has but I don’t remember. It was 2am and I was trying to survive.

Another 30 minutes passed, more of the same steep incline with cold air on wobbly ground. This was my Everest. Abby turned back at some point and said: “We definitely deserve a spa day…” and I chuckled. All of the spa days.

It got colder as we walked up. Eldris would say: “20 minutes more until it’s flat.” Or “Here we enter the change in climate.” He didn’t have on many layers but he did wear a scarf around his face. I guess he’s found what works for him. What works for me is a flat mattress.

At 4am we got to the base camp. We sat by a fire that wasn’t nearly big enough. There was food stuffs off to one side, Planter’s Peanut butter, but we didn’t go for that. We had packed peanut butter and banana sandwiches. We waited for hot chocolate which Eldris made for us over the fire. It wasn’t nearly chocolatey enough (according to me) but it was hot and that was nice. One girl, I think who was German, had altitude sickness and had to stay back and sleep while her group continued up the mountain. I felt bad for her. And as we started the last leg of our ascent, I thought I might be sick. But I think it was exhaustion and dread combined with my brain alight with all the weights of change and transition tugging at me. And peanut butter and chocolate in my stomach. And sadness.

By the 5th hour of the hike, I had digested our hour and a half phone call long enough to remember why I was heartbroken (re: gentleman caller) because this relationship is in the process of ending despite the depth of feelings involved. And I became very quiet and very sad. Mixed in with all of the other things going on like volcano. COS. Host family coming tomorrow. The cost of graduate school. Moving across the country. Peace Corps ending. Ringing the bell. My trip with Amanda through Guatemala. Would I be able to hold myself together? 

Amanda turned to me during the hike and said: “You’re such a badass.” I felt like she was pandering. She is an ultra runner and a general wonder woman, and she laughs it off like it’s nothing, and wants to tell me I am a badass as the slowpoke in the group. I told her ‘don’t pander me!’ because it made me feel worse. But maybe I am a badass. Even if I am the last badass to make it up.

The last stretch was hard. It was all hard, don’t get me wrong, but the mountain continued to steepen and my legs felt so taught and stretched from the exertion of several hours of hiking. Everyone was going the same direction, up, and all the paths at their various levels of difficulty, converged at the top. People walked past with walking sticks and I cursed myself for not owning walking sticks. Except I’m never doing this again so I don’t need them. I could see the end but it still hurt: my body. And the remaining distance to the cima, the peak.

The sun was peeking through, but had not yet risen. When made it to the top, Bless God and These Here Saints, Eldris gave us each a high five. We got to the lookout area, the famous spot where everyone takes pictures, and I knew I was sad because I didn’t want any. We posed for a group picture and when Amanda suggested that we go around to the other side, to see Volcan Santa María, etc, I wanted to die. But I did not dispute. I knew they knew something was wrong with me. I just stood at the top and stared at the view. I wasn’t that impressed, is that terrible that after 6 hours of hiking upwards, I didn’t see the point?

I wanted to find a metaphor, like always, to comfort me and widen my experience to help me understand it. But I couldn’t find one. “This hike is like service because..” “This hike is like romance because…” “This hike is like capitalism because…” Nothing. I just looked over the hills and mountains and the sun came through with it’s brilliance. People made noise, pointed. The sun! Like we didn’t all know it was rising. It was crowded and hard to get a good picture. Must be a very popular hike… which was annoying. You don’t hike a thing to feel like you’re at a shopping mall for crying out loud. Or in a crowded museum.

Everyone grabbed at cameras but I, for once, did not. I knew my phone wouldn’t capture it’s beauty. Eldris had stepped off to one side with his bussies, happy to be up top with all of his cuates, greeting with the palm grab and hug. He knew all the other guide’s names.

Why was I such a downer? I was grumpy. I was annoyed. And I was the one who booked this hike. 

I guess I couldn’t deal. 

And I don’t regret hiking that volcano, and I know I’ll never do it again. I did it so I could say I did it, and I did. So there. 

But… there was still the hike downwards. It was so much faster than up, but still not fast enough. I wasn’t exactly in a hurry. My thoughts and my sadness were most certainly waiting at the bottom, like everything else. But still I didn’t want to be sliding down rocks and collecting more dust and dirt. I wanted this to end.

We stopped at a certain point on the dusty slide down and sat on rocks. Eldris got out of his gatorade from his backpack. He hardly seemed to eat anything at all. After 10 minutes, and a little chit-chat, we continued and slid down more and more dust and rocks. I told Amanda and Abby the story of what happened my last hour in site and they said: “Wow, I can’t believe you’re even standing right now, with everything you’re going through.” And I am too close to any of it to be able to say how I am really doing. But I know I am too tired to reject anyone’s encouragement so I tucked it away. I’ll take it if they’re giving it.

When we made it to the bottom we didn’t really celebrate, we just had to walk straight to the car because Abby had to work that day! Ack! She was going to pick up a client, dusty and dirty, and sell them coffee. She is stronger, and younger, than I. We dropped Eldris off at the office and said thank you and happy birthday! Giving him his tip. And Amanda and I slept while Abby drove us 45 minutes back to Antigua.

I wanted to stay up to give Abby company but I couldn’t. I dreamt of things I don’t remember and woke up confused. Amanda and I both didn’t know what side of Antigua we were on. We walked further, dusty, tired, raw, to get Amanda’s smoothie and tumbled into the café, dusty, dirty, tired. We both used the bathroom and waited for the smoothie. We walked home and by the time we arrived, I laid on a couch in Matiox (because we didn’t book a room for that night) but I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I hid under my ‘patzapik uwi’ jacket and cried. Another PCV came to find us and brought cookies and bread. Amanda saw me crying and tried to rub my back. She was tired too. We were both tired.

Maybe it makes sense that I cried, now that I am writing all of this. But in the moment I felt desperate, scared, sad. I was all of those things and couldn’t explain my own fragility except with that word: fragility. And I’ve been crying so much the last two months that it didn’t seem warranted that I cry again. Turns out you can cry for as many reasons as you want, and for as long as you need.

My host family would arrive in a handful of hours. It was only 10am but it felt like an hour that didn’t exist on the clock. It felt like another dimension of exhaustion and disorientation that can only be explained by the end of two years of living in a place and the end of hiking a volcano to see the sunrise without knowing why. Amanda couldn’t sleep so she walked Antigua, back and forth up and down, while I tried to sleep but couldn’t. She finally got her room at noon and offered me her bed, because she has wings. And I laid on her bed, called my sister exhausted and crying with some dude snoring in the bed above me, and wondering if he was listening to my chillona tears. We ended our call and at 1:30 I finally laid down on her bed and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure if sleep would descend on me but I hoped something would happen. And sleep did.