After a short, rainy flight from San José, Costa Rica, I opened my eyes to the nondescript skyscrapers of Guatemala City. Regardless of what I saw, it was what I felt that was the most interesting — we had successfully made it to Guatemala. In the American imagination, or at least mine, I’d describe the country as a bit out there more than, say, Mexico. In other words, why would one find themselves in Guatemala?

For us, the answer was the enthralling Volcán Acatenango, tucked away in the dusty highlands of the country’s western region. First, however, we had to make it to Antigua, a colonial-era outpost that plays host to just about every tourist who pays a visit to the country. Classified as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the town is known for its Spanish charm and pastel color palette. After a nighttime taxi ride that took about an hour, we cruised onto the cobblestone streets of Antigua en route to our hostel. Patterned tiles adorned each house, and the religious landscape of the town immediately made itself clear in the churches, convents, and monasteries that dot its streets.

Having paid about $15 a night for our beds in an eight-person shared room, our expectations were low to say the least. Fortunately, it would suffice to say that we were immediately blown away by the beauty of the hostel — blooming flowers, a rooftop terrace overlooking colorful buildings and churches, and a breakfast spread fit for royalty. It would have been, in theory, hard to find a reason to get out and explore, but luckily Antigua offered many.

Our first sunrise in Guatemala brought with it the promise of a new day, and one without any real itinerary at that. Knowing we would begin the two-day Acatenango trek the next day, we figured taking it easy would be the best option. We began our morning with a leisurely stroll to the town square, or la plaza, which genuinely looked like it was out of a movie like Encanto. An array of expansive, lush trees surrounded by cobblestone sidewalks and Spanish colonial architecture could not have been more picturesque if it tried. We enjoyed sitting on a bench and people-watching as locals and tourists alike chatted and wandered about. I often find myself wishing that we had more places like this in the United States, where people could go to simply pass time and be in community with each other in an urban setting. Europeans, and evidently Guatemalans, do it well — we stand to learn from them in this regard.

Later on, upon making our way to a pastel yellow church, we encountered a lively older Guatemalan man named Marco, who let us know right off the bat that he was eighty years old. That did not stop him, however, from trying to convince us to join his son, a tour guide, on another nearby volcano hike in the Guatemalan wilderness. Immediately, I ruled out the idea for fear of just about anything happening that might throw a wrench in our Acatenango plan. My friend Sebastian, however, was more persistent and perhaps daring than me, so he agreed with Marco that we should go. When in Guatemala, right? Reluctantly, I agreed (rather, was made to agree) that we would join the group leaving just a few hours later that afternoon.

Right after returning to our hostel and beginning to get ready for the hike, we both had a simultaneous thought of almost humorous despair: Had we just paid Marco, who could be a complete, unapologetic scammer, to pay us on an entirely fake tour? With more than a slight sense of unease, we anxiously stood outside our hostel at 2 p.m. — the agreed-upon time — and waited. Then, we waited some more. At last, like a mirage on the Sahara, a rickety van pulled up and its driver waved us over.

After a nearly two-hour long bus ride that took us around narrow mountain turns and through Guatemalan villages where locals wore traditional colorful Mayan clothing, our group of two Americans, two Canadians, and one French woman arrived at the foot of Volcán Pacaya. It only took an hour and a half of hiking or so to reach the summit, at which point we realized that you could not, in fact, see the actual volcano due to fog cover. I quickly took the opportunity to decry Marco as a fraud, just as the gray blanket over the volcano slowly faded into an otherwise normal afternoon sky. The volcano, which has been dormant recently but has caused severe damage in previous eruptions, was a sight to behold.

Once we had ample water and ample photos, we headed down the trail to a moon-like landscape with smoke billowing out of small holes in the ground. As it turned out, by shoving a stick about three feet under, you can reach temperatures that are hot enough to roast marshmallows. Though not exactly the mid-hike snack that fuels the rest of the journey, it was cool just the same to experience an alpine bonfire. Some time later, we reached the van once again and began the trek back into Antigua feeling tired and hungry — just the right feelings to carry us into the journey that awaited the next day.