So you can imagine my excitement seeing her and her compas there street-side. As our bus pulled into the terminal I was filled with anxiety trying to get off the bus, not appear to totally ditch my group and try to catch the ladies before they left. I told my co-instructor I'd be right back and grab my pack off the bus. I ran through the terminal back out to the street, as people watched me and laugh and yelled "go gringa!" The ladies were still on the street but getting into a pickup that had just pulled over. I ran up and said, Señoras de San Miguel! and Doña Cristanta, I met you in April, with Derechos en Accion, and I just saw you and wanted to say hello. They sorta looked at me weird, like indigenous ladies tend to do when you bum rush them, but Cristanta got it, gave me the arm-pat and smiled with her lovely smile. I immediately started to say goodbye, such a brief encounter, and they piled into the truck and left.

When I met her in April I had already seen the documentary. Back then I sat next to her in that cracked house during a meeting of local activists and participants of the delegation. The meeting was both in Mam and Spanish. She talked about wanting to understand even more the Guatemalan Constitution and asked everyone if she should calm her outspoken ways because of the threats to her and her family. She is easily one of the bravest people I have ever met. When we went around to say our goodbyes, a customary handshake to everyone, I remember I stood before her and couldn't get out one word. My face streamed tears as I was so inspired, impressed, humbled, and amazed by her. I never did say anything, never told her how much she moved me. Here is that post. I feel like when I saw her on Saturday she knew something, maybe could tell I remembered her because she was special to me, I don't know. I never get those words out.

Eventually we made it to the volcano base and started hiking up. And up. And up. The air got thinner and it was pretty tough for me, although I was in very high spirits. I bought a "No Whining" shirt in the second-hand clothing for any student who complained. Haha. And we had good luck with the weather. When we finally arrived at camp, to pitch our tents, it was only about to rain. When the tents were up, it poured. It took 5 hours to hike up. It doesn't ever look like a real volcano - like a cone or something. It's really just a big rock. Traditionally the next morning, very early, you're supposed to make summit and watch what is probably one of the most glorious sunrises in the world. You can see Mexico, the Pacific ocean, every volcano in Guatemala and even the curve of the earth. One of my students puked and had diarrhea in his sleeping bag, some had some altitude sickness - it was tough. When it was 3:30 am we had a small inter-instructor team squabble about who was going to forfeit sunrise and stay with the sick student. In the end I gave in. I didn't get to summit this time. I cried like baby. But this was my 3rd time up Tajumulco. In the end I talked myself down by remembering Jennifer Harbury's story, the story of ORPA (one of the guerrilla fronts during the 36 year civil war) on the volcano, and the clandestine radio station "La Voz Popular" which operated from Volcano Tajumulco for decades and never found by the army. I thought, they lived up here, in the wind and rain and high altitude and never made the summit, what's the big deal? Can't I just know I made it up here and not need some single reason like the summit? So I went back to sleep, with chilly feet and knowing that when the sun came up, I'd feel kinda sad.

Like a big girl, I got over it and hiked down the mountain with my group. The bus ride back to San Marcos was long and squishy. I tried to sleep with my head against a metal bar, my knee crunched up against the metal seat in front of me. I know I've been here awhile because I actually did sleep some. We got to San Marcos and grabbed a pickup to a lady named Rosita's house and ate lunch. I ate everyone's leftover avocado and skipped the meat. Then caught a pickup back to the terminal, with me secretly keeping an eye out for the San Marcos ladies, and then a bus back to Xela. We arrived very tired, pretty dirty, and slightly edgy. But we celebrated with a group dinner and I fell asleep happy with one week into this 3-month adventure and ready to head to Pachaj where I am today. Home. Toilet paper aplenty.