Guatemala

Guatemala hit differently from the moment I landed. Antigua is this compact colonial city ringed by volcanoes on every side — you walk the cobblestone streets and every time a road opens up at an intersection, there's a cone of dark ash or green forest staring back at you. The yellow facade of La Merced, the crumbling arches of earthquake-wrecked churches, the Santa Catalina arch framing Agua volcano at the end of 5a Avenida — I kept stopping to just stand there.

We did Pacaya, which is a proper active volcano. The lava fields near the top are loose and black and nothing grows on them. It smells faintly of sulphur and the wind cuts cold up there. Standing at the base of that perfect dark cone with clouds wrapping around the peak, I felt very small in a way that Himalayan treks also give me — except here the mountain could genuinely spit fire at you any moment.

The food and drink culture surprised me. Ilegal Mezcal is made just outside Antigua, and trying it at a little bar with a bicycle parked against the wall felt like being let in on something local. Cerveceria 14 does craft beer in an open garden under the volcanoes — we sat there as the sky went dark grey and the mountains disappeared into cloud, and it was one of those evenings where you stop checking your phone. Guatemala is not a place you rush through.