Santa Ana – Day 5: The Seven Waterfalls
SANTA ANA
Day 5: The Seven Waterfalls
October 25, 2022
One last tour, and finally – very deservedly – we had ourselves a decent tour guide slash driver with whom I had no problems whatsoever: Andres. Together with Andreas and Monique, a lady from Canada, we’d be heading to the Trail of the Seven Waterfalls – which, surprise, surprise, is a trail forming a loop around seven waterfalls.
After a short, and most importantly uneventful and quiet, drive to Juayúa, we got to meet Miriam – our guide for the day. She’d been doing this her entire life and now, accompanied by her seven-year-old kid, she’d be sharing this gem of a place with us. All excited for another day of nature and hiking, we set off. The hike would consist of a two-hour loop around all seven falls, leading right back to the starting point.
At her recommendation, we took off our trekking boots and opted for flip-flops, given we were gonna wade through pools and cross under a couple of waterfalls. Excited at the very prospect of such an adventure, I took off Blister – giving it some respite after so many days of touring and hiking! Monique took off her boots too, and pretty soon rued that decision – sliding and tripping on the very steep downhill a couple of times. With a smile on her face throughout, she showed no contempt and went on bravely. I, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as graceful – my expletives a testament to my suffering. Andreas was a complete champ and trailed along without a single misstep.
Trail (or Trial) of the Seven Waterfalls
After a short but challenging descent through the overgrown tropical jungle, we got to the first one – a small waterfall with a narrow river at its mouth.
There, Monique and I had our first dip and settled for a quite, chill swim. Meanwhile, Andreas – an experienced climber – climbed all over like a monkey. After he bouldered and scrambled to his heart’s content, we then proceeded to the second one – a thin dribble of water over a sheer cliff. Then came a third, bigger one – with a perfect rainbow at its centre. Standing beneath it with the water crashing down on my head, I felt pretty much like a Tibetan monk.
After taking in every single detail, we moved on to the fourth. Now this one was huge – one of the biggest waterfalls I’d ever seen. Here, Andreas once again decided to use his ape-like skills to manoeuvre his way halfway up the damn thing for the sake of getting an adrenaline rush and some good photos alike, while Monique and I just gawked. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head the second she looked at Andreas .
“Imagine that’s the way to the fifth one,” I jested. “That is the way to the fifth waterfall,” Miriam replied. That’s when my eyes popped out of their sockets and fell on the ground. “Don’t worry, we had a seventy-year-old lady doing it yesterday!” she added.
I wasn’t reassured by that. I set her ageism aside and rationalised that just cause a seventy-year-old can do it, it doesn’t mean I could. I knew my limits – that’s how I’ve survived this long. I do crazy crap all the time, but never something I know I can’t handle. And this definitely seemed to be one of them. Climbing this twenty-metre wall of death whilst columns of water would plummet over our entire bodies, the rocks presumably as slippery as a slug’s behind, with sharp rocks behind us to break our fall. Friggin crazy! Also suicidal.
Leap of Faith
Just then I remembered my experience at Roberto Barrios in Mexico. I was dreading having to climb from one pool to another before I decided to face my fears head on and did it anyways. It felt so satisfying when I had actually managed, the adrenaline making it feel a thousand times better than it otherwise would have. And so I decided I’d try. If I’d feel like I wouldn’t be able to go through with it, I’d go back – something I already knew would probably be more difficult to do. But that’d be Future Me’s problem.
I placed my hand on a slippery rock, found a ragged area, pushed myself up. One step at a time. I regretted everything but pressed on. Then I propelled myself upward, lifting one leg on a rock that seemed reasonable safe enough to stand on. The second handhold was fine. And so was the third, and the fourth, and so on – all the while regretting my decision to embark on these kinds of adventures, telling myself I’d much rather be at work doing scut work. I paused a third of the way up, breathing hard, my heart thumping like crazy, as I waited for Monique to catch up, giving me a chance to catch my breath and calm my nerves. “We can do this,” I tried to reassure Monique (and myself) repeatedly, “A seventy-year-old can do it!”.
Until we got to the last bit. No grip. No foothold. I cursed myself for not join my friends when they started rock-climbing. Back when they had started this sport, I told them I’d need to take care of my hands if I wanted to become a surgeon – knowing the injuries that can occur. But while climbing this waterfall, I realised there were way worse injuries than those. I could already see my brain matter splattered over the rocks beneath us. I tried looking down and see if there was a safe way to descend, yet somehow, this venture seemed even more dangerous. There stood the base of the waterfall, a metre away – mocking me. So close yet so far.
There was only one way – a leap of faith. I propelled myself up with my one stable leg, hoping that there’d be a rock jagged enough somewhere up there that I could hold onto. There’d be no guarantee of that happening, and if that wouldn’t pan out, I’d surely be falling to my demise. But I had no other option. I put all my weight on my one and only stable limb and with that, I jumped. And, somehow, incredulously, there was a tiny piece of rock onto which I could latch two measly fingers on. It was still a precarious situation, but in that position, I could lift myself up – scraping my knees raw as I clinged onto the rocks for dear life.
I had done it, but there was no adrenaline rush this time. It wasn’t fight – it was full-on flight. I wanted out. My knees were shaking and I couldn’t stop myself from trembling. I didn’t quite make a scene but in my head, it was an entire soap opera. I wanted out. For the first time during my trip, I regretted going on such an adventure. It was too risky – a life-threatening kinda risky. I would have never done such a thing if I were to know how dangerous it’d be.
Monique joined me a few minutes after – having taken an easier route I had completely missed. Andreas and Miriam had already moved on. I didn’t even get to appreciate the fifth waterfall given the circumstances. All worn out and still terrified, I tried to reassure Monique once again. “It can’t get any worse, can it?” I asked her, only to be proven wrong after a few seconds. There, a few metres away, was the sixth waterfall – plummeting over a narrow ledge we’d have to cross over. I’ll spare you the mellifluous words that came out of my mouth at that point. But, too tired to have yet another crisis, I just went ahead. I stepped forward, the water crushing me under its force. I withstood it, gripped blindly, took another step – rinse and repeat – and somehow, It worked. Again, pure luck.
And that was that. Finally we were at the seventh and final waterfall, a tiny splatter of water with a tiny pool beneath it. Here we got to finally relax a bit and, speaking for myself, come to terms with the near-death experience we had just went through. The mud mask we slapped on from the silt didn’t really help with my PTSD.
Clowning Around (With a Cause)
Having no idea of the trauma we had just gone through, Andres asked if we wanted to head to Malacatiupán to enjoy the hot springs. At this point I was pretty much done with life, let alone more waterfalls, but knowing Monique and Andreas hadn’t been there yet, I tagged along with silent resentment. This time round, it was more of a long bathing session in the natural thermal pools rather than trekking, with the hot water soothing my woes away.
Finally having some time to chat, Monique told us that she’s from Canada and that she works as a primary school teacher. She took a sabbatical and was touring Central America – but, with a difference. She left her country with a spinning cap, a large, red rubber nose, a large supply of face paint and the goal of bringing joy to kids all around. And so, all dressed up in her amusing attire, she’d go around different towns painting and bringing smiles to kids’ faces. Friggin awesome! I might not be a fan of clowns, but…
Turns out, travelling clowns are a thing. While such type of voluntary work isn’t exactly mainstream, it certainly does exist and it has meaningful roots. Apparently, it’s typically associated with clown therapy or humanitarian clowning and was made famous by people like Patch Adams, the real-life doctor who inspired the 1998 film starring Robin Williams. Humanitarian clowns, she explained, travel to places affected by hardship – such as hospitals, refugee camps, or disadvantaged communities – to bring joy and emotional relief through humour, play, and physical comedy.
While she was doing it independently, some work with organisations like Clowns Without Borders, which sends trained performers to areas impacted by crisis. As unconventional as it may seem, I do find it quite remarkable!
Netflix 'n' Chill
It took three long days of anticipation before I knew Andreas reciprocated my attraction. Usually, when it comes to these things, I’m the go-getter kinda guy, always direct and straight to the point, but this time round, I played the long game.
Mostly cause I was unsure whether such a handsome guy would be into, well… me. It had been eons since I last felt insecure about myself, but having lost so much muscle mass and gained a few extra centimetres of gnarly hair, I felt like I was anything but presentable. The second I got back to my hotel room, I decided to pamper myself a bit with a backpacker-style manipadi and a good ol’ eyebrow plucking. I came out of my room all fresh and clean. And so, finally presentable, I could let things happen. On our fourth and final night, Andreas and I found ourselves alone in the hotel lobby. Coffee in hand, silence hanging in the air. Neither of us wanted to go to bed, and so, I suggested Gilmore Girls – a show he also loved (not as much as I do, obviously). Well… you know what happens next. Netflix ‘n’ chill.
That night I felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. Quite superficially, I felt proud cause I had bagged such a handsome guy. I felt lucky cause I had met such an incredible guy. And I felt weird cause it seemed like there could be something more – something I very rarely feel. I had said the same thing about Xavier in Mexico and Roy in Belize, but Andreas? He just got me for some reason. Man, it felt like I could be with him, like, really be with him.
But, as always, our paths would soon diverge – and he’d be another bead in a long string of travel flings. But who knows?
Stay wild,
Marius
Post-Scriptum
So, all in all? Were the waterfalls gorgeous? Hell yeah. Was it worth it? Very debatable. The others loved it. Me? Hell no. I guess I’m a snowflake that way. To this day, that tour is the one thing I’d never, ever recommend to anyone.
Having said that, I was told by other travelers (and subsequently read it on other blogs), that the waterfall climb is usually done by rappelling using ropes. Looking back, I did notice hooks on the side of the waterfall – perhaps Miriam had just forgotten her equipment?