Hound Heights

[I’m now staying in the mountains near a village that’s not even in the travellers guidebooks, and getting online with a fast connection isn’t easy, so entries will be long, as they will cover many days. Put the kettle on! Also, my connection here is slow, so I'll upload those next time I´m back in civilization]

I left a bustling Sunday afternoon Antigua in a taxi bound for Sumpango. I was supposed to be sharing with three Dutch volunteers who had already been at Hound Heights for a while and were visiting the old city, but something got lost in translation, and their driver, who I had called to arrange to share their fare, had got me another driver who was trying to take me to Guatemala City. It took my best Spanish and a lot of miming to explain the mix-up, but I succeeded too late, and, having missed my shared ride, ended up having to fork out for the cab fare by myself – about a day and a half’s worth of travel budget. I’d be eating tortillas for the next few days.

I was greeted at Hound Heights by several fat, barking dogs, and, soon after, the not-so-fat Xenii (pronounced ‘Shaney’), one of the founders of AWARE. A greying lady with a youthful sparkle, Xenii has been running this hillside dog rescue shelter with her British husband, Martin, a Herne Bay native, for eight years now. Xenii argued the fare on my behalf while Pete, one of the grounds’ free-roaming dogs, went and found the bottle of juice I had left on the floor, which I was thankful for, especially as he relinquished his proud find so easily.

It was a warm and dusty early evening, and Xenii immediately showed me to my quarters, which boasted a hot shower, apparently. She walked me to a cabin just up the hill. We walked inside, and I noticed from outside that the main room was stacked to the roof with huge bags of dry food. We didn’t go in. We were standing in the porch. Xenii pointed to a folded camp bed in the corner. ‘Well, make yourself at home’, and she ambled outside. My new home was the porch. This was even smaller than my last place and smelled of dry dog food, but a bed’s a bed, so I resigned myself to my new quarters and unloaded my bags. Grabbing a sweater to ward off the approaching night chill, I followed Xenii to the clinic, where the three Dutch volunteers were staying, while Pete gleefully nipped at my shoes and my trousers as I made my way through his territory.

The room the other volunteers had was large—enough for three single beds pushed closely together—and had a fridge, stove, small dining table, and lots of shelf space for towels and bedding, mostly for the animals. Wilson and Jolanda, and their new roommate, Naomi, had been travelling for a while already, and, fortunately for me, they all spoke English well. Naomi, a vet student, had been in Guatemala for six weeks; Jolanda is an occupational therapist and Wilson does paving; both have been in Central America for a month and will stay a little while longer. The friendly and welcoming trio told me what jobs I could do and shared their food with me, which was great as I hadn’t yet got any supplies of my own.

I had arrived as the day’s work was coming to an end, so the only thing left to do after eating was walk some of the clinic dogs, so we all grabbed one each and set off into the darkness to let the canines relieve themselves before sitting down to watch a movie. Bedtime soon followed, and I trekked the path back to my bijou quarters and settled into my sleeping bag and camping bed—and a pretty good night’s sleep, given the cold and the chatty and fidgety two black cats who decided to share my abode.