On the eve of hiking Guatemala’s third highest peak, Acatenango, I found myself at a bar asking some backpackers for advice. The group laughed, their advice was not to go to the bar the night before a hike, but one woman earnestly warned, “Bring a hat and wear layers. It’s cold up there.”
I had chosen, like many backpackers, to forgo a comfortable night in one of Antigua’s affordable hostels to sleep on the side of this nearby volcano. The attraction is not so much the hike up the black, igneous slopes, but the view. At night, you can look across the valley at Volcán de Fuego, an active volcano, and watch glowing, red lava spew into the black Guatemalan sky. Fireworks.
Twenty-four hours later, I am huddled around a fire with five other backpackers shivering with regret at not having packed more clothes, warmer clothes, anything to keep my blood hot through the night. The wind whips across the tree-bare slope drowning out conversation as we glance from our sputtering campfire over to the distant hell of Fuego’s bursting red peak. Echoes of eruptions reverberate across the valley like a thunderous belly laugh—Fuego mocking the gringo for his stupidity.
One of my fellow hikers, an Austrian, breaks the ice. He holds a bottle the size of his hand. We recognize it immediately. Quetzalteca.
Anyone who has traveled in Guatemala knows Quetzalteca. It is ubiquitous, cheap, and strong. With a traditionally dressed indigenous woman welcoming you on its logo, Quetzalteca acts as Guatemala’s unofficial national drink.
The largest distillery in Guatemala (owner of Zacapa and Botran Rum for those familiar with Guatemalan rums) distills Quetzalteca from cane sugar and bottles it at 36 ABV. In Latin America, this proof distinguishes Quetzalteca as aguardiente, a general term in Spanish for liquor distilled from fruit or cane sugar, which translates as agua-water and ardiente-burning. At less than 2 USD a bottle, my backpacker’s budget had familiarized me with the sharp, sweet burning and the head-swimming warmth that makes Quetzalteca famous.
We pass the bottle around the fire, swigging happily and reveling in the burning sensation that the liquor gives the throat. Soon, we are laughing at the wind and our bodies warm up to the idea of sleeping on the side of this volcano. We look from the fiery peak of Fuego to the clear bottle glimmering red in our campfire. Between the six of us, we finish two little bottles. I turn my back to the eruptions of Fuego. My head pulsating from aguardiente, fire water, I crawl into my tent.
If you ever hike Acatenango, or any mountain in Guatemala, pack a hat—and a little bottle of Quetzalteca.
A small desert town has a big reputation. Firstly, it has one of the highest density of cacti in the world. Secondly, locals use the fruit of one of those cactus to make a liqueur. Rumor has it that the drink can make you hallucinate, but this seems unlikely.
Many species of orchids have two bulbs. One can be dried and ground into a powder called salep. In Turkey, this powder is used to make a thick, hot beverage in the winter and ice cream in the summer. Many believed that the orchid had medicinal and aphrodisiacal powers, so the powder and drink have long been coveted. Over-harvesting orchids has threatened some species, so substitutes are common.
Guatemalans make a sort of limeade out of salt, limes, and soda water. Interestingly, Argentines have used the same term to refer to a kind of yerba mate. The word comes from the earliest years of Conquest in Latin America, and once referred to escaped slaves.
In Mexico, alcohol made from fermented agave sap is well over a thousand years old. Called pulque, this drink can also be flavored with fruits, vegetables, herbs, or seeds. If the drink is ancient, how long have people been flavoring it? The history is complicated, but the flavored drink is enjoying a renaissance today.
