Extreme sports Guatemalan style - part II

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I felt that it had to be done. I had to explore what this Guatemala's Lake Atitlan was really all about. For thousands of years native tribes have lived in towns around its perimeter each performing fire-based festivals in honour of the three towering volcanoes that dominate the skyline, sneering insolently.

And despite the utter poverty of the region, its hostile terrain and misty hills, where rumours of unspeakable events abound, tourists continue to flock to Lake Atitlan. Like some sort of psychological magnet, you feel like you've let the civilised world down if you fail challenge yourself and explore.

So when Sid woke me up that morning, we could do nothing else. We rose early, washing under a freezing cold tap and munching on a couple of pepper filled tortillas and some soup before we set off to seek what the town had to offer.

At a superficial level, San Pedro is a delightful dwelling where the locals struggle on, selling the produce of their agricultural labours in the local market and seemingly constantly carrying bundles across the dilapidated streets.

Just one chapel in the central square bears the remnants of the Spanish conquest but this did not interest us. We found a wrinkled, weathered man selling hand-gliders and our morning's activity was set. We headed for the hills.

Sid assured me it was easy. He hadn't done it before but had seen a programme on it once, when he got back from the pub. So we decided to have a crack. We climbed as high as we could, got our gliders in position and ran like hell of the edge of a cliff and triumphantly surged through the air towards the intimidating Nariz del Diablo (the devil's nose), the highest point of the three volcanoes.

It was glorious. The deep blue of the lake below us, the toytown dwellings, puncturing the deep green of the forest covered hills, which rolled on for as far as the eye could see.

We landed somewhat abruptly on the beach, which wasn't exactly your Mauritian white sanded heavenly perfection, but dark with volcanic ash. Thankfully we were safe. But the challenge was not over. After having stared the Nariz del Diablo straight in the eye, there was another challenge to overcome: the deep.

Sid managed to secure a very cheap canoe and the two of us took our paddles – and our beers – out onto the lake and drifted out towards the middle. We took it in turns to dive into the crystal clear but enchantingly dark water, through which you could see about a dozen metres down.

Kicking back, staring at the three volcanoes that towered above the glistening water, drinking a bottle of the local brew, Gallo, I realised that there wasn't anything that disturbing at all about the Guatemalan deep. In fact, it was rather pleasant – and Sid agreed.