Iam padding across a colonial foyer, cooled by ancient stone walls, its glossy, rose terra cotta tiles worn smooth and shiny from four centuries’ worth of postulants and pilgrims. I have joined former President Bill Clinton and his wife, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton, Madeleine Albright (when she was secretary of state), Harrison Ford, Julio Iglesias, Oscar de la Renta, and Jacques Chirac, whose names occupy the guestbook of Casa Santo Domingo, the exquisite 17th-century former Dominican convent near the heart of Antigua, Guatemala. The hotel, considered by many to be one of the finest in Latin America, is renowned as a trove of ancestral American artifacts. It will be a fitting starting point for a 14-day Bear Trek through Guatemala in the spring of 2007, which I am scouting in advance.

I first visited Guatemala in 1993, when this country of lush highlands and looming, verdant volcanoes was fighting a civil war. Many people wearing army camouflage carried guns. Many others—the native, non-Spanish-speaking Maya especially—went missing. Now, the mood of Guate­mala, Central America’s largest and most scenic country, has reverted to its friendly, stunning self. People guide tourists to the Mayan sites that once housed the most civilized communities in the New World.

The former colonial capital, Antigua, with its cobbled streets; stately, colonial plazas; markets; convents; and museums, is situated humbly beneath the 12,336-foot Agua volcano. It presents a dramatic overture for our journey through Guatemala, where one is always under a volcano and the spells they cast. From Antigua, our next destination—two-and-a-half hours to the northwest—is Lake Atitlan, a 1,049-foot deep, blue water caldron, sitting nearly a mile above sea level and surrounded by three volcanoes. It has been described as the most beautiful interior body of water in Latin America. Lunch is served on the patio of the Hotel Atitlan, overlooking the lake and twin volcanoes, Atitlan and Toliman. When mudslides caused by Hurri­cane Stan wiped out Mayan villages on the surrounding hillsides, causing hundreds of deaths, there was fear that the authentic, picturesque villages ringing the lake would also be devastated. But nearly all survived the disaster. That includes Santiago Atitlan, a Mayan village that is a 30-minute boat ride across the lake at the base of the Toliman volcano.

With Dolores, our local guide, we strolled through the charming highland village, noting the preponderance of colors in the women’s blouses, or huiples, particularly the embroidered birds depicting the colorful flocks in and around the village. We also observed a festival and feast celebrating Maximón, thought by some to be the reincarnation of a Mayan god, represented by a decorative wooden doll. The ceremony blended 16th-century Christianity and the ancestral Mayan paganism still practiced.

When I first visited years ago, we had flown directly from Guatemala City to Flores, gateway to the ruins of Tikal. The only on-the-ground contact was the 45-minute bus trip along a dirt road into the 222-square-mile Tikal Park. Our guides reminded us that the nation was still in a civil war and advised us to leave our passports and valuables in the hotel safe. They assured us that we would be in no immediate danger—provided we surrender everything if accosted by banditos!

Thankfully, we experienced no such event. In fact, seeing the great ruin had all but erased our fear. The scale of the temples built straight up from the jungle floor—among the tallest edifices in North America before the skyscrapers of the late 1800s—overwhelmed us. More than 2,000 years ago, among the vast ball courts, plazas, and labyrinthine stone chambers and corridors, over 10,000 citizens flourished in a city of 3,000 structures—like no other in the Americas.

A dozen years after my first visit, Tikal offered the same allure for me. But to reach Tikal this time, we traveled at a more leisurely pace, first passing through subtropical mountain passes, crossing the eastern border into Honduras, and visiting the ancient Mayan site of Copan—24 square kilometers filled with intricately carved stone (stelae) monuments and temples. The Copan acropolis thrived for centuries until it was abandoned in the early ninth century. We also visited nearby Quiriguá, with its carved stelae and huge boulders carved in the shape of animals—the finest collection of monoliths in the Mayan world.

From Copan we traveled north to the Rio Dulce, “Sweet River,” which connects Lago de Izabel with the Caribbean just below Belize. After an overnight stay at the Mansion del Rio, we boarded a riverboat, crossing Guatemala’s largest lake and then cruising down the narrow waterways of the Rio Dulce, framed by tropical foliage and flocks of colorful birds. On the way, three Mayan girls in a dugout canoe sold us water lilies. Our destination was Livingston, home of the Garifuna, descendents of African slaves who have preserved their own language and music.

Finally, we returned upriver toward Tikal. I met the prospect with mixed feelings. Its spectacular setting had stayed with me from years before, and I looked forward to exploring it more thoroughly. But I had also become captive to the reverie of the journey itself. Around every corner lay a breathtaking vista, a towering peak, a storm of colors, or a rush of birds. “Take your time,” I silently exhorted our driver. “Take your time.”

Jackie Olson is director of travel for Cal Bear Treks.