Imagine opening the world‘s biggest oven door and stepping inside to sense the eyebrow­singing temperature atop this highly active volcano. At one stage I looked down after leaping a glowing portal to the underworld and noticed all the hair on my legs had been vapourised.

"Step here or here," says Juan, pointing grimly at steaming rock piles that looked like any other in the area. "Don‘t step here," he says, broadly gesturing at another nondescript grey mass.

"In this place the crust is thinner and may break. Then you fall into the flowing lava underneath." Only now did my group of day­trippers fully grasp the danger of our situation. We were standing mere centimetres above a river of molten rock in excess of 1000 degrees Celsius.

Make no mistake: there‘s almost nowhere else in the world you can do this, as the authorities would never allow it. Only in Guatemala can such a high­risk activity be cheerfully offered to travellers without basic safety considerations like appropriate footwear, warning signs or even a rudimentary safety briefing. But that‘s the real Guatemala for you ­ raw and colourful, with an undercurrent of mortal danger. And long may it remain that way.

The highly active volcano Pacaya ­­which I found myself atop ­ is a mere stones throw from both the capital of Guatemala City and the colonial tourist mecca of Antigua. A steep two­hour scramble up horse tracks (horses optional) and loose volcanic scree delivers climbers to a desolate plateau of dried lava flows.

The "Eureka!" moment comes after you navigate a maze of super­hot vents and scale an outcrop of razor­sharp rock. Ahead, twin rivers of bright orange lava emerge from the crust and ooze lazily down the slope. Being this close to such elemental forces of creation is a humbling experience.

However, visitors still can‘t resist engaging in childish antics for the sake of a cheesy photograph or two. One favourite game is to speed­toast marshmallows over a vent. A more foolhardy photo­opportunity involves attempting to stir the flowing lava stream with a walking stick before it (and your arm) is engulfed in flame. Even at arms­length, the heat is so intense most people can cope with no more than five seconds of stirring before beating a hasty retreat lest their hair catches alight.

Meanwhile, Juan stands serenely nearby watching his clients risk their necks for a cheap thrill, as he has done hundreds of times before. Suddenly he springs into action and begins rounding us up, yelling: "Vamos chicos y chicas! (Let‘s go, boys and girls!)"

As the tropical sun sinks quickly between two more volcanoes on the horizon we descend in the growing gloom, sliding in a barely controlled manner on the loose gravel. Those who remembered to bring headlamps and torches guide others down the final section of trail in near darkness.

With a final glance back toward Pacaya‘s summit, we witness a lightning storm illuminate the lifeless mountain top in brilliant flashes. Without warning, the smouldering peak spewed pyrotechnic sparks over the plateau where we‘d been standing earlier.

Less adventurous travellers will be glad to hear Guatemala boasts many safer natural wonders. One such attraction, thought to be unique, is the water­covered limestone terraces of Semuc Champey, often acclaimed as the most beautiful spot in the country.

To get there I journeyed into the central highlands of Guatemala‘s Alta Verapaz region, where bountiful crops of coffee and corn cling to misty mountain sides. After reaching the sleepy Mayan village of Lanquin I boarded a four­wheel­drive vehicle‘s cargo tray and clung to a metal cage for the final tooth[loosening 45[minute ride into the mountains.

"This place had better be worth all the discomfort," I mumbled bitterly to myself while struggling to stay upright in the back of the truck.

Thankfully, my first thought upon beholding Semuc Champey was: "Somebody pinch me." For a moment I was convinced I‘d stumbled upon an Elvin grotto from a Hollywood fantasy movie set. The scene before me was so idyllic it seemed impossible that it was a natural geological feature. Nestled in a steep, jungle­sided ravine was a 300 metrelong natural limestone bridge, under which flowed 95 percent of the mighty Cahabon River. The remaining gentle trickle of water flowed lazily over several staggered limestone terraces which enclosed sparkling pools of various shapes and sizes.

Tropical ferns and gnarled tree roots met the cobalt blue water‘s edge to complete the lush setting. Large Guatemalan families and awestruck travellers lounged in the shallows or dived in the pools, climbing between terraces to explore nooks and crannies.

Visitors who don‘t fancy a refreshing swim can enjoy a complimentary pedicure, courtesy of the local marine life. Confused¬ Let me explain. I‘d met an Australian couple, John and Betty, while clinging white­knuckled on the drive from Lanquin. Soon after arriving, we were dangling our feet in the refreshing turquoise waters and cooing in giddy praise of our beautiful locale. Suddenly Betty yelped and leapt to her feet in alarm. "The bloody fish are attacking my feet!" she exclaimed somewhat overdramatically.

John and I patronisingly laughed off her concerns, attributing her reaction to something brushing against her foot. Unimpressed by our lack of concern, she frowned in mock annoyance and gazed suspiciously at the water. A few seconds later it was the guys‘ turn to be startled by an undeniable gnawing at our feet.

Looking down through the crystalline water, we could clearly see dozens of tiny fish nibbling the dead from between our toes. After getting acquainted to the sensation, we realised there was no pain involved. Sure, it‘s almost unbearably ticklish at first, but this fishy pedicure is harmless, and certainly much cheaper than similar treatments offered in upmarket health spas.

Yes, having tiny aquatic creatures chomping on your digits is now a sought­after treatment in beauty spas around the world, where you can be charged up to US$100 for the privilege. But it‘s all part of the package at Semuc Champey.

It‘s a rare combination of luck and timing that the natural wonder of Semuc Champey exists at all. The smallest change in the river‘s path would end the gentle flow of water over the limestone terraces. This would cause the famed powder­blue and emerald­green pools to quickly dry out into stagnant ponds before disappearing altogether. Therefore, my advice is to get there while you can.

Thankfully, the difficult mountain access road from Lanquin has kept Semuc Champey exquisitely isolated from large­scale development. The only accommodation is two backpacker lodges downriver. The accommodation is basic, to say the least. Even serious penny pinchers will be shocked by the cheapest bedding option: a musty, lumpy mattress in a barn‘s attic for US$3 per night.

Thankfully, spartan private rooms can also be rented for about $10 a night. Travellers looking for a little more luxury can find better places in Lanquin or the regional capital of Coban, about two hours away.

Eventually all the fresh mountain air and giddy adventure of Guatemala‘s spectacular outdoors began to overwhelm my senses. It was time to take a break from nature and get in touch with the local people‘s rich Mayan culture, and maybe do a little souvenir shopping. The renowned Chichicastenango Markets fit the bill perfectly.

Chichicastenango, in Guatemala‘s southwestern corner, is the colourful cultural nucleus of Mayan life. Timehonoured customs, traditional dress and Quiche Maya dialects are at their strongest in this region. Unfortunately, village life has been unavoidably affected by the modern world.

Fear not, you‘ll still see men dressed in colourful pantaloons and women clad in richly embroidered purple shawls hauling firewood through the verdant hills. However, travellers‘ naive assumptions of unchanging Mayan life are shattered when you notice many of them nattering away on mobile phones.

Chichicastenango‘s population more than doubles every Sunday as thousands of Maya descend from the mountains carrying textiles, crafts and produce to sell. The town‘s narrow, cobbled streets are swiftly converted into an open­air market of ramshackle shelters. The streets throng and pulse with intriguing Guatemalan faces, colourful goods, enticing smells and the buzz of entrepreneurial spirit.

Hand­woven and vibrantly dyed rugs of llama wool, cotton and other natural fibres feature prominently in the stalls, as do carved human and animal figures engaged in ritualistic poses. It‘s a trinket­hunter­s paradise.

Upon entering the market, I was soon swept along in a slow tide of colourful humanity. Purple, pink and black­clad, four­foot­nothing Mayan women weaved though the crowds with sacks almost as big as themselves slung over their ample shoulders. The locals may be small, but they‘re stocky and are experts at jostling through the crowd to navigate tight bottlenecks.

I lost count of the number of times I was elbowed out of the way by vertically challenged matriarchs with somewhere important to be. And let me tell you, it‘s quite disconcerting for a tall man like myself to be pushed and shoved by dozens of women who barely come up to his elbow.

Sadly, the global fame of this market has somewhat diluted its authenticity in recent years. It now caters more to the souvenir­hunting whims of westerners than the simple, daily needs of the local people. But you can‘t blame such poor people for chasing the almighty dollar, or quetzal, as the Guatemalan currency is called.

It‘s also difficult not to feel slightly repulsed by the hordes of cleanly scrubbed gringo tourists who arrive in tour buses and treat the locals like exhibits in a museum. The ugliest scenes of exploitation occur when packs of camera­wielding westerners corner locals with a sea of expensive lenses looking for that "authentic" cultural portrait to impress their friends back home.

Thankfully, the architectural and spiritual heart of Chichicastenango remains untainted by tourism‘s cynical consumerism. The 16th century Santo Tomas church regularly throngs with locals burning incense, making offerings or selling flowers on its rough stone steps. This humble, whitewashed church is also the perfect place to witness the unusual combination of pagan and Christian beliefs the Mayan people of this region have adopted. You‘re as likely to see pagan fire rituals and sacrifices to stone deities on the church steps as you are familiar Christian symbolism and ceremony.

The mix may seem incongruous to outsiders, but the locals have no trouble integrating these two wildly different belief systems. And, for visitors, watching these mystical ceremonies unfold amid the colour and bustle of the Sunday market is an experience notsoon forgotten.