ballad of the bigote

A funny thing happened the last time I was on a chicken bus. I was trying to strike up a conversation with a older Mayan woman that was switting next to me when I relized that she spoke less Spanish than I speak. Well, i'm not exactly sure that she din't speak but that was the idea I got in trying to talk to her. She would just look out the window or stare staight forward when I asked her how she was. There was no answer and I asked a few more questions with no answer too, until I thought that I was enjoying asking questions to a brick wall a little too much. I was getting carried away messing with her and didn't even think that it may be construed as being rude. In fact, many of the indigenous people in Guatemala speak Mayan as their first language and only a little Spanish, if any at all. I have been told that there are something like 24 different dialects of the Mayan language and that many of the different dialects cannot understand each other. I was also told that many of the Mayans live in very remote areas that have no interaction with gringos and only limited interaction with Spanish speakers. That being said, it's very possible this little old lady had no idea what to do with me, I don't know. When she got off the bus a little old man that was sitting behind me tapped my shoulder to talk. This is where I enter the disclaimer that, with my limited level of Spanish, the following events are described as how I understood them, very possibly not what actually was said. Be forewarned.
The little old guy was probably 70 plus years old with wrinkly weathered tanned skin with sunken eyes from old age and a life of, most likely, difficult labor, by the looks of him. He said something to the effect that me that some people don't feel comfortable talking to strangers on the bus. I can assume that this could be due to many different reasons. Perhaps there have been robberies, perhaps they could have been insulted or mistreated. I don't know, maybe some people just don't want to talk to their neighbor on the bus. That's kind of the way I am on planes so, who knows? Back to the story, this little old man tells me some people don't like to talk on the bus and he thought it was pretty obvious I was not a Guatemalan which may have made her a bit intimidated. I chuckled at this and asked him how he knew I wasn't a Guatemalan and he stated that he picked me out right away when I got on the bus. Fantastic! Perhaps it was my fleece, backpack, butt white skin, six and a half foot frame or the constant look of confusion that I seem to sport down here, but this ol' fella had me pegged immediately. I thought I would play with him for a moment and asked him how I might be able to blend in more, you know, become sort of a local. Without hesitation he looked at my beard and told me that Guatemalans don't have beards, just mustaches (bigote in Spanish). Perhaps if I had only the mustache some people might believe. Then he squinted his eyes, shook his head side to side and said the although some might be fooled, he would still be able to pick me out as a gringo. Then he patted me on the shoulder and looked out the window at the passing mountains. The best part is I still can't figure out if he was serious or messing with me. And the teacher becomes the student... so I give you Guatemalan Brad, and it looks like he doesn't want to talk his neighbor on the bus!