It was a very exciting day for me today. Given, I am relatively new to this country, but today I rode my very first chicken bus! It may not sound like much, but these ex-elementary school buses are an experience in an of themselves. Each one is styled out to the nines including pimped out paint jobs with nicknames of the cities/routes they serve, and adorned with the ladies names that the drivers love with all their hearts, these monsters of the Guatemalan highway cannot be stopped. No, i'm serious, they stop for nothing. They don't stop for speed bumps, highway patrolmen, or sharp curves that mark the mountainous landscape. These chicken buses are the Top Gun F-16's of Guate. The only thing they stop for is the odd person on the side of the road that waves them down. The way it works is that the driver, usually the more senior of the crew, tries as hard as he can to keep his foot on the gas, never, if possible, using the break between routes. The second in command (we'll call him 'Number 2') tends to be a younger apprentice, of sorts. His job is to stand on the steps yelling the route that they are travelling, so would be travellers will know the correct bus to hop on. After people have situated themselves in a seat and the bus has cleared any major population, 'Number 2' goes through the bus collecting fares. Also, along the way, travellers will be randomly picked up at any small town or juction. Actually, they will stop to pick up anyone at any point along the trek. Inevidably, people along the trip will have large packages or luggage that needs to be secured on the roof of the bus. Not only will 'Number 2' secure packages on top, collect joiners fares and continue to yell out the destinations of the bus, but he will do most of this as the bus is travelling at break neck speed. Wait... let me give you an example to make this perfectly clear. Let's say Jose needs to catch a bus from his hometown (a tiny peublo). Jose goes to the highway and flags down our bus. 'Number 2' lets Jose aboard, takes his large package and the bus takes off at full speed. 'Number 2' is only beginning to climb the ladder on the back of the bus at this moment, with the package in hand. As the bus accelerates, 'Number 2' ties down the parcel on the roof closest to the front of the bus, works his way to the back of the roof, climbs down the ladder and enters the bus through the back emergency exit (whose loud warning signal has been disabled, of course) to return to the inside of the bus. At this point, the bus has been at full speed for 2 minutes and is back to taking corners with reckless abandon. Our brave 'Number 2' is now running to the front of the bus to, once again, yell to possible clients our destination. All the while our friend Jose has been resting, dreaming of his family back in the small pueblo. Indiana Jones has nothing on these guys.
My trip consisted of 3 different chicken buses. The first was from Antigua to Chimaltenango. Chimaltenango is merely a transportation hub of a city as far as I could tell. At that point the first 'Number 2' yelled at me (calling me 'Gringo') to get my stuff together because it was time to transfer. By the time I got off, the first 'Number 2' had located my second 'Number 2' and pushed me into the direction I needed to go, literally. The second 'Number 2' grabbed my backpack and ran onto the bus, putting my bag in the overhead compartment, continuing to run out of the emergency exit in back to help more customers with the transfer. With the precision of NASCAR pit crews, busses were unloaded and loaded with, seemingly, no one on the wrong bus. Same thing happened with the second transfer in a place called Cuatro Caminos. My only shock came when I got on the third bus and the driver looked all of 15 years of age. I must have had a terrified look in my eyes because he yelled at me "!Sientate, Gringo!", which is a command to sit down. Not wanting to dissapoint my (recently) post-pubescent driver, I quickly found a seat and before I knew it, I was in my destination, Xela (shay-la), no worse for wear. I have no idea why, but I am completely exhausted from my 4 hour journey. Perhaps I have a case of the 'Gringo Backseat Driver Syndrome', who knows. Pics to follow.
