Road Trippin'

So finally, that Friday night, after a bit of studying I think, or maybe a nap, we went back to the school for a traditional Mayan meal. It cost like $4 a head. We neglected to BOOB (bring our own beer) but Fabian brought some weed of course, so that made the night fun (for others- you were thinking for a second there weren't you?). It was fun and pretty tasty, and by candlelight with a small enough group of people at each table that we got to know some people, all of whom we'd be traveling with the next morning. We said our goodnights after meeting Cheryl, Cynthia, Anne, Brie, Paul, and Kelsey, and I think that was the night we walked home with Anne cause she lives across the street from the brewery- and so did we.

So the next morning we packed into a minibus and the more robust backpack-type luggage (namely OUR backpack, with our stuff consolidated cause we knew it'd be tight) ended up on the top rack. Yyyyyyeah sweet- later heard horror story from the five U of Dayton kids (some of whom were from Chicago-ish) that on their bus trip to Xela their shhhstuff got SOAKED soaked SOAKED on top of the bus and everything they had was drenched for the next day until it dried. Thankfully no such mishaps.

But that's what happens on Chicken Buses (so-called by Americans, something else in Spanish unrelated). They are repurposed school buses from the US, belching diesel fumes, garishly painted and personalized, usually with names in script letters in the back window, or a phrase in the front window not unlike many Latino hoopties here in Chicago that say "Margherita" or "Dios es me Padre" or something like that in the top of their windshield. Anyway these buses, made to seat like 40, usually seat more like 80. The windows are tinted and there's a wingman guy who stands in the constantly open bus door, hawking riders, taking fares, and jumping up on the roof of the (yes MOVING) bus to strap down their luggage, then he swings back down the ladder on the back of the bus and into the bus. These buses drive from town to town, and you can get like a 45 minute ride for around a dollar. As long as you're not claustrophobic or careening off a cliff phobic. See these examples:

These things were everywhere. If you look closely, the one in the back had the front of a semi-truck, the International brand ones. I dunno how they did that. But its common. Must be like the BMW of school buses.

The front window also stated the bus's route.

By the way, these buses don't actually have chickens in or on them. Its not like Indiana Jones in India or something. But I did see a lady carrying a giant tray on her head with around 7 LIVE chickens tied down on it in a net. See the ladders and racks though??

So, I digress. But that was information in need of dissemination. Anyway, we piled in the microbus, which is like an oversized minivan, not like a full size van, and seats like 14, or 16, depending on...things. Here's us piled in, a photo from the front seat. Miguel on the left is a maestro and was the fearless leader for the weekend. He was sitting on his backpack basically in the metal footwell next to the sliding door. On the way back he turned around and sat on the warm hump sticking out from under the front seats where the engine was. Then there's Paul, Kelsey, Dayton kids in back, some bald dude, Cynthia, and a creepy guy with sunglasses and a mustache :)

Typical scenery during a drive ANYWHERE. My mom would have loved the cliff-hanging roads. Definitely exhilarating.

The trip was tight but not too hot, and we had mostly fresh air except when following chicken buses up or down some mountain. We were always going up or down, by the way. Flat doesn't exist. I think Anne got kinda car sick but everyone else was okay- but by the end I was ready to get out- starting to get car sick/tired of the density of people and occasional fumes. Brie had to pee like mad, which we found out was like every hour, and the rest stop where people (and kids) tried to sell us stuff had no working potty. Bummer. Then suddenly we arrived after two hours, and all of us newly best friends piled back out. (Uh, cue the next slide please?)

Those kids were persistent. And they could smell Anne's weakness for buying things like sharks smell blood and dogs smell fear. And that's Anne handing money out the door of the van. Oh Anne........

This is what you call a Guatemalan carpool.

Though that dog may look completely flattened and dead, he was as life-ful as most dogs in Guatemala- which is to say comatose and gaunt from malnutrition.