GT - numero quatro - Coban-Guate-Pana

The next morning we caught the 5.30am minivan to Guatemala City. All buses and minivans in GT work like this: there's the driver, who just drives. Then there's his helper/conductor, who's in charge of collecting fares, squeezing everyone into the bus/van, negotiating with the police roadblocks, calling out the stops, and loudly advertising their final destination. So I heard the minivan before we actually saw it, because cries of GUA-TAY! Guatay-guatay-guatay! were piercing the night air. [guatemala city is abbreviated to 'guate']

The conductor gestures for our backpacks, and puts them in the backseat. We take a seat in front. It's a 3.5hr ride to guate. We doze. People come and go on the minivan, including a family of 5 with a chicken in a cardboard box, all of whom squeeze into the backseat.

Guatemala City! It's huge! Traffic is insane: buses, cars, taxis fighting for space. No skyscrapers, just 2-storey buildings, foodcarts and women selling vegetables and clothes displayed in mesh baskets, or simply blankets on the ground. We stop in the midst of all this bustle and everyone gets off the bus. We get a taxi to the Panajachel bus terminal.

The terminal was more like a garage with 3 buses in it. There was the driver, the conductor, and 2 other guys. As the bus driver started the engine, one of the guys said to us, "ten minutes, sleep! zona eight, normal!"

huh?

He repeated the cryptic message, then tried to explain in a whole stream of spanish that included the word 'policia'. He pantomimed lying across the bus seats and sleeping, indicating that we should do the same. The other guatemalan guy was already stretched out across his seat.

Feeling extremely confused, Charmaine and I decided to follow suit. The bus pulled out of the terminal.... Lying there, staring at the ceiling, a myriad of tumultuous thoughts.... It was a very existential 10mins.

Then, the bus stopped. Several normal people boarded, and appeared mildly surprised to see us stretched out on the seats, our feet sticking into the aisle. We hastily assumed normal sitting postures. Up till today I have no idea what happened that morning.

So we took that Guatemalan 'chicken bus' to the town of Panajachel, on the shores of Lake Atitlan. This is how the locals travelled and there was much discussion about these buses on the travel forum. The most succinct description I could find was "Chicken bus? Whoo hoo!"

These buses are old US school buses, given fresh paint in various bright colors. each one is slightly different. The one we were on was green and red, with a little santa hanging from the rear view mirror. I've seen bright red ones with yellow flames on the sides and hood, and also one painted like an italian flag. Bulky luggage was thrown on the roof, and the conductor could sometimes be found riding on top, ready to throw off bags at the next stop.

Char n I were sitting 2 to a seat on the bench seat. But each stop more and more people boarded the bus. people started sitting 3 to a seat. I had this random guy jammed against me, n I in turn was shoulder to shoulder with charmaine, who was getting intimately acquainted with the window. Soon, people were standing in the aisles, but they just kept packing them in. Then, the bus slowed down and the conductor yelled something in spanish. In unison, every single person standing crouched down. The bus slowed to a crawl. I saw policemen by the side of the road. The conductor jumped off.

2mins later he jumped back on, the bus sped up.

All the crouching people stood up again.

wtf?

It was definately an experience. I spent 4 hours on that bus, feeling like a sardine. By the end of it, I realised that my right butt and leg had cramped up because I was so squashed, all my weight was only on my right butt cheek.

At random stops, and especially at popular bus-terminal villages, there would be boys, men and women, hawking fried chicken, cold drinks, tamales, ice cream... the list goes on. There were even travelling salesmen that would board and ride with us for a couple stops, while earnestly trying to sell magazines, notebooks and miracle medicines. There were always at least a couple of people in that captive audience of 150 passengers who wanted to buy a trick bandage you can wear over your finger, that makes it appear like you've been pierced by a nail, for only Q10.

Them guys can shout really loudly and quickly. Those tougue twisters in grade sch would have been such a piece of cake for these professionals. That night lying in bed in Pana, the cries of "Pollo-pollo-pollo-pollo-POLLO!!!" and "Helados-helados-helados-helados-helados!" were still resounding in my head.