one if by land, two if by sea, three if by chicken bus

Estoy en Xela, en Guatemala.

Well, I made it. After a slight delay in Florida, my flight got in to Guatemala City right on time. The airport is expansive, clean, and mostly empty - which contrasts sharply to the throng of people waiting outside for arrivals. There are all of the families of travelers, plus street vendors selling all sorts of snacks - candy, fruit, meat, tortillas; plus people begging for money under the pretension of selling pens and pencils, and the taxi stand commotion.

I was met by a guide from PLQ, Ingrid, and another student, Errol, who had arrived just a half hour before me. Together we would travel to Xela, another four hours away by bus. Ingrid called a taxi driver she was evidently friendly with, and was reluctant to take any other taxi, even though we ended up waiting almost half an hour. Errol kept checking his watch; I had emerged from the terminal at about noon, and Ingrid doubted that we would make the 12:30pm 1st class (greyhound-like) bus to Xela, although she explained that they didn't always leave right on time. The next bus wasn't scheduled until 3:00pm and that was a concern since the school closed at 6 and if we arrived after that we wouldn't be able to meet our host families until the next day. Errol communicated our concern to Ingrid, who was apologetic but seemed unfazed. As was made apparent shortly after our taxi driver arrived, although the next 1st class bus to Xela didn't leave until 3pm, it certainly wasn't the only option.

As we were waiting for the taxi, Errol pointed out an old eurovan laden down with people, some standing and hanging on to the doorway, and luggage heaped on top, speculating that perhaps this was one of the infamous "chicken buses." I expressed my skepticism, chicken buses are old U.S. school buses that have been re-purposed for cross-Guatemalan travel, and they are brightly painted with chrome accents. I pointed out a long line of them at the bus stop our taxi driver eventually pulled up to.

a so-called Guatemalan "chicken bus"

The taxi was immediately surrounded by six or so men, offering to load our bags onto one of a dozen buses going to myriad places. They practically swarmed around Ingrid who firmly declined all offers of assistance. As we awkwardly paid our taxi driver amidst this swirl of faces, hands, and voices, Errol and I gave each other confused looks. There were no greyhound-like buses here. Only chicken buses. In a flurry of commotion, Ingrid ushered us onto one, with the driver saying, "Xela, Xela" as we climbed aboard. We hoisted our bags onto the interior luggage racks and grabbed a couple of seats. For a moment I had flashbacks to elementary school - which is perhaps why I chose the seat over the wheel, the one with the hump under your feet.

I used some broken Spanish to ascertain that this bus would take us all the way to Xela. "When will we arrive?" asked Errol, and was surprised when Ingrid responded with "tres horas" - three hours. "Only three hours!?" exclaimed Errol. "Si" said Ingrid, and pantomimed gripping the metal bar that ran across the back of every seat with white-knuckles. The reputation of chicken buses is that you won't soon forget your first time on one, and that Dramamine is potentially a key provision for the journey. Both accounts are accurate.

The bus departed very shortly after we boarded with only a handful of passengers. The first hour or so of our trip was through a main road in Guatemala City with lots of various businesses and houses packed in on top of one another. Every surface seemed covered in colorful advertisements, many hand-painted, and there were lots of people - it was definitely stimulation overload. Along the route were both formal and informal bus stops and it seemed like we paused at every single one. The driver would honk the horn and two men who I decided were like "bus attendants" would call out the open door "Xela! Xela! Xela!" as they tried to encourage people to climb aboard. Some people were clearly waiting for this bus, others were persuaded by the bus attendants to take it - the men would hop off the moving vehicle to grab people's bags for them and haul them aboard, or scramble the larger luggage up the side to the roof-rack. Much later in the journey I saw the main attendant do this while we were on a steep mountain road going around a sharp corner at about 60 miles an hour.

At nearly every other stop in the city a young boy would get on, looking about 12 or 13, and attempt to sell the passengers candy or snacks or tickets. They always gave a long speech about why you should buy from them (I presume - I obviously couldn't understand a word of what they said) and would walk up and down the aisle practically placing their fare in passenger's hands. My favorite was the boy dressed as a clown with a very practiced show-man's style speech. Ingrid gave him 50cents and I imagined he worked for some type of program benefiting children as he didn't seem to be selling anything. These characters lessened as we left Guatemala City and moved towards the countryside, although about halfway we had one come aboard who was kind of like a traveling preacher. He read a few bible passages and seemed to give a 10 minute sermon between two of the more rural stops.

Through this system of constant recruitment of passengers at every point along the route, we soon had an almost overflowing bus. People would get on and off at various places along the way, sometimes it seemed like we were literally dropping folks off in the middle of nowhere. One gentleman, who had gotten on right in front of us at the bus "terminal" had been carried aboard, clearly unable to walk. Two hours later, it seemed, he smiled and waved to the crew as they carried him to his waiting wheelchair and two family members on the side of the road, miles from anything other than the small collection of white-washed cement buildings sitting on the hill behind them. The wheelchair seemed in impeccably good condition for having nothing but steep, rocky dirt roads in the vicinity.

My stomach held out just fine for the first half of the trip, but as we got onto the highway that winds its way up through the highlands I spent most of my time with my forehead glued to the vibrating window taking deep breaths. Fortunately there was never want for a cool breeze and we ended up making a few substantial stops at what seemed to be miniature bus "terminals" (a larger pull-out from the main road with a few little shops selling snacks and drinks). At each one vendors selling chille reyenos (sp?), fresh fruit, tacos pollo, and fritas would come aboard, calling out their wares like the vendors at a baseball game. I had heard stories about the digestive aftermath of partaking in such snacks, so I simply watched and enjoyed the spectacle, but the allure was definitely there.

At our second-to-last of these more major stops, I managed to open my eyes to take in a picturesque scene. We were stopped at the top of a hill where a small town? village? surrounded the gravel pull-out for the buses. There was another equally brightly colored bus next to us, also being swarmed by the snack vendors. Outside the opposite window I saw that this hilltop was surrounded by forested hills and mountains in the distance, crowned with clouds - there was a contrast of the brown, packed earth under the bus and the lush green of the surrounding mountains. Petite Guatemalan vendors moved up and down the aisle from both the front and rear doors of the bus, the women in brightly colored huipiles with their long black hair in braids and chille reyenos tucked into baskets held in the crook of their arms. Moving against the current of vendors, were three gringo backpackers, boarding the bus in this rural mountain town. Towering over the locals, their pale skin was a sudden shocking contrast to my eyes, which had already grown accustomed to the sea of deep tan and brown.

We got in to Xela around 3:30-4:00pm where my stomach settled back down with a brief walk to one of the main thoroughfares. Ingrid hailed us a micro-bus - basically a 15 passenger van that acts as a kind of taxi - which took us the short distance across the city to Zona 1, where the school is located. Having been queasy for a good portion of the ride from Guatemala City and having read that it is ill-advised to take pictures of Guatemalans without asking, I didn't snap any along the journey. But I did take a quick photo of the view of the interior courtyard at school while I waited in the office for my host family to arrive.

this really doesn't do the colors justice. The building that is poking out into the courtyard is the cafeteria where they have coffee, tea, and fresh bread for our study break in the mornings. Es muy fantastico!

 I have since settled in and will post again soon with details about mi familia y la escuela (family and school), and will attempt not to write such a book next time :)

Buenos Dias!