Adventures in Bus Hopping

My week at the mountain school ended with my trip back to Xela, which, naturally, turned into an adventure of its own. Troy and I were both coming back to PLQ and we decided it'd be nice to catch the bus back together. Only one hitch: Troy had found himself a local "ladyfriend" and wanted to spend his last night with her at her house in Colomba. So we hatched a plan. Troy would call me from his gal's phone when he went to catch the bus in Colomba and I would then head out to the bus stop at the top of the road an attempt to catch that same bus as it passed by. There was only one road going from Colomba to Xela, and the buses generally run every half hour or so, thus our plan didn't seem so crazy that it wouldn't work.


The first part went quite perfectly; I got a call at noon and Troy said he was leaving the house for the bus in 10 minutes. It takes about 10-15 minutes for the bus to get from Colomba to the school, so I said I'd head for the bus stop in 15-20, and I did. It had started raining early - and buckets - thanks to the tropical storm, so I outfitted myself with my rain jacket, a poncho (actually a gift for Troy from one of the chaperones of the Colorado trip ... long story), and umbrella. I discovered that my attempt at re-waterproofing my hiking boots before I left the states did NOT work, but other than my feet I was quite dry and comfy. I waited about 15 minutes before I saw the next Xelaju bus (that's the name of the bus line that runs between Xela and Colomba) and I waved it down. This is how bus stops work in Guatemala, you kind of just stand at the side of the road and wave down the bus that you want. The Ayudante ushered me aboard and I gratefully stepped up into the dry interior of the bus. Of course, it was jam-packed with passengers so I didn't get any farther than the second step.

I said earlier that riding in the back of a pickup truck was the most dangerous form of transportation I have thus far taken while traveling. I lied. Standing on the second step of an old American school bus with the door open while taking Guatemalan mountain roads at 50 miles an hour in the rain is the most dangerous form of transportation I have taken.

After another stop a spot opened up for me to stand actually in the bus, rather than the doorway, and I was finally able to scan the passengers for my traveling companion. Troy was not on the bus. I stood, squished in the middle of 5 or 6 other passengers, traveling backwards as I was facing the interior of the bus, dripping water all over everyone, unable to take my backpack off, and pondering what to do. He must be on the bus behind this one, I thought. We must have just missed each other. The Ayudante started to express exasperation with me as I was getting his other passengers wet - wouldn't I just take off my poncho and bag??? As if I could move - you'd think it'd be hard to keep your balance standing next to the driver of an old school bus going 50-60mph on sharp mountain roads in the rain, but they pack people into chicken buses like sardines so it's really not possible to fall down - or do anything else. Another few minutes and I started to get pins and needles in one of my legs - it was stuck in an awkward position. I made an impulsive decision. At the next stop, I hopped off. The Ayudante looked puzzled, then slightly concerned, and pointed to his watch as if to say this was the last bus to Xela. Neither of us had much time to contemplate my sudden departure, the driver hit the gas and the bus pulled away, all within 15 seconds.


I had jumped off at one of those middle-of-nowhere stops. A father and his young son had been the ones to ask for it and they now stood in the rain looking at the loco gringa. "Donde va?" asked the father - where are you going? "Voy a Xela" I responded - I'm going to Xela. "Esta camioneta va a Xela" the father explained, somewhat puzzled (that bus is going to Xela). "Si, pero hay otros" yes, I said, but there are others. The father looked down at his son, looked back at me, shrugged, smiled a kind toothless grin, and wished me a good afternoon. The pair scampered across the road, down around the corner, and out of sight.

The implications of what I had just done then sunk in. I was standing at an unmarked bus stop, in the middle of a mountain range in Guatemala, by myself, in the rain. It also happened that this bus stop was at the apex of a corner - a blind bus stop if you will. Well that really was a rather stupid idea. I chastised myself and then took in my surroundings. If nothing else, I had stuck myself in a really pretty middle-of-nowhere. I was on the side of a lush, green mountainside. Across the road the land sloped down into a ravine/valley and trees poked up from the slope. Behind me was a gated and padlocked gravel drive that went up into the mountain. The road snaked around another bend to my right and in that curve across the street I could see some buildings, so I knew someone lived out here. I consoled myself with the reminder that this was the only road between Colomba and Xela. All of the Xelaju buses pass this way, it would only be a matter of time before the next one came, and in all likelihood Troy would be on that bus.

Although it seemed like longer, I didn't have to wait more than another 15 minutes. I had made a game of guessing the type of vehicle coming around the corner based on the sound while I waited, so I readily recognized the low deep rumble of the Xelaju bus working its way against the grade. I flagged it down with ease.

If the second Ayudante was surprised to find an extranjera at that particular point of the route, he didn't show it. I was again ushered aboard the dry waiting bus which was only slightly less crowded than the last. I quickly assessed that Troy was not on this bus either, but by now I had really had quite enough bus hopping and rainy mountainsides. I readily handed my umbrella and poncho to the Ayudante, who stashed them in the front of the bus, and after two more stops I managed to secure myself an actual, comfortable seat for the rest of the ride into Xela (it's only about an hour from Xela to Colomba - my bus hopping barely cost me an extra half hour).

When I finally did get myself back to school, Troy was already there, apparently having caught the bus before my first one. In the end, I rather enjoyed my solo adventure. Throughout both my trips to and from the mountain school I marveled at how much more comfortable I felt on the chicken bus than my first trip from the airport. A lot of the novelty had worn off and I was starting to enjoy the relative ease of this mode of travel. Need to get somewhere? Go flag down a chicken bus.