Chicken Buses in Guatemala

In order to fully acclimate us to transportation in Guatemala, Peter decided that we needed to experience the "chicken buses." These buses had been BlueBird specials brought over the border from Mexico.

Once the buses arrived in Guatemala they were transformed. The engine was replaced with the biggest diesel available, the exterior was painted in brilliant hues with a nickname like Santa Rosa emblazoned on the side, a statue of Jesus and a placard reading Dios con Nosotros (God with us) was ensconced on the dashboard, and a fearless, cheerful driver with a love for loud macarina music was seated behind the wheel.

Our first ride was to Tecpan in the mountains and consisted of three different bus rides. Fortunately, Peter was a seasoned pro at finding the right vehicle and making the correct transfer, or I’m afraid Russ and I would still be wandering lost in Guatemala.

Peter would confidently stride ahead while Hannah, Russ, and I followed in his wake. Peter would hurtle from one to the other questioning the driver in Spanish on its destination. When he found the transportation we needed, he would quickly run around to the back. Hannah would signal for us to follow, and all four of us would clamber up the ladder at the anterior and enter the back. This was a sure way to get a seat since most Guatemalans are too short to reach the ladder, but 50-plus-year-old legs ache after a few climbs.

The passengers were dispatched three to a seat. Thus a bus that could comfortably hold 48 people, usually held over 72 before the aisles were filled. This did not include the various wares that were brought in like gladiolas, woven fabrics, and sometimes chickens. (hence the name—chicken bus) In the cities vendors would hawk their wares down the aisles while passengers boarded. They would enter from the front selling fruit, pastries, or nuts and exit through the back.

At departure, the macarina music would begin to blare, the engine would rev, and while the driver honked the horn vigorously we would shoot out from the curb and hurtle forward into traffic.

In Guatemala there is no speed limit other than attain maximum speed between stops so that you can pass everyone on curves, mountain sides, two-lane roads, and in congested traffic areas.

I clutched the front of my seat and was tossed from side to side while the local people calmly napped. On more than one occasion I was convinced that we would have a head-on collision, but we always made it into our lane or part of a lane before impact. The Dios con Nostros sign comforted me, but I must admit to making more than on confession of faith on the journey (just in case).

During the ride, Russ put to use his limited Spanish. The assistant would come to collect the fees and Russ would confidently say, "Dos," thus assuring that both of our seats were paid for.

Once we were separated and when I was approached I said, "Mi espouso tiene el dinero."

Smiling and nodding, the attendant went on and I heard again a confident, "Dos," from Russ.

Looking back, Russ gave me a broad smile and a thumbs-up. Clearly, he had everything under control. Peter sat next to him smiling too. Later, I found out he was smiling because Russ had just been short-changed and had actually paid for "tres."