Chapter 2: The Magic Bus

Simply put, in Guatemala the public transportation consists
of school buses. These are not, however, the plain jane orange and
black "Blue Bird" buses we Americans are accustomed to riding in to
school, mind you, but fantabulous black-smoke-belching rainbow-colored flying
machines that have acrobatic passengers hanging out of back
doors, ladders, oozing out of windows, and jumping for the steps
as they roll swiftly away. They have shiny chrome naked ladies on
their bows with silver headlamp accents and blue and green and red and
orange racing stripes with names like Guadelupe and Esmeralda in large flowing
print on both sides. Bundles of market goods wrapped
in painted, hand-woven textiles, firewood, sacs of corn and spare tires
adorn the top and hold fast on the roof rack. The inside is
decorated with Tweety Bird, Mickey Mouse, and of course, Jesus Christ, along
with plastic multicolored fringes and lights. Women's names are
stickered on the stern window as if the bus was a grand ship named
for the queen and traversing the Atlantic. The buses honk loud and
often and can be heard from the next town over so as to let the people
there know its coming, so they won't miss it. The audantes
(conductors) are fat beer-bellied men who try to grind their way down an
isle that is literally 6 inches wide to collect the bus fare. Passengers
hang off of either side of the seats into the isles so that they are actually
helping to hold each other up from falling into the isle way by pressing their
hips together and praying (along with those that are standing and holding
onto the above bars for dear life). The buses are made to seat at
most 75 persons with 15 three seater benches and
15 two seaters, but in Guatemala they can hold upwards of 150
easily! Whole families of 4 to 5 can sit in one bench seat and often
do. Babies are breast fed, naps are taken on complete strangers
shoulders, and you often feel as if you had just been molested by
the audante as he takes your money! The call of
the conductor rings clearly thru the crisp cool mornings above
the crow of roosters and barking street dogs. He calls out through the
din of grinding gears, pad-worn brakes, and long-gone mufflers--Guate! Guate!
Guate! Out the window you can see a day in the life of the Guatemalan
world pass before your sleepy eyes: Guatemalans on their way to
work--ladies in heels, black skirts and pressed white blouses; children late to
school in red & white or blue & green checkered uniforms,
socks pulled up to their knees; traditional elder women with faces creased from
years of toil and labor, baskets of red & gold flowers, vases of agua,
or colorful cloth wrapped bundles balanced precariously on their
heads, they walk down the narrow sidewalk an inch away from having the bus
blow their heavy loads off their heads as it races by! The men are short
and stocky and seem to be built for carrying cargo that
weighs twice as much as them; with straps across their forehead for better
leverage, they pull sacs of corn or bundles of firewood up the
hills like a Budweiser Clydesdale. We race on cobblestone
streets, by concrete block walls painted orange and tan
with burnt-red Mexican tiled roofs, interrupted by black iron doors
and stained glass windows. Bouganvilla spilling intense purples,
scarlets, amarillos, y verdes over the edges of walls and ancient stone
churches left in ruins by earthquakes long past. I depart the
camioneta (magic bus) with a kind of renewed view of the world, adrenaline
pumping so as not to miss my stop. I step off the bus, back pack in
hand and as I pass by the wonderful people of this land, I say Buenos
Dias! and their tired worn faces (& aching backs) light up and
with a toothy smile they return my greeting with a bright and shiny Buenos
Dias! and it is indeed, it is a Good Day!