The Chickenbus Laws

The thought of arriving in Guatemala City was relatively comforting after two solid days of flying between five airports in four countries. I was whisked off by a shuttle bus to the small colonial town of Antigua, and after 30 minutes of bypassing grungy streets, crumbling buildings, and litter strewn gardens I arrived in the colourful, volcano-ringed gem.

The appeal of Central America with its ruins, volcanoes, jungles, beaches, rich history, and vibrant culture was begging to be explored…

Como se… what?

I arrived speaking no Spanish at all but was fairly confident with my hello’s, goodbye’s, please’s, thank-you’s, and counting to twenty. Apparently Spanish is easy, how bad could it be? The charming town of Antigua was my home for a week while I threw myself into Spanish classes (a crash-course really, just ‘to get me by’ I briefed my teacher). It turned out that ‘getting by’ was a little harder than I had imagined – Regular and Irregular verbs; Male and Female; Seven tenses - I extended my classes for two extra days.

On my last day I had a morning of solid conversation with my teacher. She stressed the importance of pronunciation and said that the same word can have two different meanings according to how it is said. Learn as many verbs as possible she urged. When in doubt just spit out a few verbs and the occasional noun and you’ll eventually get the message across. Spanish words are either male or female she reminded me. El for male, La for female. If there is a mixture of people always use the male form.

Pronunciation. Check.

Verbs. Check.

Sexist Pronouns. Check.

Survival Spanish. Check.

My dear American friend learnt the pronunciation lesson the hard way. In polite conversation she asked cuantos anos tienes? She thought she was asking how old the person was. Años means years. The ñ is an ‘nya’ sound, and not a flat n sound. Anos means something entirely different, and, unbeknown to you will lead to an interesting conversation about how many anuses the person might have.

The Belly Rules the Mind  ~ Spanish Proverb

I lived with a Guatemalan family during my studies. An amazing experience and insight into the life of the average Guatemalan. The food was interesting to say the least. My stomach took a few days to get used to the Guatemalan (I later realised it wasn’t isolated to Guatemala) cuisine. No meal is complete without beans and rice (and not or). Beans and rice; rice and beans; beans, rice, and deep fried chicken; beans, rice, and deep fried potatoes; beans, rice, and deep fried zucchini… you get the point. Very often an egg is thrown in for variety – the third staple – eggs in every shape, size, and form are consumed at any of the three meals, and quite often, at all of the three meals.

The cultural hub and meeting point in any village, town, or city in Central America is the market. It’s an amazing cultural experience to grasp with a strong stomach and a lot of patience. Overweight Señoras chatter loudly as they navigate the narrow passageways carrying baskets of steaming pan on their heads; young Mayan children dress in bright traditional dress and offer shoe polishing for a miniscule fee; piles of tropical fruits and vegetables tower at eye level; and fish, chicken, and pork lie in the warm, stagnant air attracting countless flies while their stench flows through the grimy, wet corridors. On more than one occasion I had to breath through my mouth and hot-foot it through the throngs of happy market-goers whenever the meat section came into sight. The local market sells everything. There are children’s clothes, adult movies, dog food, and piñadas for Africa. And in case you were in short supply there are even stuffed iguanas and armadillos holding empty tins of locally produced beer… a classy statement piece for your entrance hall perhaps?

Eating locally is definitely the best option for budget travelers, and ‘street food’ is a cheap, and most times delicious alternative to eating in restaurants. There is no shortage of choice – burritos, nachos, fajitas, tortillas, enchiladas, quesadillas, empanadas, you name it. They can be found on any street corner but I’ll be damned if I know the difference, just that you can have any filling you want, as long as it’s with rice and beans.

The Chickenbus Laws

Probably the most interesting place to see the Latin culture in action is on the public transport system, in particular the chickenbus – the old American school buses that have been painted in vibrant, eyecatching colours and designs. The chickenbus is a central part of Latin American life and gets you from A to B in the cheapest possible way – even if that means doubling your travel time because of the pick-up’s and drop-off’s that occur every 20 meters or so.

Once you’ve found the bus you want (usually because you’ve heard the conductor screaming its destination from the other end of the town) your bag is thrown onto the roof along with bicycles, blankets, live animals and the occasional person. If you’re lucky it’s tied down with whatever they can find, but you cannot interfere with the process, and if your bag does eventually arrive at the same destination as you, count yourself lucky. You find a spacious seat next to a window and watch as the bus quickly fills up.

The seats (clearly designed for 2) are also clearly designed for children, so when the conductor looks annoyingly in your direction and swats his hand for you to move over in order to fit 3 people on each seat, you do so quickly to avoid an inevitable confrontation.

The buses clearly state that their carrying capacity is for 60 persons seated and 15 persons standing (remembering that they were designed for children). The norm is closer to 180 seated, and 45 standing. Just when you think they cannot possibly fit another person onboard, another 6 people elbow their way through the crowd to a position under someone’s sweaty armpit or against a greasy window.

The competition between bus conductors is fierce and there is no shortage of aggressive marketing. The conductor has an assistant whose primary job it is to find customers. By any means possible. He will shout out the window at each and every person he sees on the roadside, regardless of whether they look like they’re waiting for a bus or not. He will even approach a person who is clearly heading for the bus to León and shout ‘GrannaGrannaGranna’ in their ear in the hope that they will drop their belongings and spontaneously jump on a bus to Granada instead. You’ve got to give them credit for trying.

The bustling activity on a chickenbus journey is an event in itself, and provides a mini view into the complexities of Latin American culture in general. Apart from the intriguing people-watching opportunities, there are a host of other activities all going on at once. Vendors jump on at various points along the journey selling everything from toothpaste and biscuits, to iced coffee and socks. Up and down the crowded aisle, they push and shove and screech at the top of their lungs. Just don’t make eye contact because they WILL manage to sell you something no matter how much you protest.

Passengers casually suck on ice creams and cold drinks, and munch on greasy chicken pieces and unidentifiable delicacies, all adding to the sweet smell of humid sweat and diesel fumes. There is never litter on the bus. As soon as a packet of chips or a cool drink is finished the remnants are discarded out the window, it’s far easier that way – onto the pavement, into someone’s garden, or into a pristine piece of virgin rainforest – without a second thought.

Occasionally people board the bus to sell specific products. After a 15-minute spiel – all in Spanish of course – the vendors pace the aisle looking for victims. I wish I could understand just half of what they said in their spiel - without a doubt it would be a priceless lesson into the art of sales, because no matter how absurd the product – from bath salts to miracle cures promising to treat anything from hair loss to kidney failure - there are always buyers on the bus.

God is everywhere. His name is plastered on buildings, on street signs, on the sides of mountains, and in the chickenbuses. Being deeply Catholic, the Latinos have countless statuettes, banners, and portraits emblazoned with the names of Jesus, Dios, or Maria in their homes and places of work. Dios bendiga este bus on the front of most buses comforts people by knowing that God will look after them on their journey – God has blessed this bus. It’s about time he made another visit. The inside of the buses are considerably less glamorous than their vibrant exteriors. The seats are torn and stained, and the foam stuffing acts as a sponge against passenger’s sweaty thighs. The windows’ once sleek-looking tint job is peeling off to a point that it’s difficult to see through the glass. Even if you manage to get the jammed windows to open it’s probably not a good idea. The strange cultural acceptance of spitting phlegm into public areas is not restricted to roadsides and pavements. Bus windows are also common recipients of the ritual. Believe me, no matter how stuffy the inside of the bus is, it could always get worse – the last thing you want is to get caught with your head out the window when the bus going at a top speed of 40km per hour when the man in front of you decides to expel some deep-seated phlegm out into the glorious sunshine.

The chicken bus is a unique experience. A journey through Central America would be incomplete without a trip on this infamous vessel of life.

A Man's Heart Without Nature Becomes Hard ~ Standing Bear

The humid jungles and rainforests, black volcanic beaches, glassy lakes, and cascading waterfalls are just a few of the spectacular natural wonders to explore in this part of Central America. So different to anywhere I’ve been in Africa, the air is almost dripping with moisture, luscious tropical fruits grow like weeds, and the vegetation is a luminous blanket over the varying landscapes.

I roasted marshmallows over hot lava on my first volcano hike – a tough one to beat. The countries I have visited so far have, without a doubt, had some of the most exhilarating and heart-pumping outdoor activities I’ve experienced. On my second and hardest volcano hike – the grueling Volcan San Pedro in Guatemala - my guide, Fernando, was completely perplexed that I was from Africa. How did you get there? And are there any other blancas there? I was delighted by his interest and the questions kept coming, but with each little step I took up the 45 degree angled, 6 hour hike, I felt my legs die a little more inside, I could hardly breath the thin air, let alone respond to his enthusiastic questions with educated answers.

We reached the summit - 3020m - and were treated to the most arresting views of Lake Atitlan and the surrounding villages below. Definitely worth the effort, and a firm warning sign to get fit before the impending Inca Trail!

Snorkeling off Honduras’ Roatan Island was a surreal experience. My weightless body lay suspended above a 50m drop-off which descended in layers from dull blue to deeper, darker nothingness - a place where sunlight is forbidden and only the brave care to explore. Something about seeing the reef to my left and a sheer drop with no end below me felt like what I can only imagine flying or being on the moon would feel. The reef fish swam two meters below the surface and darted in and out of colourful swollen corals and waving sea fans. Yellow trumpet fish, Fairy basslets, Squirrelfish, Foureye butterflyfish and many more mesmerizing colours and patterns brought the sea to life.

Volcano boarding down Cerro Negro, Nicaragua, was an experience that will not be easily forgotten. A short hike up the black volcano gave us magnificent views of the revolutionary town of León and the surrounding area, right the way to the Pacific. The active volcano breathed warm sulfur from deep within her belly, but allowed us one short ride down her steep gravelly back. Dressed in bright green jumpsuits and protective goggles we raced down the volcano on bobsleigh-type boards. An exhilarating ride with speeds so fast it was impossible to stop once you’d started. By the time I reached the bottom my mouth, ears, and hair were filled with gravel, and my socks and underwear also managed to get their fair share. A unique and unforgettable experience indeed. The boarding and the extraction of gravel.

Surfing, as I have come to learn, is much more than just a sport. It’s an immensely appealing lifestyle of sun-kissed tans, crystal clear seas, and the laidback attitude that comes so naturally when one has a surfboard under their arm. The coastal towns of Guatemala and Nicaragua attract swarms of international surfers and beach bums who come in search of the next wave. San Juan del Sur on Nicaragua’s Pacific coast is the epitome of the little surfer town. The streets are filled with shirtless men donning salty blonde locks and beer-branded vests; while perfectly tanned girls strut the shortest shorts and brightly coloured wayfarers.

My first lesson was with a group of friends and a crazy Brazilian instructor. Alfredo has been surfing for 37 years and claims he’s 44 years of age, however, the wear and tear from the salt and sun puts him at at least 64 years young. A bubbly and patient teacher who explained the art of surfing in a clear and concise way. Puush yur butt outt, bind yur nees, and luuk forrrward al ways. We were now on the water and anxiously awaiting our turn to be thrust infront of an unforgiving pacific wave, about to find out the outcome. Paddil chica paddil, paddil I stood up on my first wave and, unbelievably, almost every wave after that too. What an amazing feeling! Thut was so guud chica! Pure hard work, Pure exhilaration, Pure freedom. My new love affair.

Watch this space for the next installment – La Pura Vida: Costa Rica!

I love this quote:

To live is a rare thing; most people simply exist

Oscar Wilde