The Chicken Bus

Whoever came up with the one-liner, "We're packed in here like a bunch of Mexicans" was not only PC-challenged, they clearly never traveled a bit further south to see how the Guatemalans get down on the Chicken Bus. Most locals use the chicken bus as their prime resource of transportation around the country because it is cheap, but more so because they have no other option.

A chicken bus is a stripped American school bus that is driven down to Guatemala, then decked out with extra bus seats to fit the most travelers possible, make-shift overhead baggage compartments, disco balls, loudspeakers, and prayer-posters. Partybus meets tacky taxi cab. All of these "well planned" and "strategically placed" additions are haphazardly screwed, taped, and welded together to make for an hodgepodge fiasco of a sight. After the inside is so seamlessly remodeled, the bus is taken to the Latino Xzibit to go through a crash course Pimp My Ride episode where it gets tatted up with the country's indigenous symbols, Christian Saints, bright crashing colors, and indiglo lights in order to one up another and let their presence be known. Many of the names of the buses are "Saint Something" or "God's Children" which I thought was a marketing ploy to play off of the extremely saturated Christian presence here, but later discovered it is because we all need to be reminded to say a little prayer before we step foot into one of the most dangerous and unsafe modes of transportation in Latin America.

The chicken crew is a two-man digi run operation. One takes the wheel, while the other collects money and runs (literally) baggage back and forth from the top of the schoolbus to the backdoor. There is a sort of organized-chaos feel to the whole operation because once the bus pulls up to the stop, people shove themselves on to seats where they can, seven people across, twenty rows back, a bit of a squeeze. I am amazed at the memory of the money-collector as he keeps track of who came on when, and sporadically will hop over people to get paid. This bus-buddy also would then disappear out of front door, while the bus is barreling down the mountainside at 50 mph, climb on the roof spider-man style to untie luggage on top, then fly back in through a window (Indiana Jones theme song ensues in the background) with your bag when it is time for you to be pushed out at your stop. These guys are nuts, I like their style.

I should take this moment to point out the extreme variable that adds to the unreal/everyday experience of the chickenbus; Landslides. Guatemala has had a huge problem with landslides after such a heavy rain season and a well-directed tinkle from Hurricane Agatha. There is one main road that connects all most major cities that is molded into hundreds of miles of switchbacks that will take a vehicle hours to navigate when the next destination may only be a forty-five minute crow flight away. The Pan American Highway scalps its way along the rim of monolithic vegetation-rich mountainsides where one side of the road is taken out by boulders, debris, and trees every few miles. No wonder the bus drivers are hammered the whole time sipping on a little Jesus Juice to quiet down the nerves. Ohh yeah, many of the drivers drink on the really dangerous routes to calm them down/ dumb down the conglomeration of countless close calls between every stop, makes sense right? Without guard rails or a buffer zone between the end of the road and the cliff, I start gazing down the edge of the cliff and quickly snap back to reality with the stench of melting rubber tires and tortillas that the vendor from last stop hustled to the burnt out farmer in front of me.

With bruises on my bum from the rusted out suspension and rickety frame that carries us from mountaintop to mountaintop, I am a bit worn out. The chicken bus system is wild, frantic, and uncomfortable, but like most aspects of daily routines I am beginning to see here in Guatemala, it works.