We’ve heard several times that you need to keep an eye out in Guatemala, and never get into a bus with a drunk driver. This sounds obvious, but like most warnings of this nature, if it were that easy, they wouldn’t have to warn you. Turns out, it’s a pretty subtle danger that you can miss entirely if you aren’t vigilant, as we found out today. We’ve had hundreds of bus trips since we’ve been here, and never before a drunk bus driver- they drive so fast and furious here, I can’t imagine a driver being dumb enough (drunk enough?) to think he could keep up. So, I became complacent. Turns out, the local microbusses in the north where we live can’t go so fast, due to the foggy conditions, TERRIBLE roads, and 300-foot dropoffs at all the cliff passages. Now add to that the even-more-depressed-than-the-rest-of-Guatemala economy that makes a lot more alcoholics, and you got problems.

We got in a microbus this afternoon for a 40 minute ride from Soloma. As is typical, there is a period of waiting for 10-30 minutes while they try to fill the bus to make the trip worth their time. We don’t yet know the drivers in Soloma like we do those of Temux, as we spend a lot less time there. Today, after we’d been sitting in the microbus for a few minutes, the driver turned around and greeted me in sketchy English.

This happens occasionally. We OBVIOUSLY speak English, being white and all, and those locals that worked long enough in the US to pick up some English like the opportunity to practice it, so we generally oblige. But I noticed an alocholic reek as we were talking. The sad thing is, i didn’t really think much of it; often in a bus of 20 people, you get at least one guy that is so drunk he’s sweating alcohol. The driver’s speech was slurred as well, but I figured it was just becuase he was speaking English, his third language. We taked about what type of work he did in the US, and he said how much he liked it there, and how grateful he was that he had the opportunity to go and make some money to buy his house and microbus etc. etc. This is pretty normal stuff, and I usually just follow along with the small talk. I explain what I do, and mention casually that I am an unpaid volunteer (to stave off the requests for money that eventually come). I mention that the people are kind here, and the countryside beautiful. I say I am learning the local mayan dialect, and that I enjoy it. I must have had this conversation a hundred times before.

Then, he gets more emotional then they normally do, and thanks us profusely for coming to the aid of his people. “We need to take care of you Americans that come to help,” he continued. “That is why I just had my ayudante (the boy that collects the fares) call a friend of mine to come drive the bus. I am pretty drunk, and I don’t want you two to get hurt on the way to Santa Eulalia.”

WHAT?!?!?!? So, then another guy (Edgar, I’d seen him before) comes up, talks to us a little bit through the passenger window, then opens the driver door and switches with Joe. Joe then crawled in the back with us, and we were off. Does this bother anyone? Sure, I’m mad we could have gotten hurt. But I was just about at the point of us getting out of the micro and catching a different bus. What is MORE scary is that we might have just saved the lives of the other 20 locals on board, just by being white. Joe didn’t seem to have any qualms about drunk driving THEM to Santa Eulalia.