I feel like we’re finally getting to be expert travellers, especially where the Chicken Buses are concerned. What was once a HUGE amount of stress has now become almost routine. It goes kindof like this:

We walk into the bus lot, and when the ayudantes start shouting town names at us, we yell back the name of the town we want to go to. Normally, one yells it back at us and motions towards the already-rolling bus. I help Emily out of her pack (we usually have big backpacking packs on), and pass it up to the ayudante who is already on the roof. Emily hops on the bus (to snag us seats) while I pass my own pack up to the ayudante. I watch to make sure he actually ties them down, thank him, then get on the bus myself.

By the time I get on the bus, Emily has usually nabbed the safe seats for us. We met an older water system engineer during training, and he shared the secret with us: most bus accidents happen when overeager drivers are passing on two-lane roads. When they see an oncoming bus, they wait until the last second then try to swerve back into traffic, causing a nasty high-velocity head-on sideswipe. Thus, the safest seats are those towards the rear of the bus, on the passenger side. For some reason, the Guatemalans prefer to sit up front, even if it means sitting 4 to a seat, so we usually don’t have to compete for the safe seats. Sitting in the back is also nice beccause it’s a lot easier to exit when you get to your stop (since they use the emergency door as a regular door in Guatemala).

We put our knapsacks on the rack overhead, always careful that they are above and slightly in front of us (always in view, to prevent pickpocketing) and then we tie the straps around the rack (to prevent snatch-and-run). At this point, we can relax for a few minutes until the ayudante starts collecting fares. He makes his way from the front of the bus to the back, collecting money from the passengers according to their destination and some secret, unpublished fare chart in his head. This is bad news for white people, who are now subject to the Gringo Tax (being cheated). Again, Emily and I tackle the problem teamwork-style: she asks the locals sitting around us what the fare SHOULD be, while I take advantege of our rear-seat location and casually count the cash value of money changing hands as he works his way towards us. This is possible because in Guatemala, every different denomination of bill has a different color: brown= Q100, orange= Q50, blue= Q20, red= Q10, purple= Q5, and green= Q1. When he’s about a seat ahead of us, Emily and I compare notes, and if all went well, we know the real price… and pay the ayudante in exact change, before he even tells us his made-up price. Oh, and we always save up small bills before a trip, so we can make exact change.

Then, we settle in and enjoy watching the countryside roll by. If we’re tired, we sleep in shifts, to keep our eyes on our belongings.

When we finally arrive at our destination, we get our stuff and leave. For most trips, we travel the entire route of the bus (coincidence, mostly) but on occasion we have to get off the bus before the last stop. This means more teamwork: Emily warns the ayudante that we have bags on the roof, and he climbs up on to the roof while I get out and make sure all our stuff gets offloaded, and catch it as he throws it down. Sometimes, they try to leave with some of our stuff still on top (either out of carelessness or hurry), so Emily stands in the door of the bus to stop the driver if he tries to take off early.

So, now you know the many secrets of successful chicken bus travel. And let me tell you, it’s a lot harder without a partner!