Trens, aviones y coches

I left Mazunte Monday afternoon after bidding farewell to the beach and caught a pick-up to Pochutla where I bought my ticket for Tapachula on the Mexican-Guatemalan border. After my last stroll around a little Mexican town, my last sound of Mariachis in the park, my last authentic Mexican tacos, I boarded the bus for the 14 hour ride to the border.

I am not a fan of overnight buses, but I take them when I can because they are convenient and they save time and money. That said, I always dread the ride, the aching back, the horrible movies, the lack of sleep and the unfailingly early arrival at our destination. But this time, I was spared one of those facets because this bus never reached its destination.

Sometime the following morning, after blissfully drifting off to the blank screen that followed the incredibly loud screening of "2 Fast, 2 Furious," a movie that is bad enough at low volumes, I was woken up by the sounds of conversation and further by the realization that the bus was no longer moving. Deciding to ignore whatever was happening and try to catch a few more moments of rest, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and settled back down to sleep. Not five minutes later, I was awoken by the opening credits of "2 Fast, 2 Furious" for the second time. Looking at my clock and seeing that it was only 6:30 a.m., I stared incredulously at the screen for a few seconds before marching up to the front of the bus and expressing my disgust to the first guy I saw. "Estan locos?! Es seis y media en la mañana! Hay gente tratando dormir!" The poor guy pleaded innocence and explained that the bridge was out and there was going to be a long wait so the bus driver thought he would put the movie on to give people something to do while they waited. Making a decision for the rest of the bus, who I presumed, rightly or wrongly, were just as uninterested as I in watching this movie, yet again, at 6:30 in the morning, and at such an obnoxious volume, I searched for the volume control and pressed it until there was no sound, only the Spanish subtitles flashing across the screen. Presuming that anyone who wanted to watch the movie most likely wouldn’t understand the blaring English soundtrack anyway, I headed back to my seat for a little more sleep.

Unfortunately, by that time, I was awake and I could not get back to sleep, not to mention that the bus driver came back on and turned the volume back up, so I decided to get off and see what was happening. As I made my way to the door, I saw that at least half the bus had already taken their things and left to find other means of transport. When I got outside, I asked the bus driver what was happening and he told me that a bridge was down and that the only way to cross was to walk across. He said that the bus was going to have to turn around and head the 14 hours back to Oaxaca. Just at that moment, it started to rain and I began contemplating my choices: 1) get back on the bus for another 14 hour ride to Oaxaca and then another overnight bus to Guatemala the following day, or 2) get my bags and take my chances in the rain. Two Italian guys who had been on the bus with me passed me on their way to get their bags and with that my decision was made; I figured that I would be better off in a group than on my own, so I asked if they minded if I joined them.

We all grabbed our bags and followed a group that was boarding a colectivo (a pick up truck fashioned with a cage around the bed for use as security railings) and climbed aboard. We made it as far as the bridge, driving on the wrong side of the road, where we met another traffic jam. We all got off and headed toward the bridge. Apparently the bridge hadn’t fallen, but was being worked on by a construction crew. Flashing back to our driving adventures in Guatemala, I thought how so much of this could be avoided if they just had some means of broadcasting road construction.

We walked across the bridge and were met by the first of what was to be miles of backed up traffic waiting for the bridge to be constructed. After asking and being refused by numerous trucks that weren’t going as far as Tapachula, we got a ride in another truck, in which the driver agreed to take us as far as the next town. Our group had now grown by one, a Norwegian fellow, whose name I couldn’t pronounce even if I could remember it, and we joined a group in a large parking lot, which were also apparently waiting for a ride somewhere. After asking around, we learned that there were collectivos to Tapachula, but because the bridge was closed the schedules were off. We were passed by numerous shuttles on their way to other towns, seemingly so full of people that there was no room for us, but which somehow were able to cram on 10 more people before taking off again. When we finally did spot one to Tapachula, we had just picked up our bags, when the crowd surged and the nearly full shuttle was soon packed, leaving us to dejectedly drop our packs back in the dirt.

After another 15 minutes or so, a man aware of our plight offered us a ride for 400 pesos a person, an extraordinarily high amount for such a short ride. One of our group asked him if the price would drop if he picked up other people on the way, but he refused and none of us liked the idea of paying 100 pesos crammed in a bus with 30 other people paying 15 pesos a piece. Finally, one of the guys flagged down a cab full of people, who agreed to come back for us and take us to Tapachula for 250 between the four of us.

Once in Tapachula, the Norwegian guy and I, parted ways with the Italians and boarded a 6 hours bus to Guatemala City, where we found another couple who had been on my original bus and had managed to make their way in a similar manner.

We arrived in Guatemala City at 4:00 p.m. and because I had spent much more than I had planned on transportation in the past 22 hours, I planned to get a chicken bus to Antigua, but the guy who had been on my original bus had a friend who drove a shuttle and offered to take me for what I would pay on the bus, since there was room and they were going there anyway. So the Norwegian guy and I climbed into the back, the other couple in the front, and we headed off to a Hyper Paiz, Guatemala’s version of Super Wal-Mart, where we picked up three Guatemalan women and their truckload of groceries, which they proceeded to load onto the middle seat. Finally full, we started off to Antigua, where we arrived precisely 24 hours from the moment I boarded the bus in Pochutla.

Exhausted, but happy to be back in Guatemala and off any sort of moving vehicle, I quickly found a hotel and settled in for a decent night’s sleep.