This is the intersection where we find our final bus of the day. This is not our bus. But, I'm getting ahead of the story....I could hear the Allman Brothers tune in my head all day. We easily found another bus in Cocales, a crossroads town. I talked to the conductor, with map in hand, and told him where we wanted to go. He worked out a way to get us there, and tossed our bags to the roof of the next chicken bus. This time, we weren't so lucky, and were standing, butts and belts in someone's face. Eventually, I got a one-cheek seat, beside a man, woman and child. I eventually figured out they weren't together. Edwardo (probably spelled Eduardo) began asking questions, and I learned he had lived in Lousiana, not far from Lafayette. He worked in the sugar cane fields a little, but mostly worked as a landscaper for a cardiologist. He was very proud, and showed me his friend/employers card. The doc had just been to Guatemala for visit. When I asked Eduardo if he'd go back, he said probably not. He liked the money, but missed his family. In front of us, another man heard us talking, and as the bus began to empty, he wanted to talk, too, but in English. We laughed as he practiced, and wanted me to stay in this town and be his teacher. I got a hug when he got off the bus.
The bus pulled into a parking lot in Mazatenango, and parked. I'm puzzled, I thought we'd go further on this bus. The conductor searched for us in the crowd as we collected our bags from the roof, and gave me 40 Q. The bus was having mechanical troubles (we couldn't tell!), and he owed us a partial refund. He said, 'wait here', and disappeared in the crowd, leaving us with Eduardo. Stuart bought a sandwich from a street vendor, and the three of us shared it while we waited. I think Eduardo was surprised when he saw us eating street food, and he and I talked about food and cooking while we waited. The conductor returned and, he and Eduardo led us by the hand through the crowd and confusion to another bus, where they both argued with the conductor of that bus about the price. Eventually, all was agreed on, as Stuart and I just stood there trying to understand, and our bags were stowed. We gave and recieved hugs and kisses, and boarded the bus. Eduardo watched, and I waved, until the bus pulled out of the lot.
This bus is not a chicken bus, but a Pullman. That simply means that the seats are 'fitted', and if you're lucky enough to get a seat, you don't share it. There was a stack of plastic stools in the back of the bus, and they were passed forward for people to sit in the aisles. It's not better: Pullman seats are always broken down, and miserably uncomfortable. My seat mate was a local woman who spoke beautiful English, but didn't want to chat, which was fine with me. I wanted to look out the window and take a few notes. The man behind me, however, did. He and three friends were traveling from Honduras to Mexico, to find work. We're down off the mountains now, and it's hot. The windows don't open much, and we're traveling behind a truck hauling something dead. Or rotten. Or both. Finally, the bus gets a chance to pass and we all laugh with fresh air. Soon, however the bus pulls over to the side of the road, mechanical trouble of some kind. A few of the men get off, in true Mexican/Guatemalan style, and look under the hood. After about 30 minutes, they climb back on, and we drive on. My friends from Honduras are fascinated with the small map I have, and we talk about their route and where they live and where they are going. A couple of them have big machete-type knives, like many men who work in the fields.
We pick up and drop off more people, pass again through Retalhueleu, and then Coatepeque. Somewhere, we change buses again, but by now I've lost track of the route. Our conductor asks where we're going, and tells me he'll let me know when to get off. After a while, he comes to the back of the bus, where I'm sitting, and begins to talk. He's lived in Houston (or was it Dallas?), and has a friend there. He, too, made good money, which he sent home, and is happy to be back in Guatemala. He asks me to send a text to a friend in TX, in English, saying he's working on a bus, making money, and all is well. I almost finish when he calls for us to get off...I get yet another hug and kiss, as I give him instructions to finish the text!
By late in the day, we find ourselves on the side of the road, at an intersection marked with a couple of food vendors set up under a huge avocado tree and a mango tree. See the first pic in this post....Literally an intersection in the middle of nowhere. Again, we're 'adopted', and are told to wait, this young man selling cold drinks will let us know which bus to get on. Because we're gringos, we're pretty curious, and as always, people stare and smile when they're caught. Not many gringos travel by bus, we're learning. And, we're wwwwaayyy far off the tourist track here. After about 20 mintues, a smaller bus, a colectivo stops, and we're shoved on board. My notes from that afternoon say, "I don't know where Stuart is, but trust he got on the bus. I threw my pack to the dude on the roof, pushed my way on board and shoved my personal pack under a seat. Two women made room for me between them on the back seat." Later, I see that the driver has made room beside him for Stuart. A front row seat, of sorts. He's sitting on the transmission hub, but he's sitting!
We're paralleling the coast now, and we pass miles and miles of banana plantations and a few tiny villages. At one stop, I heard the conductor on the roof, and a loud noise. He passed down a 4 x 8 sheet of corrugated metal to a man, who put it on his head and walked down a dirt path. Guess he's getting a new roof patch tomorrow. A little while later, we stop in front of a house surrounded by bananas. A woman hurries out of the house with a huge stem of plantains, hands them to the driver who hands her some money.
The two women I'm sitting between want to chat, and tell me about their children. They tell me about working in the plantations, and ask where we're going and what we're doing. One tells me her sister lives at the beach we're headed to, and that we can stay with her. Just get to the island and ask for Lily, she says. Must be even smaller than I thought.
We're the last on the bus, since we're getting off at the end of the line. Tilapia. A tiny, quiet, clean village, with paved streets, on the Ocos River. We load our packs, and after asking for directions, we walk down a very quiet street past chickens and pigs and babies in hammocks and little houses with outside kitchens, towards the dock. A litter of puppies 'attacks' Stuart's rolling case.
It looks like low tide, but what do I know? It's close to sunset now, but we find a man waiting to take us across the lagoon to Tilapita, the beach across the river/lagoon. A man sees us coming, and as always, grabs Stuart's rolling bag, never asking if he can take my back pack. Neither does Stuart ask! We board the little lancha, the man knows where we're going. There is only one hotel on the island. It's a beautiful, 10 minute boat ride, in a little boat that reminds me of my daddy's hand-made wooden boat. A 15-horse Johnson powers it.
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