After eating a quick breakfast, I finished packing my suitcase and headed for the Chicken Bus Terminal—luckily for me (and the wheels on my suitcase) the terminal was only half a block away. Finding the right bus was easy since there were more than a few headed to “Guate Guate!” I chose the one at the front of the line, mostly cause they looked ready to put the pedal to the metal, and after confirming my route, I boarded my first chicken bus.
The ride was insane: with three and four to a seat (originally designed for two puny school kids) we swerved left, then right and left again around the mountainsides of Antigua, Guatemala. I had to keep a death grip on the rails in front of me just to keep from slamming in to my neighbor: talk about a roller coaster. More than a few times I feared for my life! And when the fare collector came hobbling down the center aisle, my mind was truly blown. How in the hell he managed to collect our fares, provide change and remain upright is beyond me.
The ride was insane: with three and four to a seat (originally designed for two puny school kids) we swerved left, then right and left again around the mountainsides of Antigua, Guatemala. I had to keep a death grip on the rails in front of me just to keep from slamming in to my neighbor: talk about a roller coaster. More than a few times I feared for my life! And when the fare collector came hobbling down the center aisle, my mind was truly blown. How in the hell he managed to collect our fares, provide change and remain upright is beyond me.
45 minutes and Q5 ($.75) later, I’m being booted to the curb. Quite literally: the fare collector yelled something I couldn't hear through my headphones, then pointed to me with a face that all but screamed, "are you deaf?! Get off!" and pointed to the door.
At least my suitcase waited patiently. Though it looked as if it'd traveled the Sahara Desert without me. After bending to pick my abused bag out of the dirt, I began to search for the bridge I’d been told I needed to cross. Great news! It was directly ahead of me. Bad news? It was halfway to heaven and all stairs. Suddenly, I wished I was travelling with a real backpacker’s backpacking backpack <--say that three times fast.
Difficult yeah?
Not as difficult as climbing those damn stairs without one.
At least my suitcase waited patiently. Though it looked as if it'd traveled the Sahara Desert without me. After bending to pick my abused bag out of the dirt, I began to search for the bridge I’d been told I needed to cross. Great news! It was directly ahead of me. Bad news? It was halfway to heaven and all stairs. Suddenly, I wished I was travelling with a real backpacker’s backpacking backpack <--say that three times fast.
Difficult yeah?
Not as difficult as climbing those damn stairs without one.
But I did and, right on cue, my connecting bus pulled up just as I panted down my last few stairs. Like a racing horse released from his pen, the baggage collector charged at me wanting to know my destination. Before the words were even out of my mouth he’d taken my bag and told me to board. I did as I was told and 4 hours later I arrived in Quetzaltenango aka my new home for the next 6 months.