Trek to Coban

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We left Quetzaltenango in the morning but not before stocking up on bus food at this tiny Mennonite bakery on the way. Don't remember exactly where it was, but it was only open on Tuesday's and Friday's from 9-6. We got there at ten minutes to nine and got to watch them unloading the trucks. If everything they unloaded tasted as good as the stuff we bought, I should have robbed the whole store. Huge doughnuts the size of a softball overflowing with creams and custards and jellies, whoopie pies, the best cookies I've ever had cakes, pies, yogurt, jams, granola. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. If you're in Xela on the right day, make sure you don't miss this! Just ask one of the backpackers that's been around for a while where it is. They'll know, guaranteed.

We jumped on a chicken bus somewhere around ten o'clock and settled in for a long, fast, rocking and bumping ride to Guatemala City. This ride epitomized for me everything that could possibly make a chicken bus ride unpleasant. A short list for your perusal:

Chicken Bus Panics

1. The driving
Bus drivers in this country see themselves as a cross between NASCAR racers and rock stars. They cruise through the cities and towns as slow as possible when trying to pick up new people and honking their horn at practically everyone, who all seem to wave back enthusiastically and always seem to have the time to chat them up. Frustrating when you're trying to get somewhere to catch another bus.

The other half of the time they're speeding down these narrow, winding little roads, passing semis and other vehicles on curves at a speed that will cause you to fly right out of your seat if you aren't hanging on for dear life with both hands. Most of these roads, of course, are along a cliffside so you get a lovely glimpse of the possbilities if you look out the window.

2. The people

In two ways. The first is the same almost anywhere in this country; that's in terms of security. You always have to be watching your bag and other people's hands (especially kids and older types who you might not think capable of this kind of stuff at first).

The second is just the sheer volume that they pack into a bus like this. Make sure you claim your personal space and stand your ground guarding it. Trying to be polite and giving your neighbour an extra inch will only mean that you lose a mile. Every man for himself.

3. The lack of bathroom breaks

This one I found out the hard way on the current trip to Guatemala City. Just as we started to pull into the outskirts of La Capitale, as it's refered to around here. (we'd been on the bus for three hours) the urge to pee began. It started slowly and, in the midst of a traffic jam, developed into need so desperate it was painful. I wanted to cry. We either had the option of making the bus driver let us off the bus on the side of the highway and trying to catch another or me peeing my pants.
We finally convinced him to let us off at a small road off the highway and I ran into someone's driveway for the most relieving 20 seconds of my life.

Standing on the side of the highway we managed to flag down another bus that took us to some part of the downtown core.
I say some part because you can never quite tell where the heck you are in Guate. The place looks like every big Latin American city in every drug cartel movie you've ever seen. Comforting, no? The streets were loud, boisterous and, on this day, particularly hot as we trudged around with our packs. Don't get me wrong, I love big cities. New York is one of my favorite places and I even liked Mexico City when we visited last year. But something about Guate just comes off as particularly unpleasant. There seems to be a layer of dust that covers everything, especially on the roads in and out of the city. The sidewalks are insanely chaotic and unless you're up to speed on the city's zone system, you will never, ever leave. Bwah-ah-ah-ah! (Evil laugh?) The street numbers change and there is no rhyme or reason to where each zone is located. They don't even help you out by putting street signs on every corner. The only suggestion I can make is get a good map, or if you can afford it, take a cab. Bus stations are kind of spread out a little of everywhere, so you can get dropped off at the complete other end of town from where you need to catch a bus to your final destination.

Thankfully, we ended up in a part of town that was only about a dozen or so blocks from the station with buses to Coban. Due to my bladder incident we had gotten into town a little later than anticipated and felt like we had to hightail it to the station lest we missed the last bus. We struck up an ambitious pace despite the midday heat and about ten minutes in I had a huge sweat-stache and the stuff was dripping into my eyes. We turned onto the avenue we were looking for and only had another two blocks to go when I stumbled and my big toe felt like it had been ripped open (it had). Which reminds me of another piece of advice, watch where you're walking at all times! You never know when a piece of dog s**t, rotting fruit or metal pole protruding from the cement will jump right out in front of you and spoil the next step. My encounter happened to be the with the metal pole. This just wasn't my day.

I limped the last two blocks to the station, washed my cut out with the bottle of water we had and iodined my injuries right in the station with a couple of old locals looking on like this was the best entertainment they'd had all day. Patched up, I sat down on the bus and laughed; at least now we could relax. The ride out of town was nasty. Hot, arrid, and depressing. Everything seemed half dead from lack of rain and covered all the colors were muted by the suffocating dust. Dry season. I'm really hoping Coban is nothing like this.

Before we get to Coban we'd decided to stop at the Biotopo Quetzal, a ecological reserve on the way that's famous as a place for sightings of the rare national bird, the Quetzal.As we neared the biotopo the landscape, the my relief, became lush and green. The air smelled fresh again. There's a hostal called El Ranchito just up the road from the biotopo with some cute little bungalows and a kitchen that serves good versions of the local fare. Chris had fried chicken (his favorite) and I had grilled beef (carne asada). The beef in this country takes some getting used to. It's much more flavourful than anything we have in North America (which I like) but they cook the stuff to within an inch of it's life. Regardless, my biggest problem with eating here is my constant craving for vegetables, particularly salad. It's something that I'm convinced is genetic (MOM!) but I go nuts if I don't get my veggies. In any part of Central America, however, there are perils to getting your greens. The irrigation water they use and the way they're washed can mean that things like lettuce and tomatoes, anything unpeeled is liable to be a bacteria-fest. I had vowed that this trip I would throw in the towel and see where the green trail took me. So far, I think that the salad from this night was my only nasty encounter.

After dinner, with no other options we settled into our bungalow to play a couple of rounds of yahtzee (thanks Tash!) with an arachnid visitor. This was my first encounter with a really BIG spider. Not a tarantula, but with his legs spread out he would have been as big as my hand. I had to turn out the lights and sleep with the bad boy staring right at me from the wall. Thank god I was exhausted.

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Comments

[anonymous]

Catching up
Vanessa, I just caught up with your blogs to date. Good travel writing. Should find a home somewhere when you get back. Now that we are back from SM our only travel is going to be vicariously following you guys around. Looking forward to more. Regards. - Dave C.