Transportation

In Guatemala, there are many means of transportation. Most famous and world renowned, are the chicken buses. As in Nicaragua, the Guatemalan chicken bus tends to be a converted American school bus, transformed by paint, decals and exhortations of “Jehova es mi guía” or “Dios bendiga este bus” so as to be an unrecognizable cousin of their tame black and yellow relations. Here in Guatemala, they also often take on the tradition of ships, being named for women. I have traveled in Emilia, Wendy, Camela, Cristina, among others since my arrival here one month ago.
The name chicken bus is derived for a reason. They crowded aisles, seats, and overhead racks are always chock full of people, of bags of avocadoes, of huge baskets of huipiles (traditional clothing textiles), bread, necklaces and fruits. There is always the cobrador, who walks the aisles, encouraging more passengers with his proclamations that “Where there are two, fit three”. But, most importantly and almost without fail, on each chicken bus one can find a chicken! You may have to look closely, but part of the game of this unruly experience of careening around curves on top of thirty people you just met, is locating the notorious chicken. Or tied by the feet and held in the hands of a small boy, popping its head out of a woven bag secured to the railing of the seat in front of a row of petite Guatemalan woman, or squawking noisily from a basket in an overhead rack, the sight of chickens on the bus is a necessity for any truly chapin journey.
However, as charming as the chicken buses are, with their plethora or people and interesting articles being transported, the real subject of this rambling is rather the pickups that serve as the second most common form of true guatemalteco transportation (I am not including the many tourist minibuses that cart gringos from tourist destination to tourist destination along these same highways as legitimate Guatemalan transportation, as in these, even the driver is only occasionally a national).
In each town, and indeed often in more than one place in each, there is a crowded street or corner, full of buses, of people yelling, of moving luggage, exhaust and various comings and goings. It is organized chaos, with much more chaos then organization. Near this lively scene, which is the large chicken bus station, there is usually another station lacking even the occasional gringo visitors, but complete with all the other hustle and bustle. Here is a line of pickup trucks of various sizes and horse power as well as diverse states of disrepair. Each is outfitted with a metal frame over the open bed, vaguely resembling the metal frame of a house with four posts and a peaked roof. As on the larger buses, people shout out names of various, less frequented destinations. Everyone from children newly walking to old men with machetes and women in traditional dress with no teeth and there hair wrapped around gorgeous textiles pile into truck bed until they are as dense as the line for the Star Wars premiere.
Though I have not yet frequented this method of transportation as much as I would like, it seems to be absolutely the best way to see and experience the countryside. It is like an open air tour bus taking passengers to places far off the tourist track, accompanied by the postman, by people returning from the market, by people going about their day to day lives to and from home, happy to talk to you about the cilantro fields and churches they point out along the way.
Each of these modes of transportation has its charms and perks. For me, I hope to get to see a lot more of the world from the open air 360° view of “los pickups”.