Games to Play on the Chicken Bus

1) Buy two newspapers. Race to find the most horrifying story. Double points for catastrophic accidents that recently occurred on your route.
2) Try to cram more foreigners in a seat than deemed humanly possible. First one to get a dropped jaw from blase Guatemalans wins.
3) Convince your seatmate you only speak Chinese. Try to hold a conversation.
4) Persuade the ayudante to let you ride on the roof, as a cure for bus sickness.
5) Speak only in a Texan accent.
6) Pretend to be hard of hearing when your married seatmate hits on you. Break out your fake wedding ring and picture of your "son."

Armed Guards in the Banks

This is something that you just don´t see in the US: armed guards blocking your entrance into the banks. The doors are literally barred shut by men in red berets, carrying machine guns. The first time I went to change dollars to quetzales, I nearly turned back in terror. What kind of place would need that many guns, and did I really want to go there? Eventually, I bucked up the courage to enter.

I soon found out that ¨Customer Service¨ is a concept that hasn´t quite made it here yet. The bank tellers can be surly, and most deny knowing even a word of English. Their answers were curt and to the point. Three of my twenty dollar bills had small tears, and they wouldn´t exchange them. I asked them who would, and he rattled off a name speedily in Spanish. I had him repeat it, and unable to decipher his accent, asked for directions. So far, all I have to go on is: go to the bottom of Central Park, take a left, a right, and a left. Then go two blocks. So my best bet is to come in another day when he might not be working, and see if they´ll change my bills then.

Guatemalan Adventure, Part One

After a five thirty a.m. flight, a five hour bus ride on winding, pot-hole filled roads, and an awful taxi ride, I am finally in Xela. Wandering down the hill in search of purified water, I have to pause in wonderment at the sunset over the Santa Maria volcano. The sky has this reddish tint that I have seen nowhere else. Walking down the rough cobblestone streets, I contemplate how lucky I am to be back in Guatemala.

The taxi driver might have tried to rip me off because I am, and I quote, "an American"; I may be facing three months of rain and mudslides preventing travel, and I might be working for $2 an hour, but I´m back. I´m back in the land of chicken buses, traditional Mayan dress, and tamalitos. I´m back to a land I can´t even pretend to understand, and it feels great. Every day is a surprise: just why are the sidewalks two feet off the ground? Will there be an earthquake today? Will the neighborhood children set off fireworks at 3 a.m.? What in the world are they celebrating?

I have my nine month supply of Duncan Hines brownie mix, Skippy peanut butter, and a whole shelf of books to pull me through.

Happy trails!