Blue Collar Salute: Mr. Guatemalan Bus Conductor Man

February 3, 2010

I often say that I love traveling, but I hate to travel. With very few exceptions, I rarely enjoy the actual process of getting from Point A to Point B, whether it is by plane, car, boat, horse, my feet, etc. If I could, I would choose to spontaneously teleport at my final destination, and skip the entire process altogether. Alas, until technology catches up with my imagination, I have had to rely on various forms of transportation. During our time in Central America, I experienced the entire spectrum of transportation in regards to comfort, speed, price and hygiene standards.

In Belize we crammed ourselves into ridiculously cheap, user-friendly buses, but we also had the comfort of the Rubicon our second parents used to drive us around. On our way to ATM, there was a comically-angry shuttle bus driver who cursed at anything and everything that slowed him down, not least of which included a group of small children who were trying to raise money for their school which had burnt down. In Honduras, I probably experienced the most variety within a short period of time. In one day, I took a private colectivo van across the Guatemalan/Honduran border and subsequently hopped a luxurious executive class bus (complete with plush, fully-reclinable seats, blankets, a safety video, and a bus attendant who handed out snacks and drinks) which drove me the rest of the way. In between transfers, I raced around the small town of Copan in a tuk-tuk, trying to find a money changer on a Sunday. The following day, I managed to sleep through a ferry ride that was so choppy, crewmembers were standing by with plastic bags and paper towels for seasick passengers vomiting left and right. Appropriately, there was also a very special plane ride back to Belize, but that deserves its own post.

Anyway, as memorable as these were, there was one form of transportation with a reputation that trumps them all: the Guatemala camioneta aka “chicken bus.” To set the record straight, either we were lucky during low season, or the name is a misnomer, because our ride was delightfully free of fowl and other barnyard creatures (although it wasn’t uncommon to see huge bags of fruit, furniture, vases, and other wares strapped to the top). Nevertheless, that didn’t stop it from being completely ridiculous. These brightly-colored buses were tricked out with flaming wing decals, olde English writing, music stickers, and other forms of ornamentation that transcend all conventions of taste. It was as if a 16-year old was given amphetamines, spray paint, and free reign to decorate the tour bus of his dreams.

While I never actually felt uncomfortable on the camioneta, they certainly weren’t designed with comfort or security in mind. The seats were made of a hard, slippery vinyl. There were no seatbelts, but there was a handlebar attached to the seat in front that came in handy as we rumbled through twisted mountain switchbacks. I had an aisle seat, so whenever we would turn into a curve, I would hold the bar while Zack would lean into the window and grab me by the waist, so I didn’t end up flying into the aisles. The native Guatemalans were either possess unusually strong balance or were wearing pants with remarkable traction, because they found our slip ‘n slide act highly amusing.

What I found particularly fascinating was the method of ticketing and payment. There was no ticketing booth in the bus station, you just hopped onto the bus. At some point during the ride, a conductor (separate from the driver) will collect your money and give you a handwritten ticket. I suppose that having a conductor comb the aisles is more efficient than having the bus driver pause to collect money at each stop. Also, rather than charging each person as they boarded, the conductor would wait for them to get situated and catch them on his next set of rounds. As the two of us were traveling longer distances than most locals, I had plenty of time to watch and observe this routine. It was incredible how they would simultaneously memorize faces, keep a mental tally of how much everybody owed, calculate each person’s pro-rated fare, and make change for the hundreds of random people who would hop on and off the bus. Nobody slipped through the cracks – there were no free rides, but at the same time, they never made the mistake of asking customers to pay twice. It really is a unique job which requires a number of different skill sets that are worthy of a Bud Light “Real Men of Genius” salute. Since it is unlikely that the American public would appreciate the nuances of a Guatemalan camioneta conductor, I settled for copying my favorite one:


In the meantime, I am still searching for that perfect form of transportation that is sanitary, comfortable, efficient, and minimally disorienting. Argentina is supposed to have stellar long-distance buses, so I’ll give them a go and let you know if they’re any better. For now, the best I have to offer is that I never board anything that moves without bottled water, Dramamine, a roll of toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and an easy-to-read book.