DOMINIKA FIOLNA I the chicken bus experience I

by Dominika Fio/na

There is no travelling through Latin America without any "slightly shocking" bus rides. It's not even exclusive to the Americas - those little local buses run around the whole developing world. Once you board a converted-yellow-US-school-bus, you'll know what I mean when I say these are special. I boarded the first 'local' bus in Guatemala only a few days ago. What a ride! It's quite important to mention they're called chicken buses, at least here in Central America. Of course, there's a very good reason for that. I wish I had captured the moment in a picture, but I missed my best-ever opportunity. Seated in the third row on the left, I peaked over my book (you can't really read on such bumpy roads) and saw a... chicken peaking over a hole in its card box. I swear we even made eye contact. I dropped it fast and turned to search for my camera, but those lovely chicken buses have so little leg space that my backpack was impossible to pull up from under my laiees without doing some serious yoga on the spot. And I'm not able to do that. So it took me a good five minutes, and trying to be secretive and technologicallyculturally sensitive, I directed the lens at the box and... the chicken was gone! It hid inside, getting more bored than curious over (I assume) a usual view. My once in a lifetime opportunity was gone, at least until the next such ride. "Show me your chicken" I kept thinking, while peaking over every minute and a half, before I realized my English phrasing might get really awkward sometimes, whether only in my thoughts or documented on my blog. Either way, the charm didn't work.

I was absolutely initially disappointed in myself and the missed opportunity, but the rather foggy window provided me with enough enterainment instead. Soon enough, I saw the beautiful spread of Lake Atitlan in front of me, and just as I was about to gasp and smile to myself, we turned around yet another corner to see a few wildly posed excavators feeding on a nearby hill So much for the hopeful, breathtaking views. It did turn a little more positive when I noticed two grown men playing with a ball on a gas station by the road. It wasn't a soccer ball or anything of the more-professional sort, no. It was a simple, small, rubber ball—like the first ball you ever got. And they seemed happy. Then I felt the head of the guy sitting next to me fall heavily onto my shoulder. He was fast asleep, thank heavens he wasn't snoring, and I tried to subtly move away in the little space I had, but I wasn't as successful as I wished. I remembered one time I fell asleep on an unknown Indian man's shoulder traveling back in high school after an all-nighter at a train station. Funnily, I had a group of friends with me who, instead of waking me up, thought it would be hilarious to wait for my expression once I woke. As the Guatemalan man to my right had no friends there to either wake him up or laugh at him-he was forgiven and, frankly, ignored. Falling from one hill onto another, 1 let myself enjoy the beauty of this overtly cheap and questionably safe, unpredicted rollercoaster ride.

Highly recommended (but not for your nerves).