mymidlifegapyear: Chicken Bus to market...

art work at Cafe Red one of many small community action groups in Xela

San Francisco El Alto is a small town about 17 kms away from Xela, whose Friday market is, according to my lonely planet guide at least, “the biggest and most authentic in the country”, so I decided to take a chicken bus for the hour and a half trip and check it out for myself.

I did 2 things right today. I left all important documents other then 1 credit card behind and I put my money pouch in the centre of my back pack. I did 2.5 things wrong. I didn’t keep the back pack entirely to the front of me while I was walking through the crowded market and I didn’t bring any food with me on the trip.

The first mistake resulted in my backpack being slashed with a knife, and the second meant I ate some really awful greasy food –the least problematic I could find- potato chips- and so hot that hopefully any bugs would have been cremated! I just hope I don’t pay for it later. Luckily I noticed the gaping knife hole before everything fell or was taken out of my backpack, but distracted (the other half a mistake), while trying to find another bag and needing to pee and eat I lost my reading glasses. Luckily I have a “back up”, “back up” pair, (my first already lost in a b and b near Rome train station) until I can get another pair made.

The chicken bus experience was very entertaining. It was a great, cheap way to travel, but I would only recommend it for a short distance. The salsa music was a bonus and as the old school bus chugged up a hill overlooking Xela, for the first time the air was relatively clean and the view was wonderful.

The driver and his 2 helpers who jump on and off the bus calling out the destination and trying to entice customers are expert observers, noticing the most ambiguous gestures as a possible fare. I watch in awe as a slight slowing down of an oncoming car is rightly interpreted as a sign of intent, and a few moments later a whole family and luggage are safely aboard.

The boys keep up a constant banter, trying to second guess where the best fares will be and trying to stay one step ahead of their competitors who are following closely behind. The bus travels at only 2 speeds, breakneck and stopped, often waiting for up to 10 minutes at an intersection for a connecting bus that could bring new customers. Enterprising vendors of nuts, fruit or cold drinks are allowed to board the bus at these stops, the driver being rewarded with something for free for each sale. One man boards and gives an impassioned speech about the virtues of ginkgo biloba. He is selling this “genuine Chinese wonder drug” which is good for everything from arthritis to zest for 20 quetzals about 2 dollars for a bottle. He keeps up his speech for a good 20 minutes and eventually the ginkgo biloba wears off and he sits down for a rest!

The market in San Francisco is huge (although from memory Bangkok’s famous weekend market is probably bigger). It stretches across the whole small town, every street crammed full of people and produce, a colourful and physical assault on the senses. Old men bent over with enormous loads on their backs inch their way through the throngs, mothers with one child slung behind them, a basket on their head, and another child following behind, old women sitting among their produce measuring customer orders expertly in old hand weights, hawkers in their sing song voices describing the value and cost effectiveness of their wares, and at each corner, as far as I can see more of the same; fruit, eggs, vegetables, fabrics, clothes, shoes and household products of every description.

I make my way to the church where I have read that for a small tip you can climb to the top of the roof for a great view. A courtyard to one side of the church has a “candle room”, a kind of glass gazebo where people burn candles and pray. One voice stands out from the others chanting their prayers out loud. A young Mayan woman on her knees sobbing with grief, her young child dead. I feel like an intruder, even though I am so far away, her pain and loss is raw and palpable.

Later I climb the spiral staircase to the bells and the roof. I sit for a while, removed from the activity below and look out across the village to the hills and Xela in the distance.

It is good to have perspective again.

Hasta luego

Mon x