Bus

On the bus from Santra Rosa De Copan to Gracias Lempira we had to have set some sort of record. Vendors came on the bus selling fruit, pop, tortillers, chicken, wrist watches, socks, study books for children, snacks and more. It was nuts.

The busses go up and down the steep mountain grades (paved so far, so don´t worry!) and we smell the clean air with the windows down and the b.o. of the people next to us. We feel the rumble of the old disel engine and the hesitant grinding of the grears as the transmission struggles and strives.

The old school busses are packed sometimes five to a seat, with luggage stowed in metal racks just above. The other day I was crammed into a seat with a mother breastfeeding her infant and two other children. It was slightly uncomfortable for me but I just looked out the window at the scenery. We´ve also rode the bus with heavily armed soldiers, cops, farmers, preachers, you name it.

The "bus station" is usually a gravel parking lot filled with busses heading for who knows where. You walk up to them and people start shouting destinations. You find the person yelling your city and they shpherd you to the right bus. You get on and wait till it fills up. After the bus is completely paked and there isn´t room for a single person more, the ticket taker waits and yells for more people. Five or six more people get on and stand in the aisles. Once the vehicle gets rolling, the ticket taker comes back with a wad of bills and makes change and charges fees according to destination. There are never questions about when a bus arrives or how long it takes. It just sort of happens and you arrive whenever.