The best thing about public transportation

is the people you meet on the bus. In this area of the country, almost all of the buses are little microbuses, (14 passenger vans that sometimes hold up to 30, although I have heard the record is 32 plus a chicken). There is no central bus station here, which I thought was very confusing at first, but now I appreciate it because I never take the wrong bus--all of the buses from my particular station are going to the location I desire. If I want to go somewhere else, I just have to find that bus station (station is a bit too grand word for a dirt parking lot at which the buses wait).

So. Every afternoon after my Spanish classes I take the bus (3 Quetzales each way, about 80 cents altogether) from Carchá where I live to San Juan Chamelco, where I volunteer at the library for a couple of hours each afternoon. (How did I find this library, you may ask? Sonia, of course, who is cousin of Maria, girlfriend of Joe, roomate of Bryant, friend of Kevin, whose mom worked with my mom at an elementary school in Abq.)

Now that I am a regular on the bus, I am getting to know the other folks who ride it. There is a Mayan woman who has a chubby-cheeked son--she always comes to catch the bus first and then he comes running as we pull away, carrying the last few things they needed to buy at the market, and she tells the conductor to please stop for her hijo. She is the most joyous person with whom I have ever had the pleasure of being crammed into a microbus--full of laughter and jokes and funny comments for everyone. Sometimes I ride with her when she heads home with her groceries and then again when she comes back with the finished product--fried chicken tacos with cabbage salad and a splash of red picante sauce, served in a plastic bag for 3 Q each. There are students going to and from the two schools on the road--one for indigenous men and one for students of agriculture. They wear rubber boots and sun-drenched faces and carry notebooks or backpacks.

Today a local woman, mother of 7 children (I later found), questioned me relentlessly about why I am single at my age. Luckily my Spanish is not good enough to know if she was trying to set me up with someone she knows.

My newest friend on the bus is one of the drivers, Juan Carlos. We have a special handshake and he and the local bike mechanic started teaching me a bit of Q´eqchi. (see side bar to learn some with me.) I have discovered that learning Q´eqchi is the way to people´s hearts here. Even when I say the most basic thing I receive gleeful responses (perhaps because my pronunciation is so poor it amuses them?!?)

Apparently, gringas who can speak Spanish are a dime a dozen, but one who can speak a little Q´eqchi--now that is something to write home about!

Altogether my daily commute is about an hour and fifteen minutes, including walking to the bus station and back home. But there is no traffic, no stress, no problems. I could do this every day for a long, long time.