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 Guatemala to North Carolina- Overland!
July 26, 2005
Currency exchange: $1 = about 10.5 pesos
I'm writing this from the good old U.S.A., back after
a five-and-a-half year absence. Returning has been a journey of not only many miles, but also one of significant
mental and emotional adjustment - fitting a body, heart, mind and spirit that's been living the life of an ex-patriot
abroad back into a mold of being an "American living in America", a very unfamiliar place for me to be.
But since this story is supposed to begin in Guatemala, let's not jump ahead too far just yet, but return to where
this last leg of my journey kicks off: Quetzaltenango, or as it's better known, Xela. This was my home for a year
- where I'd taught English and made many friends - this latter fact being especially important at my time of departure.
In the weeks leading up to leaving Guatemala, I'd been absorbed in thoughts about where I was going and what I
was looking forward to… and unfortunately at times focused on the negatives of life in Xela.
But as it came time to say "so long" to everyone (which I prefer over "goodbye"), I became
painfully aware of how many people I would miss. It was while walking around town on some errands one morning my
last week that this hit home for me. Time and time again I kept bumping into folks I knew: students, co-workers
at the school, fellow foreigners and locals. I encountered six or seven in a two-hour stroll. I realized that I'd
surely become part of a community that I couldn't just walk away from without a second thought! I know that this
had been true to a similar extent in prior temporary homes - maybe it was the cumulative effect of having left
all of them that was finally impacting me?
In any event, by the time the final day had come there'd been both a barbeque and a dinner "in my honor",
along with numerous "adioses", "hasta luegos', and "buen viajes" I'd struggled to endure
with dignity. In the house I'd lived in with about ten others, I was particularly affected by it. As much as I'd
tried to prepare myself, I just didn't feel ready to go and when I finally walked out the door I was nearly overcome
with emotion! I knew in my mind that it was time to go, but it sure didn't feel that way!
I'd decided to make the trip to the U.S.A. overland via buses. There were several reasons why I preferred that
to flying, though I knew that it'd be tough with several overnight rides of substantial distance. Plus, I was bringing
with me everything I owned! I had one huge bag, plus two smaller ones. I could carry all of them at one time, but
to do so for more than a small distance was very difficult. I'd gotten rid of everything I could bear parting with,
but because I also had items such as teaching materials and a tent, a yoga mat, my laptop computer, about 80 CDs,
plus clothing for various climates, it all added up to a pretty heavy load. This is not a trip I would recommend
to anyone I like! It ended up taking me ten full days to do it and that's with breaks in two different cities in
Mexico along the way. I would cover over 3400 miles (5500 km) in total!
Day 1: My mind sorted through memories of 13 months in Guatemala as I bounced along on what are referred
to as "chicken buses" from Xela to the border with Mexico. The hills I rode through were brilliantly
green, the rainy season having nourished Mother Nature now for many weeks. It took me two buses, needing a change
in Huehuetenango, and both buses had a screaming preacher on them. These guys are fairly common, hopping on and
noisily launching into their fire-breathing tirades, clutching a bible in one hand and the top of a seat with another
to keep from getting pitched on to their noses each time the driver hits the breaks. I rooted for sudden stops.
Fortunately I was seated towards the rear and had my earplugs with me.
At the border, exiting and entering were routine. I joined a French couple in hiring a taxi for the journey of
several miles of "no man's land" that separate the two countries. Once in Mexico, two shuttle buses got
me to San Cristóbal de las Casas in the region of Chiapas and I checked into the Hostel Plaza Central, which
I'd stayed in the last time I was there. No private rooms were available so I paid 40 pesos for a room in a dorm.
I generally tend to avoid dorm rooms since they're not normally conducive to getting a good night's sleep. But
this room had six beds and five of them were already occupied by a group of Swedish gals in their mid twenties.
I thought I'd give it a try!
Day 2: I'd spent five nights in San Cristóbal in June 2004 while on my way to Guatemala and had liked
it very much. It's a beautiful city lying in the mountains at just over 2000 meters elevation, plus it has an interesting
history, so I decided to spend four nights there this time. One reason to stick around was that I was planning
on meeting up with a friend I knew from Xela - we'd set it up while she was there. Soon after arriving I got an
email from her - she'd changed her mind and wasn't coming. Oh, well…. I still liked the town.
Day 5: I didn't do much in San Cristóbal, which was just fine with me. The dorm was working out peachy,
especially since Swedish women have a casual attitude about nudity and went about changing their clothes as if
I wasn't there! Plus, there was a sunlit rooftop terrace ideal for doing my yoga each morning. Later, I went to
the market to buy fresh fruit for the day and on one occasional I stumbled upon a food stall selling amazing tamales
with mole sauce for only 10 pesos each. Usually I hung out in the zocalo (main square) and just chilled, though
I also did a lot of walking around. I paid 700 pesos for a bus to Mexico City (DF) and left at 6 pm that day.
Day 6: After traveling for 13 ½ hours, I arrived in DF and got a taxi to the Hotel San Marcos, a
place that'd been recommended to me. The taxi driver had never heard of it and when he asked other drivers parked
on the street it was supposed to be on (Mesones), they'd never heard of it - not a good sign! But we found it and
I paid 90 pesos for a single room with private bath, a good price for DF. The bathroom smelled moldy and I spent
my first 15 minutes in the room hunting down and killing mosquitoes. After that I kept the bathroom door closed.
Day 7: This is a city with over 20,000,000 people! It's really crowded and walking around means getting
bumped into since big cities breed haste and social disconnection. One guy who wasn't looking walked straight into
me, his head violently striking my shoulder, his knees buckling as he nearly fell to the ground. He looked up to
see what tree he'd run into. DF is clearly more expensive. Whereas I spent 5 pesos for an hour of internet in San
Cristóbal, I paid 10 for just 30 minutes here!
Day 8: The last time I was in DF, I'd visited four out of the five prime locations for viewing Diego Rivera's
incredible murals. This time I got to the fifth: Palacio Nacional across from the zocalo and it was amazing! In
addition, I revisited Coyoacan, the posh neighborhood I'd liked so much last time and hung out in the square there.
I also took the metro to massive Chapultepec Park to check it out and got accosted by a Hare Krishna guy. I stayed
in DF two nights and it was time to continue moving northward. I went to Terminal Norte and boarded a bus with
Autobuses Americanos headed into the United States - all the way to Dallas. It cost $126. It was Saturday night
at 6 pm and I wouldn't sleep in a bed until Tuesday night.
Day 9 - 8:45 am: It's Sunday and I'm on the cusp! My bus is sitting on the bridge, about to enter the U.S.
at Laredo, Texas, but there are about two dozen buses waiting in front of us. I got some sleep last night - but
not very much. Outside the bus it's steamy hot, so all of us inside are inclined to stay in our seats. I munch
away on the fruit and half-pound of mixed nuts I bought near my hotel and try to become absorbed by the cheesy
movie.
Day 9 - 5:45 pm: Just cleared customs… not bad, only took nine hours! For the first eight our bus inched
along, waiting for our turn. Finally we exited and had our documents checked, our luggage x-rayed and we were all
strip searched with anal probes. Just kidding about the strip search and anal probes. I'd heard the horror stories
about post 9/11 border security and now I've got my own to tell.
Day 9 - 10:15 pm: The bus I'm on goes all the way to Dallas, Texas, but I'm in Austin and it just left without
me! This was one of many stops it makes at Greyhound stations and each time we do the driver barks out (in Spanish),
"Five minutes" and we end up being there 20 to 30 minutes. I got off to stretch my long legs and to pee
in the station bathroom since the toilet in the bus is a non-flushing, port-o-potty variety with no sink and is
vile! After little more than 5 minutes I return and my bus and everything I own in the world is gone!
I spoke to the man behind the desk about my plight and his comment was, "He said 5 minutes." When I pointed
out that this is never true, that it's always longer, he retorted, "But here, it IS 5 minutes! But don't worry,
I'll call both the driver and the people in Dallas and your luggage will be waiting for you when you get there.
Another bus to Dallas will be along in 5 minutes." (This was all in Spanish, of course) Another bus heading
to Dallas arrived in slightly less than an hour.
Day 10 - 3 am: I got to Dallas at 2 am and my stuff was waiting for me, as promised. I then got a taxi to
the Greyhound station. My original plan was to spend a night in a hotel in Dallas to break up the trip, yet my
next bus was leaving at 10:15 am - no point in doing that. I inquired about an earlier bus to Fayetteville, North
Carolina… my final destination… and was told that one would depart in 15 minutes. I agreed and they cheerfully
changed my ticket, the cost of which was only $69 since I'd pre-booked and paid seven days in advance (normally
$135). It actually left an hour-and-a-half later. While I was waiting, I got a good look at who rides buses in
the U.S. and became convinced that in-breeding is still prevalent among a certain portion of the population.
Greyhound buses are far inferior to those in Mexico. No contest! These buses were older, less comfortable, more
poorly maintained, and the stations were quite disorganized at times, as well as severely lacking in edible food.
Sure you could get chips, pastries, soda and candy bars - but fruit or yogurt or anything that doesn't clog the
arteries, rot your teeth or help speed you to heart disease or diabetes… forget it. Plus, in two major terminals
the food sections weren't even open, despite the fact they were jammed full of passengers at the time.
As my bus zoomed along the interstate highway I was getting re-introduced to the U.S.A. Out the windows I peered
at the signs: McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell, Wendy's, KFC, Marie Callender's, Olive Garden, Chili's, Texaco,
Exxon, Shell, Mobil, Wal-Mart, OfficeMax, Home Depot, Day's Inn, Motel 6, Hilton, Starbucks, Hooters, Outback Steak
House, Whataburger, U-Haul, Sears, Kinkos, Staples, Borders… is every business here a franchise or chain store?
I was used to going into businesses and dealing with the owner where I'd been living. Not likely anymore. I also
noticed that gasoline was selling for more than a dollar more per gallon than when I'd left! Ouch!
So much was so different here than where I'd been living while abroad: freeways, big open spaces, lawns, skyscrapers,
tractor trailers, RVs, big city parks, shopping malls, drinking fountains, sales tax, clean streets and bathrooms
(except on the bus), housing subdivisions. hadn't seen much or any of this for a while. And the people were a big
change too. First of all, I hadn't been around African-Americans with their "doo rags" and their distinctive
dialect and I could barely understand some of them. In addition, many Americans were huge… massive! The size of
some of them was unbelievable! One guy came on the bus who had to have weighed 400 pounds. He said he was a high
school English teacher and a football coach and he sat next to a younger guy who was only about 300. The two of
them took up four seats in the back row.
In addition, I was becoming re-familiarized with how people in the States would tell you their life story within
five minutes of meeting you for the first time, which includes sharing all their tales of woe - as if you want
to hear about them. I was reminded of how they could be friendly, polite and abrupt all at the same time. They
were quick to criticize and complain about anything at all - they loved the rush to judgment! Barely knowing me
I was offered food, beverages and instructed on how I should live out the entire rest of my life.
I was in the Bible Belt and everywhere I looked were Baptist and Pentecostal churches. It was George W. Bush country
too. I was to travel through Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South and North Carolina - all states
easily carried by Bush in the last presidential race. My re-entry to the U.S was into the most conservative and
reactionary part of it. Streets and parks were named after famed 19th Century Civil War generals and 20th Century
segregationists. I was getting my culture shock in full frontal redneck!
At a couple of the rest stops I'd been approached by a young gal who seemed desperately in need of an ear to bend.
She was awkward, homely and traveling alone. She informed me that she was from Iowa, heading to South Carolina
and that Greyhound had lost her suitcase. As her comments rambled on I was thankful she wasn't sitting next to
me on the bus, "Oh look; a lucky penny on the floor! It's too dirty to pick up, but if you found one hundred
of them, you'd have a dollar, wouldn't you? Two hundred of them and you'd have two dollars, right?" At a pause
in Meridian, Georgia three official looking people came on the bus, demanding to see the IDs of all of the women.
Soon, the girl in question was being escorted off by them, since as it turns out, she was a sixteen-year-old runaway.
Day 10 - about 10:30 pm: We'd just pulled into Atlanta and I needed to change buses. I'd been enjoying the
company of a Mexican family, talking with them in a mix of Spanish and English, and as we were getting off they
introduced me to a shy eighteen-year-old Mexican girl named Lupe. She was traveling from Vera Cruz in central Mexico
to Charleston, S. Carolina alone… without knowing even one word of English! They asked me to watch over her since
their journey was over, mine wasn't and I could speak some Spanish. She clung to me like a lost puppy.
Day 11 - just after midnight: It was time to leave Atlanta. The bus station had been absolutely packed and
insanely chaotic. I'd been babysitting Lupe, but had now managed to pawn her off on… I mean entrust her to… a couple
of amiable Puerto Ricans headed her way, since I wasn't. I'd also helped a gorgeous young woman who was "half
Cuban and half Seminole Indian" who needed help figuring out when and where she was supposed to go. She spoke
perfect English but was clueless. I must've looked like Marco Polo or Brigham Young or some tour guide - though
when I peered into the mirror I looked more like a serial killer. It'd been a while since I'd tended to my appearance
or personal hygiene.
Day 11 - 7:35 am: It'd been more than sixty hours since I'd left Mexico City and in that time span I'd been
confined to either a bus or bus station. Since leaving Xela, I'd spent about eighty five hours on a bus, but I
had saved the cost of four nights in a hotel! It'd been a long time since my last "meal", a couple of
tangerines given me by a Jehovah's Witness just after departing Atlanta. I was now standing outside the bus station
in Fayetteville, North Carolina and my daughter had just pulled up in her vehicle… beaming ear to ear. I was hungry,
tired and so happy to see her. Her house would be my home for the next week or so and later that day I took a long,
hot bath! A just reward for my journey!
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Until next time,