So Close, Yet so Far!
A rite of passage for all Central American travelers, chicken buses provide unforgettable experiences for the cheapest prices around.
Hand me down’s from the United States school system, these big yellow school buses now cater to a more adult clientele - transporting millions of people between jobs, houses and countries. The extremely low fares accommodate all walks of life which means it’s not uncommon to sit next to a farmer with livestock, groups of construction workers with rebar and tool belts, or unshowered, unkept backpackers. Focused on receiving the most financial return per bus trip, drivers cram buses full from the beginning and continue to overload along the way! Did I say, “full”, I mean packed to the gills, hardly room to breathe, bursting at their rusty bolts!
Only a few hours drive from Granada to Rivas, the journey seemed easy...but what a doozy it was! Arriving at the bus station early (a suggestion for any of you planning to travel via chicken bus), we snagged some of the last seats…or so we thought. As people filed in, seats made for two, now squished three, and I went from a relatively comfortable aisle seat to an oreo’d gringa. But who was I to complain, half the passengers didn’t have seats at all. Holding precariously to the bars overhead, standing passengers were crammed so tightly together that torso’s and limbs melted into one thick wall of bodies.
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Settling in for what promised to be an uncomfortable ride, a few last minute passengers joined the party. Haphazardly shoved into the buses backside, “The Three Amigo’s”, local drunks hopped up on Nicaraguan rum, promised to make the journey one for the books. Before even leaving the city center, the Three Amigo Ringleader had offered shots of their coveted Aguardiente (Fire water) to all travelers within the vicinity. Hesitant at first, most travelers declined the offer, but one Canadians love for booze (and a good time) started the landslide. Passing the bottle to and fro, the looks of all shot participants read anything but pleasurable. Pursing their lips into sour post-shot expressions, they muttered through clenched teeth, “muy bien”. (Did I mention it was 11 a.m?).
As the ride progressed, so did the drinking, and with it, the shenanigans. First, there was the posterior puke. While flying down the highway, the ringleader, unable to maintain his alcohol consumption, opened the back door and offered his respects to the Nicaraguan highway system. Eventually closing the door, he looked at those of us nearest with a mischievous glimmer in his eye, laughed heartily, and took another swig of his fire-water.
Then there was Amigo Dos, by far, the worst of the three. In a completely different world, laced in rum and dehydration, he could hardly stand and took turns staring daggers into the foreigners nearest - a creepy, “I want to kill you look”, bordering on insane. Trying to avoid eye contact at all cost, I didn’t notice when a small puddle formed on his jeans. Bumping and rubbing against all those poor passengers nearest, the contact was unavoidable and the smell accompanying his accident grew ever so ripe. Suddenly, the driver slammed on his breaks and the back door flung open. Grabbing pee pants by his dry leg, the bus driver dragged him out of the bus, slamming his rubber like body on the bus floor and leaving a urine trail on his way out. Literally tossed onto the road head first, if not for his drunken, limber state, he would have easily cracked his skull. As the bus pulled away, we anxiously looked back at the fallen amigo. Stumbling to his feet in the middle of the highway, he threw his wobbly hands in the air with an even more dazed look then before, completely oblivious to the large semi barreling towards him. |
The ringleader laughed and said, and I quote, “He fu**ed up.” So instead of jumping out after his friend, the ringleader left his wobbly-legged calf to the wolves of roadside sobriety. The ringleader also informed us that not all Nicaraguans are like his friend. Hmm…and you’re supposed to be disproving this senor?
The final chicken bus event happened towards the end when Amigo 3 began to bleed…and bleed…and bleed. Standing inches from us, I watched as one of the 6 knife wounds in his arm opened and began dripping all over the floor. An already woozy, grossed out French girl dug through her bag for toilet paper and quickly handed him in a large wad. It was only then he realized, “Oh, I’m bleeding”. With both hands covered in drippage he continued to use a variety of bus seats, handles and crossbars to support his drunken weight while the rest of us did our best to avoid contact with infected surfaces. Needless to say, none of us offered to clean the wound although I did propose an alcohol cleanse with their Aguardiente. |
By this point, most passengers looked ill and ready to jump ship, whereas I couldn’t get enough. Something out of dark comedy, the entertainment was award winning and by far the most exciting Chicken Bus of any thus far. Viva Nicaragua!