You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

BUS TO PUERTO BARRIOS

In the Summer of 2009 Ruth and I scheduled ten-day a trip to Guatemala. Our plan was to fly to Guatemala City, and take a bus to Pureto Barrios, with a stop at the ruins of Copan. Then, in an open boat, cross the bay to Livingston, a town on an isolated peninsula in the Gulf of Mexico. It is so remote that there are no roads to it. It was named after a notorious pirate who had used this location for his hideout. We planned to stay there for a few days before traveling by motor launch up the River to Largo de Izabal. From there, Ruth and I would travel by bus, to the archaeological site of Tikal. Thence to spend a couple of days on island in Lago de Atitlan. The final two days of our trip were to be spent in Antigua Guatemala before going back to Guatemala City and our flight home.

While I anticipated many memorable events on this trip, I had no inkling that the bus ride from Copan to the Gulf Coast town of Puerto Barrios would be the most vivid.

We arrived in Guatemala City and went directly to the hotel. In the morning we took a cab to the Bus Terminal. What comes to mind when you think of a bus terminal? I expected a large building with ticket windows, waiting areas, and perhaps a restaurant with traditional Guatemalan food.

The taxi from the hotel stopped next to a paved field where buses were parked indiscriminately. Many people, wandered among them, some carrying large bundles. “Where is the terminal? I asked the driver. He pointed at the chaotic scene and said “This is the bus terminal.” There was no building, no schedule, no tickets. We searched until we found a bus to Puerto Barrios. It looked reliable being clean and relatively new. We paid the driver and climbed abord.

We later learned that some of the Guatemalan buses were operated by drivers who had rented the bus for three days with the intent of driving it all three days and collecting the fares to pay the rental charges plus a profit. It is possible that these drivers were not even licensed. The driver’s profit would be based on the number of trips he could squeeze into those three days. Consequently, drivers would go fast, and without a break for three days straight. Passengers who boarded one of these leased buses, with a driver who had not slept for two days, were at considerable risk of dying in a crash. As we crossed the mountains, it became apparent that ours was such a driver.

The road from Copan to Puerto de Barrios is over a mountainous region. We noticed nothing unusual as the bus slowly climbed the steep mountain roads on the west side of the range. It was as the bus picked up speed on the steep grade down the eastern slope that we began to feel anxious. It seemed the driver was going too fast for the many tight curves. Our anxiety grew when we came into the section where the road was cut into the side of a mountain. On the far side of the narrow two lane road was a cliff of several hundred feet. On the other side the rock face of the mountain. It was about then when we, and other passengers, became aware that the bus driver’s head was bobbing as if he were fighting off sleep. The bus was now frequently crossing the fog line on the right heading for the rock wall and then drifting over the center line into the oncoming lane and heading for the cliff before the driver’s head would bob up in time for him to return our bus to the right lane. By this time I was feeling intense fear. I was not alone in recognizing the danger. Other passengers were murmuring their nervous observations to one another.

A pretty young woman got up from her seat three rows behind ours. She made her way forward by holding onto the seats to keep from falling as the bus lurched from side to side negotiating the tight curves. When she reached the front of the bus she stopped holding tightly onto the chrome pipe next to the driver’s seat.

The driver’s head was bowed. Then it came up abruptly. Then slowly down again. She leaned toward him and spoke. He turned to see who was there. Upon finding a beautiful young woman standing next to him, his back became straight. His shoulders were pulled back. He became alert. Our heroin stayed there, clutching that chrome pipe, talking with the driver, and keeping him awake for the rest of the trip through the mountains. When the bus slowed, upon entering Puerto Barrios, she returned to her seat. As she passed up the aisle, she was greeted with many whispers of “Muchas Gracious Senorita.” in recognition of the fact that she may well have saved the lives of all of us on that bus.