28 February 2006 23:18
Day Fourteen28 March 2005, Monday
San Salvador to Tapachula, Mexico; thence to Tuxtla Gutiérrez (my temporary final destination).
I woke up at 0435, for which I was thankful. I seemed to have slept through my 0415 alarm and really would have hated to miss my bus. Not that it left on time...
After a sleepy wait on the curb waiting for our bus driver to show up and unlock the bus, we loaded and I wound up sitting next to a silent middle-aged señora left to my own thoughts. I watched the scenery go by as we continued northwest through what remained of El Salvador (~40 miles or so) to the Guatemalan border. By now I was "getting the hang" of migracíon procedures so I performed the quarter mile round trip from the bus to get my passport stamped (don't be fooled, I didn't have the hang of it, I just didn't have anybody to do it for me). I spent the fifteen minutes in line listening to a couple of just-met Americans behind me talk about themselves and forming rather irate opinions regarding shallow conversations.
Guatemala didn't check our passports upon entry, once we crossed the bridge into Guatemala our next official stop was just before reaching Mexico where they collected our El Salvadorian exit stamps. Guatemala had some gorgeous scenery, with abrupt mountain ridges and outcroppings all clothed in a verdant blanket of jungle. Then down on the coastal plain the climate seemed much more arid (at least at that point in the year). We stopped in Guatemala City to change buses. The number of travelers headed northwest dropped dramatically the further we went from San Salvador. The bus was almost full reaching San Salvador, leaving from Guatemala City to Tapachula there were only fifteen or so on-board.
This made getting my ticket validated for the next leg that much easier and I soon had an hour on my hands until the bus left. The Guatemala City Tica Bus station had the largest waiting room of any of the stations I'd been in yet, but also the fewest people. I wound up talking to an elderly man from Anchorage, Alaska who had about 1800 hours in a Cessna 172 that he'd owned. He was very bitter about life in general, in his sight the whole world is going down the tubes. That may very well be true, but it was depressing to spend thirty minutes talking with him. (And he had bad breath, not that I held it too much against him). He and his wife were traveling through Central America for the umpteenth time, this seemed incongruous for a well-to-do couple in their early seventies.
With a (practically) empty bus for the four or five hour hop to Tapachula, Mexico; I was able to have two seats to myself and get the window for the first time since Sunday morning. The view was much better and easier on the neck. Reaching the Mexican border the formalities were much more formal than at the other crossings. There were separate lines for locals and foreigners, the military actively searched each person's luggage, and the migracíon building was a lot nicer/newer. Also, I was now the proud owner of a Mexican tourist visa costing me 213 pesos (~$20US)--who's bright idea was it to charge for a visa?
At the border I made use of the pesos I'd carried all through Honduras and Nicaragua and bought some snacks and a drink. I talked to a young Guatemalan wearing alligator skin cowboy boots after he helped translate between myself and the shop owner. I'd noticed him at the bus station in Guatemala City saying goodbye to his ?girlfriend. For the last fifteen minutes before he got on the bus they stood in a continuous hug. Then for the fifteen minutes after he got on until the bus left, they stared at each other through the window and waved or lip-talked to each other. He spoke very good English (something, which in a Spanish speaker, never fails to make me irritated at myself that I haven't worked harder at learning Spanish). He's working his way by bus up to Los Angeles and thence to Portland, Oregon where his home is.
Upon reaching Tapachula I was the only one of the people I'd met on that leg who was headed to Tuxtla Gutiérrez. It's not a very big tourist destination for the red-eye (the bus I caught left at 2315). It was unfortunate that we arrived just an hour or so before dark. If it had been light the five hours I had before me would have passed easier with a little sight-seeing on foot. I also had my bag to lug around as well. It wasn't too heavy, but much more unwieldy than the backpack Kyle and I had shared down south. So after spending forty-five minutes or so in an internet cafe across the street, I walked back and spent a solid four hours in the waiting area.
In between some surprisingly satisfying naps I talked to some very weird people. One was a pot-bellied San Antonian with long white hair who was working his way back to Texas after a month spent bumming his way around Guatemala. The other in our corner was a mid to late-twenties Latin girl in a mini-skirt and fishnet stockings. She was traveling with her younger brothers or cousins (14ish and 16ish) to somewhere farther north in Mexico; but had lived for six years in Arlington, Virginia and spoke fluent English. I don't remember much of the conversation--it was the typical "strangers getting to know more about the facts of each others' lives" content. She was very extroverted and drove most of the conversation, it was fascinating to listen to her and the San Antonian talk--whole cultures and generations apart.
His bus left after half an hour or so, then she and I talked for another half hour. It was very surreal. I don't talk to girls in mini-skirts and fishnet stockings. What's more, they don't talk to me.
After she and her brothers left (who hadn't said a word, probably didn't speak English); I settled back and actually managed to sleep for over 75 minutes before waking up with a start. Not bad for a plastic seat in a very public place. Two hours of restlessness later, my bus finally loaded and I settled into a daze as we wound our way up to Tuxtla. The ride took over six hours and I spent most of it dozing or asleep. We stopped five or six times at major towns, after one of these stops I woke up to find that somebody was sitting beside me before drifting back off. I finally woke up with the dawn as we rode along Tuxtla's north beltway--territory I was familiar with.
On reaching the bus station I'd intended to grab a cab to the apartment. But I decided to stretch my legs for a few blocks first and wound up walking the mile and a half or so to the company apartment. Once I'd gotten half-way without getting around to a taxi, I was too cheep to spring for just half a trip. So I arrived on foot around 0730. I'd technically call that the end of the Honduras/Nicaragua trip, even though I wasn't back in Jamaica yet. I spent that day (Tuesday) and the next there in Tuxtla, before hitching a ride with Eric on his bi-weekly run to Jamaica.
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