HOW TO GET MUGGED ON RURAL BUSES IN EL SALVADOR
Dec 28 '01 (Updated May 09 '05)
The Bottom Line Just remember James' first rule of travel, and more importantly, the second.
The bus conductor couldn't make change for the five dollar bill I handed him. when the local chicken bus finally showed up at the sleepy little border crossing village of Angiuatu, I'd thrown my bag aboard and quickly grabbed a seat. The bus was almost empty, so I didn't have to stow it at the back. I didn't even remove it from my shoulders, just sprawled across one of the benches and rested on it.
However because it was the start of the route and there were only a half dozen passengers the conductor didn't have change. El Salvador had early that year switched to the US Dollar as it's official currency, but up here in the sticks $5.00 was quite a bit of money. Hey I could pay everyone's fare and still have plenty left over.
I fumbled in my jeans pockets and came out with some coins, change from the beers I'd had in the bar come brothel I'd been waiting in for the bus, and came up with the 4 Colones, about 45 cents that was the fare. Among the half dozen other passengers on this diplidated old school bus were four other foreigners. An elderly Swiss couple, their daughter, and her American boyfriend. They must have crossed the border soon after I did, but chose to wait for the bus at the bottom of the hill by the Immigration post.
Introductions were quickly made and we discovered that we were all travelling as far as Santa Ana the second largest city in El Salvador. Here they'd catch another bus for San Salvador and then on to the coast south of there where they were joining a yacht. I was heading due south to Sonsonate and on to the Pacific too, but farther north of them.
At Metapan we changed buses for Santa Ana. This one was crowded, and in fact there were people hanging off the sides as we pulled out of the terminal. On the plus side this conductor could make change. It took half an hour to bring it back to me, but I now had a pocket full of small bills and coins.
This meant that our bags had to be piled in the back. No problem, there were five of us and we could take turns sitting back there with them to prevent some local from "accidentally" unloading them at one of the numerous stops we made. That was the theory. I got first watch while the other four took seats up front in relative comfort.
The bus filed up so fast though and stayed that way for the hour and half drive to Santa Ana that it was impossible for one of the others to change places with me. Even the conductor couldn't move through the mass of people to collect fares. They were passed up to him, and when he needed to come to the back of the bus he did it via the roof. I spent the whole trip perched on a pile of rucksacks. Mind they were probably more padded than the seats.
At Santa Ana I bid farewell to my temporary travelling companions and found I had exactly ten minutes to find and catch my bus to Sonsonate. Santa Ana bus terminal by the way is a large dirty chaotic place. It kind of resembles a Cecil B. Demille movie scene on mescaline.
I found the right bus and was promptly told it wouldn't be leaving for another half an hour. Well back into the swirling crowd I went to grab something to eat from the hundreds of vendors. Of course I also had to use the bathroom.
Here's a travel tip, if you're ever in the Santa Ana bus terminal and need to go, hold it. Even if you won't get another chance for a couple of hours, and your back teeth are swimming from several hours on a bone crushing rural chicken bus, hold it. Don't ask why just trust me on this.
After that and grabbing some munchies I also decided I need a new bag. The rucksack on my back was getting too heavy and too full. About half was tacky souvenirs from Copan in Honduras, the other half was dirty laundry and mud from three Central American countries. I found a cheap nylon travel duffel at one of the stalls and bartered for a reasonable price.
Naturally it cost more than the remnants of the five dollars in my pocket. The next smallest bill I had was a twenty. She couldn't make change. No problem she'd go find someone who could break a twenty.
It was getting dark and my bus was leaving any minute now. I had visions of spending the night standing there in the terminal waiting on a little old lady who was off spending my Andrew Jackson in the flesh pots of Santa Ana, or at least the bingo halls. Eventually she returned and I fled into the night, catching the bus with minutes to spare. Then it was delayed for another half an hour.
During that time I got into an argument with the conductor about my bag. the oversized rucksack, not the cheap nylon one. He wanted to put it on the roof. I told him no way. It was night now and I didn't want it out of my sight. He crumbled and it was stuffed into the back of the bus, wedged in behind the last seat. I jumped into that seat and kept either physical or eye contact with it for the entire trip.
The bus quickly filled up as all the extras with from the Cecil B. Demille flick were obviously need for the next scene in Sonsonate complete with livestock. Ever wonder whatever happens to all those old Canadian and American yellow school buses when they get too old and decrepit to ferry bright young minds to school each day? They get shipped to Central America, where they're used as rural buses.
These are commonly called chicken buses for obvious reasons. In two weeks of riding on literally dozens of these buses in four Central American countries this was the only one on which I actually saw a chicken. I did see everything else mind, but no chickens. Except dead cooked ones being sold as lunch every time we stopped.
Just ahead of me and old man got on and sat down. In his hands was a large cardboard box tied with twine and with small square holes cut in the sides. He put it in the rack right above my head and sure enough a couple of chicken's heads soon poked through the holes and gave me the once over. Oh well, if the ride took longer than I thought or we got stuck at least I wouldn't go hungry.
About half way to Sonsonate most of the passengers, including the chickens, got off and the back of the bus was empty except for me and two other passengers. they were a couple of scruffy teenagers and were sitting directly across from me. Now here's where the fun begins. My first rule of travel is learn the local language. My second rule is don't always let on you do.
My Spanish is far from perfect but I understand a lot more than I can speak. This came in quite handy as I pretended to doze or stare out the window at the dark countryside. Actually I was eavesdropping on their conversation. A good thing to as I was the topic they were discussing.
"Hey check out the dumb gringo."
"Nah he's not a gringo. look at him, he's just some scruffy old man from some village in the mountains."
"No he's a gringo, check out his clothes, his boots, the flag on his jacket. I don't know what it is but it's foreign. Besides that big pack behind him must belong to him."
"So he's a gringo, so what."
"Hey, look at him he has no idea where he is. He's scared, look at him squirming in his seat. It's dark. I say when he gets off, we follow and roll him. He's gotta have money on him, and there's probably lots of good stuff in the bag."
"Ok."
During all this of course they were smiling at me and nodding pleasantly. I smiled and nodded back. They lit up a rather battered smoke, and unless my sense of smell was completely gone it wasn't tobacco. They offered it to me, and I declined. They also offered me a candy, which I politely accepted. Then they went back to sizing me up, and working up the nerve to mug me.
Of course I wasn't meekly waiting to get mugged. The squirming was me as subtly as possible turning so I could get to my rucksack behind me. Ensuring they couldn't see me I unlocked and unzipped the top pouch and carefully slid two items out which I palmed and eventually slide into my jackets pockets. They were of course my five inch double edged Gerber boot knife and my ASP telescoping riot baton.
I'd decided that if they did follow me off the bus, then I'd give them the change in my pocket just under twenty bucks. Hopefully that would satisfy them. I wasn't too worried about my luggage. The small bag was empty and I doubted they could get too far with the rucksack. It weighed almost a hundred pounds and I had a hard time slinging it over my shoulder. A couple of street kids would be hard pressed to dash off down an alley with it.
If they wanted more well the they had a problem. I 'd decided it was too much of a hassle to replace my Passport and credit cards in the neck pouch I was wearing. Not to mention the $300.00 in US and about $100 US in Lempiras, Quetzels, Belize Dollars and Colones in the pouch. I even had about another $50.00 mixed Canadian and for some reason Mexican and Coast Rican bills with my plane ticket in another pouch.
I figured the last thing they'd expect was for the poor dumb backpacker tourista to come out swinging, and especially armed. I gave them both a quick once over and decide that they weren't armed. The sight of the spring loaded ASP quickly expanding into a 24" metal club would probably send them running. If it didn't I figured I could take them both and hopefully the noise would draw help.
As the bus rolled into the darkened suburbs of Sonsonate we played our little game of cat and mouse at the back of the bus. They sizing me up and working up the nerve. I was playing dumb, and discretely sizing them up.
Of course the ending was quite anti climactic. The conductor had come back to rear of the bus and I guess he overheard them plotting. Not realising that I also knew he leaned over and asked me where I was getting off in Spanish. I played dumb and he repeated it in broken English. I dragged out my map and pointed to the next town I wanted to go to.
He walked forward and spoke to the driver for a second then came back and smiled at me. A few minute later we pulled up alongside another mini bus in the middle of a brightly lit street.
"Your bus Senor." The conductor pointed and helped me and my gear out the back door and into the second bus. As the first bus pulled away I got a glimpse in the window of two rather disappointed would be Fagins and one very satisfied conductor. Anyone finding themselves on the Santa Ana to Sonsonate evening bus, do me a favour. Buy the conductor a beer on me. I owe him one.
More Articles on El Salvador
Restaurant Mirimar Acajutla
http://www.epinions.com/content_2452791428
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
JAMES23
|
 - Top 200 |
|
Member: James Smith
Location: Toronto Ontario CANADA
Reviews written: 450
Trusted by: 220 members
About Me:
I'm back
|
|
|
© 1999-2008 Shopping.com, Inc.