The road back from Nebaj

SOLOLÁ — Exactly how many people do you suppose fit inside a minibus? (Hint: The minibuses here are about 3/4 the size of a 14-passenger van.)

Turns out the answer is 21, not counting three small children. It's four people or more crammed glass to shoulder to shoulder to shoulder to shoulder to glass per row. The "helper," who collects fares, often has to crouch in the sliding door well, wedged in amongst bodies.

Such was the privilege I had this afternoon of traveling out of the lovely mountain town of Nebaj amidst a crammed little congregation.

Whew. It's lots of stopping and starting, dropping off passengers alongside the road, no apparent destination in sight (read: lots more walking for them), and picking up new passengers.

My trip to the Ixil Triangle was fabulous and interesting, and I'd love to go back. I'll have to save more for later, but for now I'm just happy to be home and looking forward to sleeping in my "own" bed. Funny how lodging in a $3.90/night hotel in Nebaj run by a family with lots of small children can have its advantages (cost) and disadvantages (varied and colorful).

They own a rooster. Roosters crow at special times, in addition to sunrise. There's no door bell or buzzer so late arrivals had to bang insistently on the wooden door below my room to be let in. Child discipline is occasionally meted out with lengthy spankings and hair-raising cries and screams. Traveling groups of 11 might show up at 11:30 p.m., noisily entering the concrete, echo-prone premises, taking 30 minutes to bring their voices down.

Ahhhhhhh, it's great to be in Guatemala. This place is so full of life!

I was happily surprised to reach home in just over 3 1/2 hours this time. The 65-mile trip north took nearly 5 1/2 hours to get there. I'll see if any of my photos out the window will help you picture it, but imagine backpacking trails with lots of switchbacks. Maybe roads in the Alps are this way. I don't know.

Midway through our journey, a young Quiché Mayan lady with a noisy, lively bag and her husband boarded. Inside the gunnysack, numerous turkey chicks protested their indignity, and the mother hen occasionally chimed in, its head protruding out the bag. The young lady squeezed by me — barely, and with much effort and protest — to reach the back seat, where two other people were already seated. Her husband climbed in the back hatch and squeezed in beside her. I never thought the cheep-cheep-cheeping of little chicks could be so deafening or tiring. Try it for a couple of hours. You'll see what I mean. ... I find it amazing and charming that none of the passengers grumbled, complained or said anything about the racket. It's just taken as so many other things here — part of life, part of trying to get by.

Fortunately, I was able to board a real "chicken bus" in El Quiché for the second half of my journey. Viola! Legroom (sideways) ... and no chickens or turkeys! The bus' booming Mexican-style ranchera music sounded so happy to my ears.

The Lord provides!