22 Hours Aboard The Devil Bus Expreso

Mr. Wright told me a couple of days ago that we’re going to Mexico this summer.  Talking about our upcoming trip brought back a flash of memories.  Memories of machine guns, a narrow one lane road, and two gay men named Juan…

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“Come on, it’ll be an adventure!” 

These are the words he spoke to me when I voiced concerns about the bus ride.  ”Ummm, flying sounds like less hassle.”  Not to mention less ghetto.

“Oh come on honey!  Those buses are really nice.  They’re big, luxurious charter buses.  It’ll be super comfy.”  That’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think luxury, right?  Charter bus, of course!  “It’ll cost half as much, and it’ll be an adventure!”  There was that word again.

He finally talked me into it after a week of coaxing, pleading and much deliberation.  I’d finally warmed up to the idea of traveling by “super comfy charter bus”, and figured it couldn’t be too bad; we’d be in Mexico after all.  It’s such a beautiful place, and the gorgeous scenery would be worth the long ride. 

I need to tell you that the first two nights of this vacation were spent at the Hilton San Diego.  This was a really, really bad idea.  You should never preface an overnight trip in hell with a stay at the Hilton.

In order to get to our take-off point we had to ride the train to Tijuana from San Diego.  I’d ridden the train to school every day when I lived in California, so I sort of knew what to expect.  Unfortunately, I was dressed like a cruise ship tourist in white capris and sparkly black flip-flops, so I stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the Mexican workers going home for the weekend.  They probably just assumed we were on an amazing adventure.

As we got off the train I had a major shock.  I’m not sure what I was expecting to see in my first Mexican city, but that wasn’t it.  I have never seen so much garbage in my life.  What I thought at first to be an enormous landfill were actually backyards.  Perched at the top of hills on each side of the roads were houses with backyards full of garbage.  (I sincerely hope I’m not offending any Tijuanans, here.)  I’m sure this style of waste management even has benefits.  You’d probably never have to nag your husband to take the garbage out, for instance.  “Dear, will you please throw the garbage out the back door? ”  Yes, yes I will.

At the bus station I walked around the “convenience store” to buy snacks for the trip.  The only thing that looked familiar was a bag of Funyons.  Funyons have got to be the most disgusting onion flavored ring in a bag ever invented.  And the things they do to your breath…don’t get me started.  Anyway, the other options were made with tamarind, and from my experience, tamarind is the second most disgusting food item ever invented.  Basically, we would be snackless. 

As we got on the bus we passed the irritable looking bus driver, who gave us a curt nod.  I glanced around the bus and got another jolt:  We were the only American passengers on the bus.  Worse still, we were the only English speaking passengers.  Not even the bus driver spoke a word of English.  We were on a 22 hour bus ride with total strangers from a different country that didn’t speak English.  I think that’s when I really began to realize that the wheels on my bus might be going ’round and ’round, but they were taking me on a ride straight through H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks. 

To be continued…