22 Hours Aboard The Devil Bus Expreso: Part II

…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.  (Read part I here)

At this point in my life I was not used to high class accomodations, so I didn’t have a lot to go on.  But this bus was not luxurious or comfy.  It smelled like pee and had hair juice blotted on the windows from travelers resting weary heads.  Weary and juicy. Perfecto. And (bonus!) the seats were ripped and covered in mystery stains.  White pants were so not a good idea.

Looking around the bus I tried to figure out peoples’ stories.  Each person had a reason for taking this excruciatingly long bus ride, but what was it?  That guy probably has family waiting for him, maybe a new job.   Those men on the other side, are they holding hands?  I’m sure that lady is…what the…?  Is that a…?  Yep, it was an enormous floor plant.  Was she seriously going to ride the bus for twenty some odd hours with that thing on her lap?  Apparently so.  Suddenly being snackless didn’t seem like such a big problem compared to riding with el loco planto.

You’re probably wondering about the beautiful scenery.  I know, I haven’t mentioned it yet.  The crashing waves, the blue water, the rolling hills of Mexico… 

 Yeah, what I just wrote?  That wasn’t it.  This is what I looked at the ENTIRE trip.

 

Now if you’re one of those (insane) people that love to look at dirt, rocks, ugly bushes and tumbleweeds – well, this is the twenty-two hour bus ride for you.

Oh wait, I forgot about the handful of towns we saw along the way:

Mmyyyeeaah.  While charming in a dusty, smoggy sort of way, they were – well, they were pretty much ugly.

I wish for your sake that I’d taken pictures of the scary dive we ate at that first day.  You ordered your food at the kitchen (which was piled with dirty dishes) and then watched in horror as the flies swarmed the food they served.  But I have to admit, that was one tasty taco. 

Our next stop on the luxurious adventure vacation was at a rest stop/convenience store (more Funyons and tamarind).  I was so relieved to stop, because girl, my teeth were floatin’. 

I walked up to the square building that looked like a banyo and tried to go in.  Unfortunately a little man with no teeth was speaking to me in Spanish and delaying my moment of relief.  He kept shaking his little tin cup at me and saying, “Blahbity blah blah.  Blahbity blah blah.”  I didn’t know what “Blahbity blah blah” meant, but I assumed it was like what I hear from the homeless people in my city.  “Spare some change?  Spare some change?”  I shook my head no, I don’t have any money.  I just need to go in there.  I really need to go in there.  But nope, he just kept repeating the same thing and shaking that dang cup.

I’d heard about pushy Mexican vendors from my friends, and since I needed to go, I took this opportunity to practice my vendor avoidance skills.

“Listen Paco, I don’t have any dang quarters.  I mean Pesos.  El husbando has el casho.  I’m going now.”  Sheesh, some people are so pushy. 

I ran to the nearest stall and sat down.  Oh, sweet relief.  There’s nothing like the pure euphoria of a recently emptied bladder.  Then I looked for the toilet paper dispenser and realized what the little man had been trying to tell me.  Apparently toilet paper is not free in Mexico.  Oh darn.

“Um, Paco?”

To be continued…