Chicken Bus - or Chickens on a Bus?

CHALATENANGO, EL SALVADOR - Have you heard of the chicken buses of El Salvador? Lots of people in central America don't have cars. If they need to travel a great distance across the country, they take a "chicken bus," so called because there's a chance you'll be sitting next to some livestock. These colorful former school busses are seen frequently on El Salvador's roadways. It's truly the long-distance transportation system of the people.

Well, I regret to say I never got to ride a chicken bus. Instead I rode one of those plush air-conditioned mini-buses with a bunch of other gringos. And on our first day together, I was thinking the chicken bus would've been more fun.

This was our first day of going out as a group and delivering stuff. Michele and I are both finding the experience to be well worth the trip -- extremely educational and rewarding.

It's hot down here, the hours were long today and signs of extreme poverty are all around us. I'm fine dealing with that. What I'm having trouble getting used to is being part of a tour bus group. My frustration boiled over in an e-mail I wrote at the end of the evening:

Michele and I are both very independent travellers, and spending all day long in a wad with these people just exhausted the hell out of me. To think I'm down for two more days of it is just more than I can fathom. I haven't told Michele this, and thought I would use this opportunity to vent these feelings to SOMEONE without stressing out my wife with my bitching. But Jesus Christ Almighty, I just can't handle being herded around like this. Moooooo....

Looking back at this e-mail made me realize what a mean-assed jerk I am. As it turned out, Michele and I actually came around and grew quite fond of the people in our tour group. In fact, we plan to remain in touch with several of them.

But on our first day together, I was still finding my sea legs with this group. Not at all used to this style of travel, I was mostly irritated. Michele, meanwhile, was oblivious to everything since riding on trains or busses puts her to sleep instantly.

While my wife slept though most of it, I was just plain crabby. There's something about the collective psychology of tour bus travel that just doesn't sit well with me.

Take lunch, for instance. For many travellers, it's an afterthought. But to me, lunch in a foreign country can and should be an intimate cultural experience. No matter what town I'm in, I wince everytime I see a tour bus empty a load of rubes in front of a McDonald's. It's such a waste, completely missing the whole point of travelling.

Of course, I realize I'm far from being objective on this issue. As you can probably tell just by looking at these pictures I'm posting of myself, I am indeed an enthusiastic eater. But putting all the self-deprecating fat jokes aside for a moment, I have to say I truly believe food is powerful. It can be the catalyst that allows people to connect.

Today, as our tour group settled in for a midday meal at a nice, safe fried chicken chain in Chalatenango, Michele and I mercifully broke loose with a former flight attendant in our group who spoke fluent Spanish. We followed her as she ducked and weaved through Chalatenango's outdoor market, stopping frequently to ask one of the natives where the best lunch spot could be found.

We didn't know where we were going, but were certain the food and the experience would probably be something to write home about. Oh, and it was.

We followed our bilingual hero all the way to El Paraiso, a fabulous but hidden lunch spot that features unbelievably scrumptious local fare. The waitresses, proud of their food, suffered through our horrible spanish to suggest what we should order.

A couple of pieces of cheese were served as an appetizer along with my favorite Salvadoran beer, Bahia. And Michele had a tasty pina colada. For the main course, we ended up with a well-marinated steak with chunky salsa on the side, perfectly fluffy salvadoran rice and a tender, sweet fried plantain on the side. It was wonderful, and the waitresses seemed genuinely pleased that we enjoyed it so much.

Tourists in El Salvador are rare enough, but must certainly be unheard of in this little hole in the wall. The entire bill for me and Michele came to just under $10. This, you must understand, was considered the nicest and most expensive restaurant in town.

You won't be surprised to learn that pictures of my plate were dutifully taken, glowing digital images of which were hence shared with the chickens back on the bus. They only had two responses: First, that I must have a stomach made of steel to have taken such a foolish chance to eat at such a place, and second, that it was quite odd that one would take photographs of their luncheon plate. I just couldn't help but think, these are not my people.

Oh, was I irritated. As we all rode back in the usual wad toward our hotel later that night, my fellow passengers spotted a bunch of prostitutes on a San Salvador street corner directly outside our bus window.

Here, suddenly, was my chance to be an obnoxious prick; an opportunity to hurl something horribly vulgar into the air. I couldn't help myself.

"Check the adam's apple on 'em," I announced proudly, my voice booming all over the bus. "Those are a bunch of trannies."

It was my feeble last-ditch effort to guage whether there were any kindred spirits aboard who shared my deeply flawed, deplorable sense of humor. Luckily, there were more than a few takers who giggled and seemed quite pleased with my observation. Maybe these folks aren't so bad after all.

Well, most of them, anyway. One of the women on board, upon hearing my delightfully tacky declaration, thought quietly for a minute as she peered carefully out the bus window at the jiggling ass cheeks protruding from some manwhore's shiny red leather lingerie. At long last, she squinted her eyes a little and sweetly asked, "What's a tranny?"