Bus trip: Suyapa Style

Honduras bus lingo for dummies:

Cobrador – Dude who collects pisto --- (cash), yells out orders and does other all purpose and necessary bus things constantly on the bus.
Monton --- Call it like it sounds – A TON. Though it is said more like maun – tone.
Reggaeton --- If you’re reading this definition I’m sorry but you’ve got to get with it, a Latin –fused reggae, quasi rap heavy beat and base oriented type music that has taken Latin America by storm for some time, and finally, the U.S too.

“El estadio, el estadio; Mercado; estadio!” The Cobrador yells habitually and monotonely; in the required pitch used by all Cobradors to communicate that this is in fact a bus and it is in fact going to the stadium and the market. The bus swerves to the curb and the Cobrador swings on the pole like a fireman preparing for action; he jumps to the ground with a rolling stop as the bus too finds its resting spot, beckoning passer byers and stand in liners with his welcoming routine to enter the bus. Mothers holding carrot heads sticking out of bags; sweat drenched mechanics with grease decorated necks and teenage girls, skilled in traversing diverse terrain in 8” high heels all pile in.

Off to the side is a large family scrambling for the bus. Father and son are both holding on to sister and daughter’s hand, and excited and frantic that the bus may soon leave, both men run to entry ways of the bus, opposite ones, while the girl is left laughing by herself, running after one relative to one door. As they enter, they are greeted by packed seats and overflowing aisles, and they attempt to squeeze a space for themselves and find a handhold on the metal bar above. They sway in one piece; as the bus jolts to assert its place on the motorway free for all.

The Cobrador, still beckoning on the street seeming left in the dust has not forgotten us; he in fact is only tying up loose ends, and right when it seems a tad too late, he gallops, and regains hold of that same fire pole. Once entering, it becomes clear that his job has just begun, he scans the bus and notes the new entries, some of which are obvious, some of which blend in too much with everyone else. He pushes through this continuously morphing amoeba, and begins to select those he thinks have not yet paid. As he discovers them, they pay, sometimes in exact change; L3.50, but mostly not. He shuffles through his mounting pile of pisto, fingers flying like a novelist burning up the typewriter --- L1.50 back to him, L6.50 back to her, and un monton – L25.50 to that un-latino-bus-savy group of gringos; always moving on to the next while counting the last in his hands. The bus pulsates heavy base; typically body invading and tap inviting reggaeton that is sometimes settled down by Bryan Adams or other similar eighties greats; the fuller the bus gets the bass-ier the driver seems to want the music.

This is a 1996 School bus from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania; as indicated on the side in unchangeable stenciled black letters. In the front and on the inside, it has discovered its own flair; painted in green and purple on the front are the simple words: Estadio; Mercado; Colonia Suyapa to communicate to all those deaf but literate; once again where this bus is going. This might have been painted years ago, lacking significance to the current driver, though still running the same routes. Inside is where the driver’s personality really shines. It is vital for most drivers to have some indication that God or Mary or Jesus or the church dictated trinity are in fact watching over the bus, and that he does in fact pray to or love or do something for that holy entity, if only to ensure safety for that bus. Dios es Amor is a common easy and quickly does it all encompassing favorite. With thousands of passengers a day, sometimes over a hundred traveling at a time, irratic driving and unpredictable obstacles and sharp turns, I guess he figures he needs it. To have someone to keep Mary or God or Jesus company, the driver usually has some image – pictorial or key chain style of an on the way to if not completely naked lady. This one seems more like a mermaid, swimming below his cracked and crooked mirror, letters about some God now drowning in its worn – downed-ness. Above the driver to the top left is a state of the art car C.D player, with 6 disc change availability that he chooses and abuses with the touch of a finger to mold the mood of the bus like a puppeteer with his puppets. Daddy Yankee is still his current favorite, and it blasts out of the carefully placed and carefully kept state of the art speakers.

The Cobrador swivels and swerves as he dances through, with and around passengers; rubbing hips and torso, pelvis and thighs against complete strangers; all knowing he would not if he had any other way to navigate through, all doing the same when needing to navigate too. After sudden stops and starts, unnecessary running and waiting, and waiting and screeching, we arrive at one of the destinations – the Stadium. My friends and I exit and as I wait for them also exits a 5 year old girl with her grandma. The Cobrador has beat us all to the punch, and once again, just in time, grabs on to the little girl and lands her to the ground, lets her stand close, and throws out those same arms for the older lady --- right arm offered to hold her hand, left arm guiding her safely down.

He repeats this, and he is so almost always a he, from 5:00 in the morning until 7:30 at night.