Chapter 27

The Adventure:

The bus.

The bus was built sometime preceding the construction of the Ark. It was tall, had huge thin woods poked wheels with yellow rubber clincher tires, and, sometime in the past, the body of the bus had been painted yellow. Presently, it was the color ... and consistency ... of rust. There were a series of openings that, once upon a time, held glass. The driver had a windshield that was mostly intact ... except for a bullet hole or two.

We met the bus in the Plaza Cívica 7 de Agosto at 5Am. We had purchased tickets. Purchase of tickets ... with a suitable bribe to the armed guard and another to the driver ... guaranteed us seats ... such as they were. Still, there were leather covers over the springs. We boarded just behind a flock of nuns. They were escorted by a Jesuit priest. The nuns went all the way to the back.

When we paying passengers were aboard, the guard proceeded to accept offerings for the remaining available spaces. The un-purchased seats were sold first. Then the roof of the vehicle was layered with sitters and standers. After that, prime positions on the front and rear bumpers were offered. When every possible safe? spot was taken, men and boys passed ropes with hooks through the window holes and several dozen hangers-on clung to the ropes and window ledges.

The capacity of the bus was listed as 36 persons. We were carrying, all told; one hundred and three men, women and children ... including 7 babies in arms, plus three goats, six full grown chickens, nine baskets of peeps, several ducks, a goose and an injured burro.

Before we left, the Jesuit priest blessed the crowd ... although the ceremony surely resembled Last Rites performed on a battlefield.

And we were off. We traversed the length of the Isla del Carmen first driving through the dust and dirt of the construction of a new airfield, not that they had an old one. After a lengthy wait the bus and passengers loaded on the ferry barge. the tugboat pulled us away from the landing and we crossed the Paso to Revolution and the Isla Aguada. The banks of this Paso was lined with the wrecks of abandoned ships and fishing boats. Now the trail took to the shore and the bus picked up speed ... all of fifteen miles an hour. All along the beach we had observed the damage of a recent hurricane.

At Saban Cuy we headed inland. Following dusty dirt roads we entered the town of Independencia, Campeche, and stopped for a potty, a lunch and a stretch at Adventista Independencia, a Seventh Day Adventist mission. The church folk must make a decent living feeding the bus folk; nothing else comes this way.

They served hot tamales, corn tortillas, refried beans, Mexican rice and, of all things ... Coca Cola. The salsa was mashed tomatillos and ground green chilies ... cooked, lime juice and salt added after cooling ... very tasty.

Half an hour and we were on our way. At a junction ... unnamed and isolated we turned left onto the Villahermosa / Chetumal Highway; more dirt. The trip took three days ... just to Chetumal ... we still had half of British Honduras to go.

The road had one big advantage ... no mountains. It was flat farmland, flat farmland and more flat farmland. No mountains full of horror stories of busses plunging over the edge ... we did ford several streams.

We didn't Actually go to Chetumal ... the road to Belise City and the boatyard headed off before the metropolis. Santa Elena is the Mexican counterpart of Sta Elena on the British Honduras side of the Hondo River ... THE BORDER.