5th Oct. 2016
Today, we transfer up to Flores in the north of Guatemala ready for our visit to Tikal tomorrow. However, our flight isn’t until 7:15pm and so we have until the middle of the afternoon to finish off the remaining sights in Antigua. This is definitely not a hardship as we have really enjoyed Antigua – even though I rule out the Choco Museum on the grounds that it costs Q180 per person a ridiculous price for anything in Guatemala!
When we were planning our trip, we were happy to use bus services for our transfers for pretty much everywhere except for Belize & Guatemala. The Chicken Buses have a reputation and it is not based around punctuality, reliability, comfort or quality of service – and certainly, the bus station in Antigua (for example) is a world away from the bus stations we used in Mexico. However, it would be wrong to visit Guatemala and not use a Chicken Bus and today seems to be an ideal opportunity to put that right.
Our mission is to visit the nearby village of Pastores – of which we know almost nothing except for that a) it is not very far away; and b) it is a centre for makers of cowboy boots. These seem to be good enough reasons and an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. As we walk to the bus station, Antigua has yet another surprise in store for us and we come across what I assume to be a school marching band complete with majorettes in white and the band dressed up in red.
Once at the bus station, there is activity all around – buses are on the move; people are walking in all directions; and conductors are shouting out destinations incomprehensibly and frantically pointing at buses. We hit upon the tactic of approaching a shouting man at random and saying “Pastores?” and then walking in the direction being pointed out. Cycling through this algorithm several times results in us being shown to a specific bus and with a final check of “Pastores?” being met by a nod from the driver, we get in and sit down.
At this point, the disadvantage of the provenance of the bus becomes apparent. However brightly painted the bus is on the outside, little has been done on the inside. In particular, the seats seem to be original. I’m sure the leg room between the seats is highly adequate for US schoolchildren, but it really doesn’t cut the mustard for me. Also, for two adults side by side on the bench seats there is a reasonable amount of room. However, the standard practice seems to be 3 abreast – or cheek to cheek, as it were – on the seats. This is even more puzzling when we look around and see that the back of the bus is almost completely empty.
After a few minutes, the driver starts the engine (wonder how many miles it has done? Since the last service??) and we are off – initially at a very slow crawl as we head out of the bus station. I am puzzled as to why the conductor has put a towel over his head until he jumps off the bus (still crawling along) takes the basket off a woman who wants to board the bus, puts the basket on his head and disappears round to the back of the bus. The penny then drops that he is climbing up the ladder at the back of the bus to put the basket in the roof rack. The conductors job seems to be split between encouraging potential passengers to board and loading up the luggage. We are very happy only to have our day packs with us and not to have the worry of backpacks on the roof (with the ever present potential of rain).
As usual, we are able to track the progress of the bus using our phones and this gives us confidence we are heading in the right direction. However, the clearest sign that we have arrived in Pastores is when the bus stops to pick up a passenger and we look outside and see a couple of shops with big displays of cowboy boots. Hastily we get up and scramble off the bus asking the conductor how much we owe. The response comes back “cinco quetzals” – in total! So, for 50p we’ve just had a 4km bus trip – and got closer to some of the locals!
Pastores reputation is well deserved. Around 50% of the shops on the main (only?) street seem to be selling cowboy boots and other leather goods such as belts and even some saddles. We pop in to a couple of shops to have a look at the displays and they are fantastic, handmade boots many of them beautifully decorated. And if ostrich or snake skin is more your thing, then you are also in luck and you can again have your pick on styles. If there was any way that I would remotely wear a pair of cowboy boots once back in the UK, then I would have been tempted – but I won’t and so we didn’t even ask about the price.
Catching a bus back in to Antigua would have been easy (and cheap) – just cross to the other side of the road and flag down the first bus that comes past. However, we are not in a rush and have not yet got anywhere near hitting our 10,000 step daily target. In addition, there is a church (surely not!) in the next town (Jocotenango) along the road back that looked like it was worth a stop and a few photographs. By the by, we have been to a number of places whose names have ended in -tenango and so we later asked our driver about it and apparently, it means “place of”.
By the time that we make it back in to town, it is definitely lunch time. Obligingly, one of the restaurants that we have been meaning to get to is on the right side of town and so that seems too good an opportunity to miss. It also gives us a chance to revisit our “must do” list for the town and we realise that we have omitted the statues depicting the crucifixion (stations of the cross?) that we have spotted tucked away in the ruins of a church near the arch. We have been putting off taking pictures of these figures (usually the classic photographer’s excuse of “oh, the light isn’t quite right”). Well, it’s a case of now or never and so we go for it.
The transfer to the airport was uneventful and it was a bit of a surprise that Guatemala City (about an hour and a half’s drive away) has a big, modern airport. It is also an airport that seems to be significantly underused given the paucity of passengers we saw in the terminal (or on the plane) – especially given that we had to walk miles just to get to the gate. At check-in when we asked if we could have seats near the front, we were told we could have any seats that we wanted. Once we get on to the plane, we can see why – there can only have been a dozen or so passengers on the plane. Still we got to be right at the front – that’s in First Class isn’t it!! As ever, when arriving at an airport, it is a big relief to see someone standing their with a sign that has your name on – hardly roughing it, I know, but after all, we have just flown First Class.