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| On the streets of Mazatlan, making my way to the bus depot |
The bus depot was not real busy, lots of cabbies lounged outside in the morning sun. I walked up and down the hallway past all of the various ticket booths. Some were closed, others were staffed with somewhat disinterested looking people. Most of the booths had large billboards that displayed the prices to all the destinations...all in 100% Spanish of course. It wasn't rocket science to figure out that it was going to cost about 600 pesos for my trip..plus or minus. ( 50 bucks..plus or minus )
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| Street entrance to the Mazatlan bus depot |
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| Street entrance to the Mazatlan depot, different angle |
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| The open air entrance where my search for a good bus company began |
I found the perfect combination of a booth with the right price ..that was open..and a smiling attendant. That went really well until I asked for a ticket to Guaymas.
I tried a couple times, but it was obvious that speaking English was not going to get me a bus ticket...no way no how.
Well right there , I thought I was screwed. How the freaking hell do I get my ticket, if I can't speak Spanish?....And the chances of me learning how to do that in the next few minutes are right around slim, and not a fucking chance in the world.
A brainwave saves the day. All or most of the taxi drivers speak English, and there is a whole gaggle of them outside.
So, I march out to the taxi stand and start asking ( politely ) who speaks English and would like to help me buy a ticket in exchange for a fee, plus giving me a ride back to my hotel later. I got a volunteer on the second try, an eager fellow who seemed to jump at the opportunity to help out.
Me and my new friend went to the ticket window, and the taxi driver explained to the girl what we were going to do. Cool.
I told the taxi guy that I wanted to get a bus to Guaymas at 9pm the next day, and he relayed the information to the ticket lady. The conversation back and forth between the two seemed to be a lot more dramatic than I would have imagined, but what the heck.
I tried to impress on the taxi driver that I wanted the ticket for tomorrow and not today....and I want the 9pm bus...not the 9am bus. I was waved off, and the conversation in Spanish continued back and forth for some time.
Finally a ticket got printed out, and I handed over the cash to the ticket lady. Then, an interesting thing happened. She worked extremely hard to make sure that my change was exactly right and that I approved of the transaction. It looked right to me, and I asked the taxi driver if everything was OK....he said yes, yes...she just wants you to have the correct amount of money. Gotta like that.
My final task was to confirm with the driver, and the driver with the ticket lady that I was going to the right place at the right time. Answer, yes.
Bus ticket in hand, The taxi took me back to the hotel. Interestingly, after all the stories you hear about Mexican cabbies...this guy didn't really want the extra dough for the ticket buying job...he really didn't want it...he protested with his hands in the air and a smile on his face. Finally we settled on a generous tip for the ride and parted company. ( there will be several good Samaritan taxi stories here..and no bad ones )
The next evening I headed out to the bus depot, leaving the warm ocean breeze behind. Lucky for me, I found a baggage handler that spoke enough English to tell me where to wait for my bus. I was shocked at how big the Mazatlan bus yard was on the back side of the building. There were buses coming and going constantly....people off and people on...and away they go again.
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| The business side of the Mazatlan bus depot |
Because I couldn't understand the language on the loudspeaker, and I didn't want to miss my bus, I camped out on the sidewalk. From here I could check out the bus numbers and get on the right one ( hopefully )
I felt so out of place sitting on my bag, amongst all the Mexican people that I had no way of talking to. It was a bit embarrassing not have any of the language skills that would have made even a small chit chat possible.
Of course the bus was a bit late, which made me a bit tense...as in, did I miss my bus? But, finally it showed up, good old number 20. I lined up with everybody else and presented my ticket to the driver at the door. I asked him ( in English of course ) "Are you going to Guaymas?" You know, just to confirm.
The driver looked at my ticket and rattled off a slew of Spanish that included several references to Guaymas, I took this as a good sign. However he could have said that Guaymas fell into ocean yesterday, or the drug gangs burned it to the ground and tourists are hanging from the lightposts...and I wouldn't have known the difference.
Ok, here is what you want to know. The bus was totally spotless inside and out. It was maybe one third full at this point. Air conditioner on full to the point of chilly. Multiple TV/Movie screens hung from the ceiling. It was quiet and on the verge of luxurious. As we weaved our way out of the city, it became very clear that the driver was a seasoned pro. Smooth driving, smooth shifting the manual transmission and a conservative speed helped to calm my concerns of a flaming bus ride off a cliff....complete with chickens and goats. I watched several Hollywood movies in Spanish. This was great, because some of the movies were actually quite easy to decipher, despite the language problem. First of all, a car chase is a car chase, romance looks the same in Spanish, and when a woman is displeased with the actions of her man...well say no more.
As the bus trip progressed away from the city and into the less populated areas, the various bus stops seemed to be going back in time. At each stop, people would board the bus and offer to sell local food and snacks. I was getting hungry, but most of the time, I couldn't figure out what it was that they were trying to sell me. My concern was that something would taste awesome, I'd gobble it....and then pay a steep price with a nasty bout of ( it's really funny if you don't have it ) explosive diarrhea....on a bus full of strangers.
For all of those "Positive Thinkers" out there, try thinking away explosive diarrhea and vomiting next time it befalls you.
I wonder if I could use "explosive diarrhea" in a sentence one more time?...Naw...that would be going too far...and Lord forbid we should do that here.
I tried to stay awake to take in the sights and sounds, but as the night progressed....so did the cat naps. We were boarded by the Federal Police several times, at roadside check-points and they did a walk down the aisles, looking for what, I have no idea. At the border between Sinaloa and Sonora, we disembarked for a brief period while the bus was casually searched by police, with the military standing close by. Intense to see, but the demeanor of the officers and soldiers was casual and non-threatening to the bus passengers.
The bus driver announced "Guaymas" several times ( hopefully it was for my benefit ) after about 11 or 12 hours of cruising...and there I was standing in the Guaymas bus depot, without a clue where exactly that was. And better yet, I had no idea where Bill and Miriam were, compared to where I was.
The really good part was when the local taxi drivers ( who spoke pretty good English ) couldn't figure out where Las Playitas was. I immediately thought "scam"...but it turns out that my paranoia was unfounded. They just had no idea that someone had decided to call that strip of dust and ruin something fancy like that.
To be continued soon...
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