The bus roared through the mountains, taking the turns, as
sharp and as frequent as those on Pacific Coast Highway, at 30-50 miles an
hour. They are called "chicken buses" for good reason. Like the
yellow school bus you rode as a kid, these vehicles are designed to comfortably
sit four children per row. However, in Guatemala they fit seven or eight: three
adults per bench, one or two children on laps, plus at least one other adult
standing between them. On a different ride from the one I describe here, I had
to stand for almost two hours literally feeling pressure from four different
directions, all the while holding the ceiling railings as we took the turns at
unquestionably dangerous speeds.
On this very trip between Antigua and Chichicastenango, the
chicken bus was crowded as always. When I sat down trying to juggle two
carry-ons and a poster tube (my large backpack with the majority of my
belongings was tied to the roof of the bus), I nearly smacked the guy sitting
next to me in the face. Ducking the blow, the man in his mid-thirties smiled at
me and laughed, appearing friendly and kind-hearted, beguiling his true nature.
But more to come of our antagonist later...
I had come to Guatemala during the final week of my month-long
vacation in Chiapas, southern Mexico. My friend Fernando had invited me to come
down to experience and spiritually observe the end of the Mayan thirteen Baktun
calendar-cycle occurring on December 21, 2012.
Contrary to the mass media’s perception of this event, the world was not
scheduled for apocalypse. Quite the
opposite: we were transitioning into a new period of spiritual
enlightenment. If we prepare ourselves
through healthy living, deep respect for the environment, and supreme gratitude
for the myriad gifts surrounding us, a truly better world awaits.
Our first night together, Fernando led me to the campfire
for a sacred meditation ceremony. We were staying in a eco-community called El
Jardín de Edén (The Garden of Eden), where ash took the place of soap when
cleaning dishes, hugs lasted 20 seconds at a minimum, long ommmmm and Sanskrit
chants initiated each communal meal, and occasionally clothing was optional. Though the people living there don’t like to
self-identify as hippies, it’s difficult to find another moniker that’s more
apt. As I sat down in front of the
campfire and felt the red ants climbing up my ankles, I felt so awkward,
uncomfortable, and out of place... quite a departure from business school. And yet, it is amazing how quickly my
perspective could change.
The ceremony involved rhythmic chanting, Hari Krishna style,
sometimes in Spanish, sometimes English, Sanskrit, and even Hebrew. (Well, that
was my addition.) I felt myself getting into a flow, a type of meditative
trace, starring at the dancing fire, hearing the sound of the voices, drums and
maracas, and joining in the repetitive chants. Within an hour or so, I started
receiving strong messages. "It's about cooperation, not competition."
"Your brother's marriage proposal is in total alignment with the
heavens." "Remember the sacredness of place." And most
importantly, "The world is perfect." This became a mantra in my head
that I've since repeated many times per day.
By dawn the next morning, I was no longer scared of the
usually long hugs, the nakedness, or the prayers before meals. I was embracing
my inner hippie and all the peace and love that went along with it. Over the
next three weeks, I relished the opportunity to stop eating meat, to focus on
my inner spiritual life, engage in meditation, yoga, and more ommmmm’s. The
results were tremendous. I felt light and free, alive to new experiences and
relationships, totally comfortable in who I am, and passionate that the future
is bright. This is exactly what the
Mayans predicted: a period of greater spiritual enlightenment, truth, and
goodness. How exciting to be a part of it!
Which brings me back to that ride on the chicken bus, a few
days into the new Baktun and not yet Christmas, a holy time as any. As we
reached Chichicastenango, where I would have to transfer to a different bus, my
smiling friend offered to let me pass in front of him. As we reached the door,
the “ayudante,” the bus attendant who helps with your bags and collects money
from the passengers, yelled something at me in Spanish, which I didn't
understand. Then, the guy behind me pushed past me and started to run. "Corre!
Corre!" Run, run! That I understood. So I started chasing the guy, shouting at him to stop, but still not understanding why I was running after him.
But when I got about a block away I stopped running,
realizing that they could be working together in order to get me to ditch the
bus long enough to steal my big backpack, which was still on the roof. I was
about to switch directions and begin running back to the bus when I was joined
by five, then ten, twenty, I swear no less than thirty young men who were also
in pursuit. All of the “jóvenes” who sell soda, fried plantains, peanuts, etc
to the bus travelers were also chasing the guy. At this point, I doubted that
my big backpack was the issue at hand.
The jóvenes reached the guy before I did and threw him to
the ground. They started punching and kicking him, ripping his bag apart. With
thirty guys around, everyone wanted a piece of him. Blood was dripping from his
face. I could see his look of fear and desperation. And all the while I kept screaming, "¡No
entiendo! ¡No entiendo!" "I don't understand!"
My screams stopped, however, when they reached into the
guy’s pocket and pulled out my wallet.
Now it all made sense: the ladrón must have been watching closely when I
had paid the ayundante and put my wallet back in my daypack. However, with all of the pushing and shoving
involved in disembarking the bus, I didn't feel or notice him take it.
Wallet in hand, my heart was still beating a million times
per second. They told me to check if all my money was there. It wasn't.
"¿Cuánto falta?" I could barely speak, but stammered, “siete…
cientos.” About $100 worth of Quetzales. With enough people on the scene,
someone thought to question a nearby rickshaw driver, while the rest of the
group continued to harass the ladrón. Turns out, the ladrón had made a handoff
to the driver, who was all too willing to not get his face kicked in.
My money was returned to me!
Now victorious, the jóvenes pushed the ladrón aside and
started to celebrate, running down the street, hollering, jumping, and swinging
on street signs. I thought I was watching a scene from West Side Story,
expecting to see choreographed pirouettes at any second. Caught up in the
excitement of the crowd, I kept yelling, "Muchas gracias! Muchas gracias!"
I walked with the ayudante, who had abandoned his post to
help me, back to where the bus was waiting still with my big backpack on the
roof. In thanks, I took off a woven bracelet that I was wearing and handed it
to him. He seemed to appreciate the gesture.
Regaining emotional control, I walked back to the transfer
point where all the jóvenes were waiting. They gave me a round of applause as I
approached. In my fledgling Spanish, I tried to make a speech: "Gracias,
gracias, a todo mis amigos aquí. De me corazón, con amor y paz, eran mi
familia!" I then noticed a guy selling ice cream next to us: "Helado
por todo!" (Twenty-five ice cream cones cost me less than seven dollars.)
Look, there are ladrones everywhere you go. And there is a
lot that I could have done to prevent this from happening (not flashing my
money on the bus, tying my bag tighter, keeping my wallet out of reach,
etc.). The last thing I want you to take
away from this story is to be afraid to travel. Quite the opposite: People are
amazing and come to your rescue in times of need. Having been living and
preaching peace and love for the previous three weeks, I may have been a bit
unsuspecting, and I definitely was reluctant to use violence myself. But, I was
damn glad that I had friends willing to do it for me. Maybe this was a sign
that we have entered the new era. Evil was defeated and the forces of good
prevailed. Maybe if we all start with ourselves, our own spiritual health, we
won't eliminate evil entirely, but we'll build a stronger and tighter community
of people who look out for each other, who fight for each other, and who
believe that this world could be a better place.
Namaste!
