I know I've mentioned the vans, called colectivos (or combis for short), that careen down the avenues here, but I don't think I've really painted the full picture.
First, I leave my house at 7am in a zombie like state from which I don't really emerge until about ... 10 am. Don't ask how I teach from 8 until the cloud lifts mid-morning. I'm not sure if I myself know. So, I leave my house (not in the dark anymore since we set the clocks back!) and walk about 6 or 7 minutes to the Avenida Central, to just in front of the Pizza Hut, where I wait for my colectivo. At first, I could only take the Route 1 van, but now I know that the 53 and a few others also pass by my school. One cannot board just any van of death, because the routes are not clear and if you don't know the route, chances are it involves veering away from the avenida at some point, meaning you have to frantically get the driver to stop, let you off, and then you have to go looking for another van that can get you where you need to be. Anyway, before the clocks were set back, it was extremely hard to see the small Route numbers on the colectivos, leading to last minute flagging down and many missed vans.
Once a combi is properly flagged down, it is time for the buttcheek crunch. These vans can hold up to 16 passengers, including the front seat that holds two, and a novice might wonder how this is possible. A seasoned rider can tell you that only Megan and Anj could fit more buttcheeks on these benches! There is a bench behind the driver that comfortably seats 3 but often seats 4... one down the side that comfortably sits 4 but often holds 5-6, and one down the door side that seats 3 well and 4-5 not so well. For some reason the combis are always, always crowded at 7am, often to the point of blazing by my waving arm, and when I finally get one to stop, I have to wiggle my derriere in between reluctant to move riders. Then come the stares. I've been here for over three months now, but I still find it weird to be conspicuously stared at in public. When packed more than a dozen into a converted van well before I am fully awake, I like the gawking even less. There are few foreigners in Tuxtla (I think I might know them all), and those that are here are made to feel like a spectacle.
Next, it's time to pay. It costs 4 pesos (about 40 cents) to ride the combi to work (or anywhere on the route, for that matter), and unless you're sitting in the front or right behind the driver, paying requires passing your 4 pesos, or a bigger coin or bill, down the row, and mumbling something like "Por favor" or "Le molesta" (Can I trouble you?). Then, back comes the change. If you pay with more than fare for one, you are usually asked by several riders and/or the driver, "Cobra de uno o de dos?" (Basically, is that for one or for two?)
Now, the drivers of the colectivos have a death wish, as I have stated before, and in addition to this, they multitask better than even Boston drivers. They take money and make change while steering crazily and shifting gears and opening the door and sometimes changing the radio. It's no wonder all of the combis have bars installed overhead. I recommend holding on. Even while holding on, one morning I pulled some sort of gymnastic move as my feet and hands stayed planted but my torso went flying off the seat. I have yet, though, to fall completely.
Near these bars is usually a cord, or a button, connected to a buzzer. This is used to request a stop. It was hard at first even to determine where the stops are. Just ring and hope for the best. Even scarier was the first time I looked up and realized, there's no buzzer!!! This means that you have to open your freak show mouth and say, "En la parada, por favor" or "La siguente parada, por favor" (Next stop, please), and be stared at even more. The creature speaks!
That's my morning commute in a nutshell. The parents of older students at school don't let their kids ride in these. Would any of them like to drive me to school so I could have a pleasant ride in, too?
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