I realized that I’ve alluded to my ride on a chicken bus in Guatemala on various platforms, but I never actually told the story from start to finish. And before any more time passes (it’s been a few months), I need to get the story out.
Add on top of that the jam-packed year of adventures and the fact that I’m getting older and my memory isn’t the best…there’s a need to get this story published somewhere. If only for my own selfish reasons of being able to pull this article up when I need to entertain a group of people.
And with no real intent on writing an article so full of SEO that you lose track of why you initially clicked on the link for, I intend to write this article as a glimpse into my life as a traveler.
Plus, a well-known and well-respected OG travel blogger made a statement that I don’t really agree with, so this article is written in opposition of that statement. He said that nobody writes personal story-style blogs or life updates anymore. People rely on newsletter emails from people they follow for updates. That everything is written as an SEO-heavy resource.
And while that may be true, not everyone reads blogs for trip-planning. I skim the newsletter emails for interesting articles to click on. I prefer to read a longer, in-depth, detail-filled story rather than just an overview.
Sometimes people don’t want to watch the latest viral TikTok (I still don’t even have the app). There’s a reason long-form videos on YouTube are still doing well, even though “short-form videos are the future.” Bleh.
But now it’s time to get off my soapbox and tell you about the time I rode a chicken bus in Guatemala. No, I didn’t risk my life (sorry for the click-bait tease), but if you listened to everyone who gave their opinions and offered warnings, I just might have. Even though they themselves never rode a chicken bus before…
First off – what is a chicken bus?
A chicken bus is an old American yellow school bus that made its way down to Central America and repurposed as a public form of local transportation. The name comes from a time when locals would transport goods from the markets, including chickens. And the nickname stuck. The proper name for the chicken bus is “camioneta,” not pollo bus or some weird literal translation.
Most of these chicken busses are tricked out in some “pimp my ride” style, with mufflers removed to make them louder, lights, sound systems and everything else to draw attention to the bus. They make their money based on how many people they can cram into the seats (and walkways), so the theory is to make the bus stand out as much as possible so people are drawn to it.
How do you ride a chicken bus?
Think of riding a chicken bus in the way that you would ride a standard public bus in the US, but just a little more adventurous. There isn’t a website or app you can check routes and times on. The busses go when they’re full, and still cram more people on than safety recommends.
There are technically stops that the chicken busses frequent, but if you see one coming, you can literally stick out your hand and they’ll stop for you. If the route/cities aren’t painted on the front window of the bus, you can ask the driver or the tout at the door if they’re going your way. If they are, hop on and hold on. If not, wait for the next one.
Once you’re on and under way, the tout will come along and collect the ride money. If you’re not a local, you’ll be charged more. Don’t try to haggle, it’s just the way it is. And it’s literally dirt cheap to ride the chicken bus, so even if you’re paying 5x the local amount, it’s still probably a dollar or 2 for a long ride.
My story riding a chicken bus from Guatemala City to Lake Atitlán
So going back to my experience…let’s start with the night before my first chicken bus ride. I was staying in a hostel in Guatemala City for the first night in the country. I knew the next day was going to be a travel day out to the lake, but I hadn’t made any solid plans.
I knew that I could get a private shuttle out to the lake, but it would set me back over $100. While I could afford such luxury, I didn’t want to spend that kind of money at the start of the trip if I could avoid it. I knew that Uber was a thing in Guatemala City, but I didn’t know if I could find anyone to take me to the lake, which would have been a few hours round-trip for the driver.
I’d done some research and learned about the chicken bus, but I was nervous. I’d ridden trains all over eastern Europe and ridden busses when I lived in Germany, but this was different. Central America is a totally different beast.
The hostel I was staying at was fairly small, and the 2 girls that I was sharing a room with were hanging out on their bunks most of the night. I asked them if they had ever ridden the chicken bus before, but they hadn’t. They recommended that I ask the hostel owner, as he seemed to be brimming with local knowledge. Cool. I’d ask him.
Trouble was, he had too much knowledge. JK, but he started talking so fast, I had to ask him to slow down so I could catch everything. He told me that there was a direct bus to Panajachel, the lakeside village that I was heading to.
In order to catch the chicken bus the next day, I’d need to get myself to the local bus depot a few blocks away. Looking at the map, it would take me an hour to walk with all of my stuff. Or I could walk a few blocks to the local bus stop, take the bus 1 stop, and then walk a few more blocks.
The thought of starting the day off sweaty was enough to make me call an Uber for $3.
All throughout the restless night, I mulled over my decision to take the chicken bus. The hostel was extremely hot with no fan or a/c to speak of, the bunks were rickety old planks of wood and I didn’t want to think about what bugs might be lying in wait under the bottom bunk. So I occupied my mind with thoughts about the adventure I was about to have.
Sweating and nursing a few mosquito bites on my legs, I finally got out of bed around 7 to try to find an ATM. There hadn’t been one at the airport international arrivals terminal and I had been getting by with credit cards, but I needed cash for the bus rides.
After searching a few blocks for an open bank, I admitted defeat and walked into a gas station, only to find 2 ATMs next to a little restaurant thing in the store. I guess that was the best place to get cash, as I wasn’t the only person making a withdrawal.
Feeling like a billionaire, I carried my 2,000Q to the little table and took a better look at the cash. The conversion rate was staggering (in my favor), but it also left me with only large bills. Like, the lowest denomination I had was 100Q. I knew that I was going to need smaller bills to pay for the chicken bus and other things along the way. I purchased a water at the counter, and then visited another gas station along the way to break another 100Q bill. I finally had enough small bills to not feel like a douche getting on the chicken bus.
I made my way back to the hostel, enviously eyeing the local stands that had popped up to sell breakfast. I didn’t want to eat anything cooked on the street before taking the winding journey over the mountains to the lake, unsure of how my stomach would react to the combination. I closed my eyes as I nibbled on the protein bar I’d brought from home, willing it to not taste like…a protein bar. Didn’t work.
But these are the precautions I decided to take. This was my first time in Central America and I didn’t want to live out one of those stories of tourists trapped on a bus with travelers diarrhea.
After getting my things together at the hostel and checking out, I hopped onto my Uber and headed to the bus terminal. I was told that there was a bus leaving around 9am that would take me directly to the lakeside village for less than $10USD…and we were cutting it close. Traffic in Guatemala City is no joke, and this is coming from someone who grew up in LA.
We pulled up to a seemingly deserted corner and I asked my driver if this was really it. He said yes, but I had to get out and walk around the corner because he couldn’t get any closer.
It was one of those moments where I had to trust my gut. Here I was, in the middle of a city I barely knew, trusting an Uber driver I could barely understand, trying to find a bus that would take me far away from civilization to a volcanic lakeside village where local indigenous Mayans lived. But there were no warning flags going off in my mind, so I got out of the Uber and headed around the corner.
As soon as I rounded the corner, I knew I made it to the correct spot. Dozens of locals were sitting around, with just as many chicken busses idling by, just waiting to be filled.
I was approached by a tout who asked me where I was going. I told him “Pana,” and he grabbed my arm (not aggressively – just to guide me) and led me to one of the busses. He helped me on and I was met with a bus full of locals, all eyes on the gringa that just hopped on.
To my right was the driver in his seat, and the other front seat filled with boxes, bags, and a wheelchair. To my left, every seat in the bus already had 2-3 people sitting on the benches.
I slowly made my way towards the back of the bus, having to squeeze and slide sideways through the narrow aisle, doing my best to avoid smacking people in the face with my backpack. But sometimes failing. Sorry.
I desperately looked for a place to sit with all of my stuff, but had to resort to the very back corner of the bus. The exact place I’d been told to avoid was now going to be my home for who knows how long.
I squeezed into my seat, leaving my backpack on my lap so it wasn’t in the space of the gentleman next to me. About 2 minutes into the ride, he helped me put the bag under our seats so my vision wasn’t obscured and I could enjoy the scenery.
At one point the bus stopped at a signal, and a preacher hopped on. I didn’t catch much of what he was saying because I was fighting off the wave of sleepiness that was trying to wash over me (from the motion sickness pill I took before hopping on). Something about being saved. At the same time, a guy was trying to sell packs of gum. I just smiled to myself and figured everyone has a hustle.
We finally made it up to the road that would take us into the mountains. Every time there was an opportunity, the bus driver would gun it up a hill, around a corner, and swerve around slower vehicles. I had no idea these busses could be pushed that hard or reach such breakneck speeds on mountain roads.
Forget the easy braking. There was either speeding around corners or slamming on brakes. Even if I DID manage to fall asleep, the constant movement and sudden jerking of the bus would have woken me up every 2 minutes.
Stop.
Go.
Slam on the brakes.
Gun it around this van.
Pretty sure the driver was auditioning for NASCAR at some point. I’m not sure how the tout could stay on his feet and collect money from everyone without flying across the seats, but he collected my $3 and moved over to the next person.
After about an hour, we reach a small village in the middle of nowhere and everyone looked at me. I know that I stand out, but this was something different. The old man next to me indicated that I needed to get off, and the tout was reaching his hand out for me. I quickly grabbed my backpack and made my way to the front of the bus, again smacking everyone in the face as I passed. Judging by the lack of yelling at me, I figured this was just part of the adventure – getting smacked in the face.
I hopped off with the tout, who then ran me across the street to another bus. I guess I missed the direct chicken bus from Guate to Pana and had to transfer. Oh well.
Thankfully I got on and realized the bus was less than half full, which meant I didn’t have to share a seat in the back, but could sit closer to the front. Once I snagged my seat, I took off my backpack and clipped it around the handle in front of me. Based on the curves and the fact that we weren’t as squished, I didn’t want my bag to go flying once we hit that first major turn.
This ride was more of the same, but the scenery was breathtaking. Volcanoes everywhere, lush green blurred by with the occasional local stand on the side of the road. My stomach started to feel funny, but it was more excitement than motion sick, thankfully.
One more stop, one more transfer. I was starting to get a little worried that I was heading the wrong direction (my gps wasn’t working in the mountains), but then all worries flew away. Literally. They were probably left back at the start of our journey. But I could SEE THE LAKE! It was real!
The last ride was…interesting. And really short. I doubt the driver touched the brakes. I ended up getting off about a stop too soon, but I didn’t care.
I had made it to Panajachel. I was exhausted from the combination of the sun, lack of sleep, stress from the rides, and the motion sickness pills. But I made it.
Have you ever ridden on a chicken bus before? What was your experience?
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