Dalama Adventures Tale of two corporate types ditching their jobs and traveling the world for 14 months... check out all photos, blogs & interesting tid bits at http://www.dalama.net

We're en route to Quetzaltenango or Xela as the local Maya call it.  The bus rides during our travels thus far have provided the most adventure, entertaining stories and insight into local life and culture.  Guatemala is no exception.  There are various types of transport we can choose from, including the range of 1st Class "Pullman" busses, to mini busses, and at the bottom of the lot, "chicken busses" which are the cheapest and probably the most lively of the range.  We opted for the four hour "Pullman" bus for $7 per person.  The bus station is in Guatemala City, in a "not so safe" area, guarded by armed men - a common sight here in Guatemala.  Our bus is actually quite luxurious - we get assigned seats (unheard of in Asia), the recline buttons actually work, and they even "checked" our luggage and gave us bag tag receipts.  And also unlike Asia, where the busses were filthy and full of prior passengers' garbage, this were relatively clean and comfortable.  

So our bus, fully packed with passengers, heads through the city, and onward through the narrow windy passes through the mountains to Xela.  We stop quite often to let new passengers on and others off.  The first stop, not more than a couple of minutes into Guatemala City, is for refreshments.  Young guys with sodas, bright yellow french fries and pseudo ice cream cones board the bus - it's the pre-show stock up on snacks time.  We pass, as we've stashed away some treats from our favorite bakery.  Next stop, a little man with greased back hair in his Sunday's best, get on board, and starts preaching the word of God.  Too bad we hadn't brushed up on our "palabras religiosos," we couldn't understand a word he said.  Next guy that gets on speaks slowly and clearly in Spanish, and I can somewhat understand what he’s saying.  This guy is calm and confident, and despite having only half an arm on his left side, he's manipulating the pages and handing out literature with little impediment.  He is selling a pamphlet chock full of important rules, guidelines and forms required for daily functioning in the city.   One form is for how to get a drivers license, complete with a cheat sheet on road signs and rules.  Another form instructs on how to apply for jobs and working papers, and another is for immigration.  His hand-out was quite popular and several sales were made before he hopped off at the next town.  

A couple hours into the ride the wind picks up, and we hear a really loud noise, as if something may have hit the bus.  Not to worry, it's just the part of the bus roof, where there's an emergency exit that pops up - similar to those on old school busses in the states.  The driver had it propped open to allow for some natural air conditioning.  Apparently the strong wind has just ripped this piece of the roof off.  I wonder, with all the other cars behind us, and people walking alongside the road, if this heavy chunk of metal flying through the air did any damage.  I guess the driver doesn't care, he just keeps speeding along.  It probably happens all the time and it no longer phases anyone.  It's a good thing the rains are holding off.

Next up... it's the Avon Lady.  This woman is selling special perfume for men and women.  Some are in the shape of a pen for business men to give themselves a quick spray during a stressful meeting.  She also sells lipsticks and nail polish.  

We get dropped off in Xela, and make our way past the guy with the gun, standing outside the bus station entrance.  We haul our huge packs through the streets attempting to find someone to get directions to the Spanish school's weekend office.  I finally find a super nice local woman who gives us a sense of direction, and we're off.  Street addresses give one a sense of which two streets the actual address is between.  You'd think it could just be as straight forward as one street, one number, one address, rather than having to play a game to find the street.  Thank goodness for the explanation and translation of the street grid system in our Lonely Planet Guide.  We think we're at the right place, but see no school sign.  We ring what looks to be a doorbell, and a little old lady's head pops out of the window and she quickly utters some words in Spanish, so fast we can't understand.  I make out the word ICA, and I nod, "si."  Ah, the special password, and we're in.  Her husband receives us at the door, and I can't understand anything he says.  I manage to communicate who we are and that we need to find the school and our family for the home stay.  We discover that these are the parents of the school director/owner.  We're given a map, but the old man's eyes are so bad he can't tell us where we are.  He brings out a huge magnifying glass, like the ones we'd use in science class in elementary school to burn paper and insects in the sunlight.  He still can't see anything, so we thank him for the map.  He calls our home stay, and within ten minutes our new house mom is here with a truck to pick us up.  Our bags in the back of the pickup, the three of us piled into the front seat, we bump our way over the cobblestone roads to reach our new home.  The adventure begins...