Stories about a man and his mochila, together, on a journey through world's mysteries...

“Quiche, Quiche, Quiche” is all I could hear from the ayudante amongst running toward the bus, bagless, in the chaotic bus depot of Quetzaltenango. My bag was with another man, a local, in a red plaid shirt adorned with a cowboy hat. My bag was hurled up on the roof of the old American school bus; the unnamed man shook my hand and went on his way. I took my seat on the bus.

The public bus network in Guatemala is efficient, but comical in all senses. The buses are known as ‘Chicken Buses’, as anything from chickens, piglets and furniture may find themselves on a seat near you. Former school buses from the US, presumably built to carry 64 small third grade passengers, now seat, stand and fit tetris-like none short of 164 passengers. Adults. And if you’re lucky, with chickens. Painted in elaborate colors, often with caricatures of Jesus and ‘The King of Kings’ printed on all windows, fitted with loud sound systems and displaying not one, but three Mercedes-Benz hood ornaments. This is an experience already right?

Not knowing if the cowboy-hatted man was to run off with my bag, the chaotic start to this particular journey to Quiche just got better. I was fortunate enough to be treated with a truly pimped out bus. It had a DVD player, and I got the treat of watching Ricky Martin live in concert. On repeat. For three hours.

My seat was against the window, knees to chest pressed against the back of the chair in front. Knee-pads would have been a bruise saver. The man next to me was intrigued at sitting next to the only white man with red dreadlocks on the bus. He spoke little English. Me little Spanish. That didn’t stop us from trying to converse. He found the medium… His mp3 player. The make where you had to flick the knob to change track. 256mb storage… So 2004. It was filled with Selena Gomez. His favorite artist. We happily sat, one headphone each, listening to Selena’s classics, while Ricky Martin was blasting in the other ear. Laughing intermittently at our inability to converse, we shared laughter and smiles. Life. We were content.

My new friend left the bus mid-journey. He was replaced by a young mother, baby wrapped by her shoulder, protected, carrying a large sack of maize. She unraveled the guarded baby, handed her to me, placed her sack above head, sat down and took back her child. She smiled, no English. “Gracias” she said. “De nada” I replied. Smiles. Trust. I will never forget the day that I put my trust in others, and others had trust in me.