Chicken Bus

Have you ever wondered what happens to those big yellow school buses once they’re replaced with newer models? I didn’t think so. Neither have I.

Once retired, school buses are (apparently) sent down to Central America, where they live out the rest of their days as local public transportation. After being given a flashy new paint job and covered in various Spanish versions of ‘I heart Jesus’. Obviously.

The old Bluebird buses, nicknamed chicken buses for the sheer multitude and variety of things that fill aisles and overhead racks (I hear that crates of chickens are common, but have only seen chickens transported in squirming, noisy bags), often still have the rules to keep school children in line posted up front. It is a bit strange to look around at the familiar interior of a school bus, such a time lurch, and have it be so out of place in another country. And so full of its citizens.

And I mean full. Seats originally designed to hold two children are packed with three grown adults, and typically a child or two, while others stand in the aisle. Personal space is not a concept that seems to exist here. Children sprawl into your lap, babies drool on your arm, grown men fall asleep on your shoulder, all while the bus careens through mountain passes.

We have come to love the chicken bus. Not only does it cost far less than taking the nicer tourist buses, it also…okay, that might be its main draw. Yep, we love the price.

In fact, we love it so much, we took a chicken bus from Nicaragua to Guatemala.  Three borders, four countries, and seventeen hours. But to be fair, it was supposed to be over 25 hours; they drive their buses a bit differently down here. Even with only two people per seat, that is still a long time on a school bus. Especially when you’re in the back and cargo -- including a wheelchair, a walker, and a bedframe -- fills the aisle to the ceiling.

Despite the lack of comfort and space, there always seems to be a general sense of accommodation, courtesy, and good humor. Even as the only gringos (we have yet to see any other foreigners on a chicken bus), we receive helping hands and big toothy grins all the way to our destination. No matter how many buses it takes us to get there.