Ocosingo or bust!

After Ocosingo comes Misol-Ha....ha ha

Right, as if. As if the bus, that piece of German engineering known as a Mercedes didn’t break down in Ocosingo. This was a planned breakfast stop on the way to Palenque, with sixty minutes to stretch, find the so-called bathrooms and line up in the buffet line for the scrambled eggs, beans, fruit and what appeared to be toast. The cup of coffee looked safe. Our shiny white 18 passenger marvel of Teutonic tinkering had driven off to a nearby roadside mechanic: we used to call them ‘shade tree mechanics’ because that’s where they had their place of ‘employment’. In Ocosingo they’re ‘palm tree mechanics.’ Some of us who weren’t staring at the breakfast with a raised eyebrow, (me) watched the small hood of the Benz being raised. Half an hour later, the shuttle bus returned towards the restaurant and kept going. He turned left into a presumably better mechanic (no palm tree) who had a partial shed for covering and perhaps more of a tool selection. The three Frenchmen and I watched the hood open again. We’re checking our watches but not worried (yet). The breakfast hour became a leisurely brunch. The bus didn’t move. The brunch service was cleared away.

Folks gathered in small groups, staring up the street and trying to find shade. The sun appeared to be mid-day in the winter sky. The hood of the bus closed and we all sighed a collective breath of relief. The bus backed out. And went the other direction till  it disappeared around a corner, out of sight. Perfect, absolutely perfect: the five hour bus ride from Point A to Point B had just taken a giant leap backwards. We waited. I walked to the nearest taxi. What? You want $70 to take me to Palenque? How much for back to charming downtown Ocosingo, much less back to San Cristobal de las $%#@! Casas?
 

Ocosingo, Ocosingo…there’s a certain rhythm to the pronunciation. You can’t just say it without bobbing your head a bit. I walked off from the taxi/bandit stand (they were busy pitching pesos at some line in the dirt) and they really didn’t want to take a drive in the country with me.
The bus! The bus!   Yes, the bus….the driver apologized profusely. We sweated profusely. We loaded up, counted heads…yep, ready to roll. Onward to Misol-Ha, onward away from Ocosingo. Ask me how I feel about busses.