The Arteries and Veins of My Internship

If my work were to be considered the brain of my internship, and my time with my host-family the heart, my transportation adventures would be the veins and arteries connecting the two together. 

Three types of transportation ferry the citizens of Tegucigalpa from one part of the city to another.  Taxis are the fastest—and most expensive—of the means of transport available to Capitalinos. There seem to be thousands scurrying around the city, honking in inquiry at anything that has two legs and a brain with the slightest possibility of desiring a ride. These are a good choice if you are carrying something valuable or need to get somewhere in particular quickly. But if this is the mode of choice, don’t slam the door. North Americans are infamous for committing this gravest of transport sins. Closing the door with even some briskness qualifies as a transgression that causes many taxistas to fear that a mortal wound has been inflicted upon their car. 

If you want a step down in price and can spare some time, the 30-passenger rapiditos can efficiently carry you from one place to another. Every route I’ve come across costs ten lempiras ($0.50), which is usually paid to the driver immediately before departure. Drivers in these cars are in a hurry, but will usually not abstain from throwing on the hazards and stopping for a pedestrian that is standing between formal stops. 

The cheapest, grittiest, most adventurous choice are the school buses that run the same routes as the rapiditos, but far, far slower. At rush hour, these buses carry up to eighty, aisles filled with two lines of tired, exhausted workers bracing themselves upon the seats or the two handrails bolted to the roof. The steps in the front or the back are not out of bounds (yes, the buseros have carved out another makeshift door toward the rear). 

Fare collectors—nearly always male—push through the crowd, pointing at the passengers, requesting the 3 lempira ($0.15) payment. At the stops they get out to yell the destinations of the bus, ushering potential travelers into the mechanical beasts of burden.

“¡Corranse, corranse, papi!”

“¡Avance, avance, avance, joven!”

The engine groans under the pressures of age and too many people, as if angry with driver, passenger, and fellow vehicle alike. The exhaust spews and every bolted joint creaks upon every acceleration or the slightest application of the brakes.

Sardines we are, in the belly of a tired beast.