I had never imagined that, one day, I would be curling up on a metal bench in Mexico for an overnight bus wait. But there I was, with 80 pounds of luggage surrounding me, sleeping in a bus terminal in Chetumal, Mexico, just waiting for the borders to open and the bus to take me to Belize. I had been travelling all day, from Louisville to Cincinnati, from Cincinnati to North Carolina, from North Carolina from Cancun, and from Cancun to Chetumal. Never in my life had I felt so adventurous and so much like a world traveler. I have become an old pro and winding my way through security stations, airplane terminals, customs and the like, almost to the point where I could travel in my sleep. And my body has become numb to the shock of being boomeranged between climates and timezones. But Cancun was uncharted territory, and, as I left Louisville for the airport, I could definitely feel the nerves fluttering around and my imagination running away with thoughts of drug Cartels, kidnappings, and all the cliché horror stories people tell you about Mexico.
My first line of business, once I had made it through Mexican border control, was to find my travel buddy—one of the other volunteers in our group. My worst fear was to not find him and to have no choice but to make the trip alone. Not that it couldn’t be done but, let’s face it, misery loves company. And if you must be lost, its better to be lost together. His flight had arrived 2 hours before mine, and so, once I had passed through Mexican border control, I found him, sitting outside of the airport, on the ground, with his luggage surrounding him. It was such a relief to see the first familiar face in a sea of thousands and from that time on my nerves were calmed and I was ready to start the real adventure.
Cancun is a tourist’s dream, and nothing like I had expected. The resorts rose like mountains, blocking all possible views of the sea, and the streets were lined with pricey shopping and American restaurants. As our taxi driver gave us the scenic tour of the city on our way to the station, I was taken aback by how nice everything was. But my experiences in Latin America were limited to the less touristy/more impoverished areas. I was not used to so much grandeur outside of the States It all seemed rather fake, and I was excited to make my way through to the ‘real’ Latin America.
We made it to the bus station, and were quickly shoved onto a nice and highly air-conditioned bus. Four movies played, all in Spanish, and we dozed in and out of sleep while the bus rocked and Disney took on a new dynamic for us. 7 hours later, we found ourselves in a bus station, far too busy for 11 at night. The terminal was filled with the chattering of foreign tongues, and was constantly flowing with a current of people with lots of baggage flowing in and out. By the time we had gotten our bus tickets, it was almost midnight, and, as our bus left at 7 in the morning, it seemed almost pointless to try to go out and find a hotel. So we made the decision to just stay put. The crowds died down, and by 1am, we were ready to try our best to sleep. By 4 in the morning half of my limbs had fallen asleep, I was shivering from the cold, and I was wondering if it was at all worth it to save a few bucks. After 3 more, impatient hours we were on a tiny bus filled with European back-packers to Belize City. We were taken to the border, had to file through Mexican immigrations, then back on the bus, then back off at the Belize border control (this time with all of our luggage in tow for customs), then back on the bus and finally off to Belize City. By this time Benque was feeling more and more like the Promised Land. My eyes were aching for familiar landscapes and as I tried to catch some more sleep, I kept hoping that the next time I opened them I would be home.
We made it to Belize City, and never in my life had I been so excited to see the city and to board a crowded old school bus. It was the last lap of the journey, and by far the most comfortable of the trip. We were old pros at the Belize-to-Benque trek, which is such a difference from the previous months, where you would spend your time clutching your bags and looking around suspiciously at all those aboard the bus. This time around I just laid back, listened to my music, and enjoyed the warm sunshine and the cool breeze. Such a relief from the freezing cold air I had only just escaped.
In the last minutes of the journey, the bus winds past the Mopan river, which runs through Benque. I watched the women wash their clothes in the fresh, green water, while children splashed around and swung from ropes into the water. Finally, after 32 hours of travel, I had made it. And it was so good to be home, though world’s apart from the home I had just left behind.
Looking back on that experience after a long night’s rest and a hearty meal, I realized that though not really fun, it was quite the adventure. At least it’s something to tell my children about one day.
“Would you like to hear about the time I spent the night in a Mexican bus station?”
