“How many Guatemalans can fit on a bus?” A six-foot-two, blonde-haired guy asked me while we waited in line for the next bus to Guatemala City.
“Um… I don’t know, how many?” I shrugged my backpack-laden shoulders and played along.
“Just one more.”
“That’s cute,” I laughed.
“I’m serious,” he replied and pointed to the knot of people waiting as our bus came to an abrupt halt.
Line etiquette had yet to reach this part of the world and I was instantly shoved to the back as the crowd pressed forward to deposit their bags.
“Vamonos! Vamonos!” The driver and his luggage helper screamed at the top of their lungs and practically pulled us by our shirts to get on the bus.
Impressed with their efficiency, I stuck my head inside, hesitantly, and asked, “Es bus a Guatemala Ciudad?”

“Si, si. Vamonos!” He barked back and hurried me along.
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