On the bus ride over to Puerto Escondido, everyone got very car sick. 11 people rode with us in the "suburban". (JB squished in with L and J, to give a seat to someone else who had none.) The first half of the twisty, turny ride, we read our books (much to Amy's amazement who HAS to be in the front seat and CANNOT read), but after the first bathroom break we were all about to vomit. As Jeremiah commented on the car ride: "it's like a six-hour long roller coaster ride." The mountains just kept on going, as far as we could see. Each time we climbed a mountain and looked over it, hoping to see the sea, we just saw more rows of mountains and mountains and mountains. It was not very reassuring.
The first to throw up was Jeremiah and unfortunately for Liesl, she was sitting right next to him (Liesl has an unusually low tolerance for people throwing up in her vicinity). Liesl and Papa switched places so Jeremiah could fall asleep without barfing on her. Soon after that little carsickness round, a baby started puking in the back and the woman riding in the front with Amy asked the driver to stop so she could hurl outside the bus. BIEN!
But the grossest time was when the boy sitting next to Liesl threw up. The window next to him had been opened just five minutes before and he barely made it, throwing up a little in the car.
THe funny part was that the driver was more concerned about his bus than the people barfing. There was one kid that yacked all over himself. The whole ride would have have been better if the driver weren't rushing and playing mexican rap (along with techno, pop, and LOUDLY!) At the end of the ride, we were all relieved.
WOTD: (Word of the Day): Not really a word - more of a fact: 50% of the people who ride buses on that road throw up.
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JB musings on the ride over the mountains
Rolling hills, arroyos secos
scattered with solitary trees, brown cornfields, agave, goat herds and one-story pueblos.
Everything in slow motion, except us.
hot, still.
Roadside dogs sleep in shade. turkeys, pigs. burros, standing still, alone.
A cemetery explodes into view: colorful flowers and ribbons: purple, red, yellow, white.
Mexican pop, rap, blaring, with woman behind me singing her own songs,
while La Madre Sagrada air freshener, hanging from mirror, struggles to keep the beat.
Impatient driver stops for 2-ft. iguana crossing road.
Endless parade of concrete block buildings, unfinished, rebar reaching toward blue sky.
No shoulder, cacti grows just beyond the white line.
People, scratching out a living from parched land.
All of us, putting our faith in God.
I know it isn't funny, but I laughed out loud over this barf-fest summation. And learned that Liesl and I, not surprisingly, have yet another commonality among us. Before we had children, I made a deal with Mark: He would never have to change a diaper, in exchange for 100% vomit duty, pets included. Even the thought of it makes me gag!
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The ode to Rolling Hills is beautifully written, and a joy to read, and re-read. Miss you all, and hope the ride back over those mountains (if necessary) is less trying. Pat on the back, and wipe of the chin, to each of you brave and buoyant adventurers!
OXOX
Auntie Megs
Oh boy to I relate to many a bumpy bus ride through Mexico! Once I was in a VW bug with 5 other people & threw up in my mouth, had to hold it till we stopped! eeeewwe!
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