I Survived the Cambi Ride from Hell

In my near month of travel in Mexico, I have ridden enough public transportation to feel comfortable making this claim: In Mexico, automobiles are not just cars, trucks or buses. In Mexico, automobiles are people movers.

Driving down I-5 near Seattle, a carpool is considered two or more people for a vehicle that can occupy at least five. A full vehicle is that same 5+ vehicle yeilding its two passengers and their medium sized dog in the back seat. Mexicans view this space a little differently. If you and your spouse are driving your 5+ passanger car down the road, your three open seats are now public property for the multitudes of people wanting a ride in your same direction. It could be two backpack yeilding artesans like my travel companion and myself, three senoras making their way into town to attend church, or a family of six. Until every free space is filled with body or package, you are being selfish to deny a ride to your fellow Mexican citizens.

I have become a proficient hitch-hiker in Mexico and have found myself anywhere from the back of a truck with goats and chickens to the middle seat of an SUV between two children forced to speak English from a very insistent mother. When you put out your hand and flag down that rather empty looking car, you never really know what you are going to get.

Public transportation varies little from the accessory space in private vehicles. The Camino, or our equivalent to a city bus, works hard to fill everyspace within. It stops at random places on what appear to be deserted roads to pick up, apparently, people lost in the jungle. How do they get here? Where do they come from? The metro system of Mexico City is a stew of people smashing in and boiling out of cars as they come and go. If you flag down a taxi, expect to either wait for more people traveling in your same direction before you start your ride or pick up travelers along the way. The taxi drivers also give a friendly honk to any pedestrian meandering about, letting the walker know that there is space within should they desire to fill it.

Overall, my shoulder rubbing and cramped spaces experiences with Mexican transportation has been only pleasant... until leaving San Jose del Pacifico.

At first, my travel companion and I thought to hitch-hike the three hour ride into the larger city of Pouchutlan. I had lofty dreams of mountains vistas enjoyed from the opened air back of a truck (doubtlessly shared with up to 6 other people). However, after an hour of waiting and flagging with no success, we decided it best to pay for the ride into town with the Cambi. A Cambi is a 15 passenger van that transports people and their goods between small villages, usually starting and ending in larger cities. With our backpacks strapped to the roof and only three other people along for the ride, we count ourselves lucky for a beautiful three hour ride.

Two more stops and 10 passangers later, our outlook is beginning to fade from horribly idealistic to sad and gloomy. I have given up my window seat to a mother and child and am now sitting between my friend and a stack of boxes filled with groceries. The Cambi is now at full capacity, with our 15 riders in the 15 person van. Our wonderful mountain road has also become horribly stubborn, refusing to grant passing vehicles even 20 feet of straight road. There is a smudge of brown vomit on the seat beside me. I try to avoid touching it with any of my possessions as well as avoid seeing it as a hopeless foreshadowing to the next three hours.

The Cambi is hot and humid inside, bursting with packages and people. I grasp the seat in front of me and try to focus on the motion of the road and my breathing. Meanwhile, the brown smear next to me is winking and blowing kisses toward my nose and I am trying my best to avoid its affection. The Cambi sways one direction before randomly switching to the next. Everything is hot and unpredictable. I struggle with all my will to maintain a sense of balance as my head starts to spin out of control. Briefly, I wonder if my friend notices my weakening state but this thought is quickly driven from my head with a new curve in the road. The full Cambi stops for five more passangers. We are now 20 people in a 15 person van.

Suddenly, my friend begins to panic. He asks for an open window but the fresh air does little for his already dizzy state. He loses it and with the sway of the Cambi, I am now sitting between brown smear and vomitting friend. The four women around my friend begin screaming and we are supplied with countless plastic grocery bags. We have completed 30 minutes of our 3 hour drive, I am focusing with all my might on the road and the fresh air, and the Cambi continues to sway up and down the horrid mountain road at highly unrecommended speeds.

While trapped in a horribly compromised situation, at some point you give yourself over to the circumstances and lose all hope in the prospect of arrival. Time stands still with your hopelessness and life contains only the task at hand. For me, these tasks are to watch the road, continue breathing, and brace myself against the constant and relentless sway. Through some act of grace my conciousness warps me into this place and I no longer think of the cramped space, the vomit and the heat. One hour becomes two and I feel more balanced. I have almost made it through.

The Cambi continues to throw more obstacles toward my wavering self-control. First, it starts to rain. The window is shut and my fresh air supply is gone. Next is the fog, blocking my view of the road and making my ability to predict the sway impossible. As we drop into the tropical climate of the Mexican coast, heat and humidity wrap themselves around me like the unwanted embraces of sweaty relatives. Surely we must be close, I think, growing weaker by the second.

And then we arrive, first in the outskirts of the city and finally at our destination, the city center. As I stumble from the van, shaking and weak, I can´t help but think that everything in my life -the countless theme park rides of my childhood, my year working in an elementary school with a variety of unpleasant body fluids, and the meditative prayer and practiced control of my senses- has prepared me for this moment of victory. I survived the Cambi ride from Hell! I know there has to be a shirt stating this declaration somewhere in this town, and I wander off into the fading sunset to look for it and a soda for my friend.