Pass the Bacon Scissors Your Eyebrows Need Cutting

The next morning began frustratingly as we had planned to leave to go to Panajachel on the ten o'clock direct bus but our laundry wasn't going to be ready until mid-day so we had to hang around a couple of hours wandering through the streets and the colourful market. The laundry was ready at twelve on the dot not a moment sooner. We were able to get a bus, with five minutes to spare, to Chimaltenango on the Interamericana Highway where we would be able to catch a connecting bus to Panajachel from there, so we were told. Ok off we go! There wasn't enough time to put the bags on top of the bus so we had to take them inside and pay three quetzals each for them! This bus dropped us off somewhere on a back street of Chimaltenango. Apparently we had missed the stop where we were supposed to get off on the highway but no-one had told us so we had to struggle through the hot, sweaty, dusty, bustling streets with our bags back to the main road. Just as we got to the highway our bags were dragged off us and mine was thrown into a bus next to the driver and Peter's hopefully was chucked on the top as we were pushed onto the bus after my bag, with a bit of luck now on the bus to Panajachel! Off we go again - racing and overtaking other buses as we hurtled along the way for another hour and a quarter until we were told to get off again. We hadn't a clue where we were. It looked a bit like a market in the middle of the road, possibly San Andres; it was full of colourful fruits and flowers. Our bags were whipped off us again and thrown into the back of a school bus, we got in the front quick and off we went again. There were two other English girls on this bus who were on their fourth bus and were equally as perplexed as we were! We raced up and down a few more mountains and round bends and then stopped in a crazy market square that was also a myriad of colours, again fruits and flowers, loads of gladioli, vegetables and textiles and pots and pans etc and etc and of course the inevitable basura (rubbish). The tiny streets were heaving and we wondered just how did our bus squeeze round that corner? We thought this might possibly be Sololá but we didn't get chance to find out as we were dragged off the bus again, me by one man and Pete by another hopefully onto the same bus, which thankfully we were but the girls were dragged onto a different one. Off we go again hurtling a few more kilometres down a steep hill eventually to Panajachel. Phew! A taxi man then just as eagerly shoved us into his car and bullied his way through the crowded streets just narrowly avoiding knocking a few people down and took us to our hotel. We arrived at 4.00pm exhausted. The whole journey had cost us 36 quetzals, about £3.60 each! The white knuckle rides of Blackpool Pleasure Beach and the like have nothing compared to the thrills and spills of the Guatemalan buses!