Climbing onto a bench in another cramped chicken bus, I was on my way to Puerto Angel. The tarp of this one draped over the front so I could only see out the back. Despite not actually knowing what the town looked like, I feared I’d only recognize it as it passed behind us.  With a little help from my fellow passengers, I was able to pick the right time to bang on the top of the cab of the truck. When I hopped out the back, the driver pointed across the person sitting in the passenger seat to the dock below, as if he knew that’s where I’d wanted to go.

I stepped onto a beach littered with fishing boats and fishermen off loading the day’s catch. A beachfront cafe in front of me was filled with fishermen drinking coffee as they sat a wooden tables sunk in sand. I’d decided earlier that I wanted to have my morning coffee in this town and decided this was the perfect spot to get a feel for the place. Validating my selection, I was immediately invited to sit at a tables by one of the locals. He pointed proudly to his boat upon the beach in front of us, and told me her name was Penguina. We chatted for a little more before he went off to help some of the other fishermen haul their boats onto the beach, and I took the opportunity to walk the length of the beach and return along the main street of the town for all of its three blocks.

 

Having seen everything there was to see here, I headed back to the corner where I’d been let off and waited for the next chicken bus. Before I had a chance to sit down, a taxi driver yelled to me to see if I wanted to ride in a collectivo. I’d wondered about these taxis I’d seen crammed full of people. I figured it was a way of reducing the cab fare by sharing a ride, but Mexicans took it to an extreme. There were people sitting on laps, people straddling the stickshift. just about any airspace within the shell of the car was filled with a human body.

 

The price he quoted seemed reasonable so I hopped on the lap of the guy in the front seat and enjoyed my first collectivo. The upside, of course, is that it is faster than the bus and just about the same price. The down side, I didn’t realize until I was being pressed against the door by the guy sitting next to me as we careened around a corner, is that it is very uncomfortable. The taxi driver was obviously very impressed with his skills at taking curves like a race car driver, but he was the only one in the car who didn’t have to share a seat. I kept focused on how I was going to hold myself from the door frame when the weight of two grown men forced the door open on one of the curves.

 

There was a moment of relief when my front seat companion signaled his stop, but he was quickly replaced by another headed further down the road. We all managed to make it in one piece to our destination, but I can’t say the suspension of the car didn’t suffer from the ordeal. I got out, ready to catch a bus to my next destination when a taxi driver yelled, collectivo. I said, ¨Si¨.