In Africa, it was the matatu, the bus teeming with people, or the moto, the small motorcycle with just the driver and passenger. In Central America, it was primarily the Chicken Bus, so named because live chickens were often passengers.* Here in Peru, there are two preferred means of getting from one place to another: the “colectivo” and the “taxi.”
A colectivo is a mid 90’s model Daewoo hatchback. There is an innumerous amount of these vehicles here but they are all the identical model. There must have been some "buy in bulk" package.
Because all the cars look the same but are all independently owned, the drivers add the most random assortment of stickers and decals. An outline of a kid peeing on something sits right next to “dios es amor” in large, decorative lettering. Anything American is popular: Nike, Marlboro, brands of speakers and surfing gear. The same decorations appear on the “taxis,” which are modern day rickshaws. Basically retrofitted two stroke motorcycles, they have a small cabin that covers the driver and backseat. They are also known as, “Tuk Tuks,” due to the sound made by their exhaust. That name is universal.
Have you ever driven a go carts? Remember that feeling of wanting to take corners at irresponsible speeds and weave through oncoming traffic? Now imagine that you own the go cart, use it to make your living, and therefore want the same thrill of risky driving but don’t necessarily want to wreck your vehicle and demolish your livelihood. Daewoo hatchbacks must induce the same euphoria as go carts. The drivers whip around turns, floor-it during any straight stretch, but don't get too crazy because if they crash, they don't eat.
The doors stay shut more out of habit than thanks to a latch. None of the gauges work. Anything that can be unscrewed or pull off has been missing since the first week of the car's service. I’ve seen huge canisters of propane tied to the back of taxis with a piece of old, frayed rope. And that cargo doesn’t make them slow down. They bounce over the potholes and cut through lanes just as fast.
When I first rode a moto in Rwanda, I feared for my live. In these colectivos, I worry about change falling out of my pocket. Acclimatization is a funny thing.
*Quick note about chickens. If you hang them by their feet, they become completely docile. I’ve seen vendors carrying half a dozen chickens in each hand, all held by their skinny legs, and they didn’t make a sound. They let their wings hang loose and enjoyed the ride.
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