Riding the Bus

A bus ride is like being in another world.

-- J.A. redmerski

During one of our transitional dwelling situations, we moved to a neighborhood somewhat further away from our Spanish language school in the Centro. However, since we were only a short distance from one of the major north-south boulevards in the city, we decided to take the bus to school every morning instead of arriving tired and sweaty from the half-hour walk.

Unable to find anything on the internet resembling a map of bus routes, we asked around. We were informed that not only are the city buses in Oaxaca privately owned, they are individually privately owned—meaning that from one bus to the next you may have a completely different owner, driver, make, model and age of bus. A bus belonging to one company may sometimes leap-frog another if it is perceived to be moving too slowly, or in order to be the first to arrive at the next stop. But generally they seem to coexist in an uneasy peace.

Being “second-class” buses, they can be universally relied upon to be old, loud, smelly and uncomfortable. No matter—they also cost about 30¢ per trip, and we were determined to give it a go.

There are few well-marked bus stops in the Centro, so generally you must look for a spot along the sidewalk where a small group of apparently unrelated people are waiting, patiently, for something. Since there are no posted routes or schedules, your first test is to determine which bus is right for you. To accomplish this you must quickly scan a long and sometimes confusing list of destinations plastered on the bus’s front windshield as it careens down the avenue toward you. But make it quick—if you don’t signal the driver in time he may not stop. (Dang, missed another one!)

Often the buses come equipped with a tout, or chalán—a young man or boy leaning out a front window or standing precariously in the open door—who will yell helpful if largely unintelligible things at the people on the sidewalk, urging them to climb aboard this bus, even if it’s not the one that will take them where they want to go. After all, no passengers, no profit.

In the morning the air has been pleasantly cool, so riding in the bus for a few short minutes is actually a breezy and enjoyable experience (unless someone has chosen that day to be sick in the back). Later on, though, as temperatures climb and buses are packed with passengers, it can get pretty unpleasant inside. (At least I have the physical advantage of being more than a full head taller than everyone else, and thus able to breathe the rarefied air near the ceiling.) On these occasions, especially when the bus in question has been stuck in gridlocked traffic, we have sometimes opted to abandon ship and walk the remaining mile in the hot sun rather than endure another minute in a sardine can.

Anyway, got your 7 pesos in hand? Here we go!

Is this a bus stop? You tell me!

Is this your bus?

Or maybe this?

How about this one?

Or this??

Better ask the chalán!