Back to the Andes series again. As always you can read independently, but it was meant to be read consecutively with some other snapshots from this series. The previous installment was Día de Arequipa (part one and part two).
Have you had your fill of this enchanted world yet? No? Good. I can see that the strings have been attached and you are being reeled in. Can you hear the rhythm yet? Can you feel the beat of the call start to tug at your mind, seducing you without trying? Has it entwined your thoughts so that you cannot disregard it? Come now, let us go for a ride, shall we?
Approaching the street, your eyes are caught by the enormous amounts of buses lined up on the street. Big buses, little buses, all just waiting on a few more customers. They all fascinate you. The big ones are called "
Combis" the little ones "
Micros." Some of the large ones look rather like a school bus, and in looking closer you can tell that some are, and have just been painted a different color. The
micros look like vans, or sometimes are a bit larger than vans. All of them have been gutted and more seats than might have been thought possible by the designers were put in. Benches with backs really. Usually with some type of sparse padding. They are run by two people: the driver and the
cobrador (collector), two very interesting people by all standards.
The driver is by necessity somewhat of a crazy maniac, at least this is what can be deduced from his weaving patterns and constant horn blaring and the string of blue that comes out of his mouth whenever he gets cut off by another suicidal driver. And yet somehow, he never seems to be really upset with all the commotion, that is just standard behavior. The
cobrador, now, he is altogether another breed of human. Fearless and loud, he can range from around 12 to mid or late 20s. Sitting at a stop he ops off the bus and starts belting out the next few locations on his particular bus route. A complicated singsong list, it takes a bit for your ear to grow accustomed to the rhythm and sort out what he is actually saying.
Look here, this is the
combi we want. Come, let us get on and find some seats. It looks as though there are plenty of seats left, you will not have to stand for this ride unless you decide to give up your seat in favor of some other person later on. What an amazing assortment of people there are on this bus. Elderly and young, middle and lower class, women, men and children, maids and executives, the buses are always a good place to be to people watch. Crowded together as they are normally on these rides, everyone becomes equal in some sense. There is an inherent code of honor or how things work on the
combi. If someone more deserving of a seat comes along - be that more tired, elderly, pregnant or needy looking - then a seat will be given up for them. On the other hand, everything else being equal, seats are fair game and no manner of pity will be shown to a late comer.
Glancing around you realize that you have lost sight of the
cobrador and wonder where he has disappeared to, no longer can you hear him for all the other
cobradores and people at this stop. The
combi has started to move no, and for a moment you wonder if the driver doesn't realize that his other half is not on the bus. Now you see him though, wandering back through the crowded stop at his leisure, still belting out his string of half incomprehensible locations. Will he make the bus? The
combi driver isn't really slowing down much to look for him, but instead is just slowly driving off. But here comes the second in command: hopping on now with no problems, still halfway hanging out the door calling destinations, looking for last minute passengers.
Moving down on the street as no more prospective passengers are in sight, the
combi starts to pick up speed. Our
cobrador retires from his perch on the door's bottom step and, no longer hanging out of the door, starts on his way towards the back of the bus. Now he has a handful of coins out and is clicking them together with a particular chink-chink that comes natural to him, though when you try it isn't so well imitated.
"Pasajes a la mano" he states in a calm and clearly audible voice, "Have your fare on hand". Get your money out, this is where he gets his title from: he is the money collector. 20
centavos for students (must be wearing a uniform), 50
centavos for adults. On the
micros it tends to be a bit more because they cannot fit as many people in, but the nice part about a
micro is that while it is small, there is not any worries about having to stand up the whole ride. Amazingly the making of change is a one handed process for this multitasking individual who can take the
sol you gave him and hand you back 50
centavos quicker than you could have with two hands.
Would you like to get off and walk around for a bit? I'll let you do the honors of stopping this bus. No? Not sure how? Well here, let me show you then. Get up, we need to walk to the door. Don't worry about battling the rhythm of the buss, just flow with it. Bend your knees a bit more and try not to be so stiff. Hold on the hand rails on the roof- that is what they are for; that and the people we are now crowding by to get off of the bus. "
Pare en la esquina!" Stop at the corner! Brace yourself, here comes the stop. Ah, now jump off and move out of the way, because the bus is already moving on leaving you behind.
Come now, let us walk around and see what else can be found in this city that will haunt you when we go back. Remember that when you do go back there will be no more escaping this intoxicating city, country, continent. Older than old it is there calling to you. But come... let us walk around...
In looking for pictures, I came across this other blog post from whence I borrowed the picture.
