Bus Trip
Monday, May 14th, 2007
The buses are overcrowded all the time. Some enterprising gringos sell seats, and even if we do get seats by haggling with the others, there is always an old woman who doesn’t have any, and you will go to hell if you don’t give up your seat for her. Besides I prefer seating atop the bus. But with accidents occurring, seating on the top load was outlawed. So I end up dangling by the door. If it wasn’t rough road we’re talking, it’s a pleasant ride. But with the heat and overcrowding, it’s far from pleasant, and you end up brown with dust when you reach your destination.
There’s a bridge we call shot-dili that spans a deep gorge. This was an old, creaking, one-lane wooden bridge without railings on a downward sloping and very sharp bend of the road just after passing a blind curve. Shot-dili literally means, pass or fall (down the gorge!). The allusion is to the bridge’s temperament in letting vehicles pass safely through the other side. We approach it slowly, as much with caution as with respect. When the bridge creaks and the bus starts swaying, the women groped for rosaries in their purses, then close their eyes and mumble, while the men just hold their breaths. A deep sigh is let after every safe passage.
