If there are passengers

I have a love hate relationship with Peruvian public transportation. I love it because it's convenient. If you miss a bus, no worries, another one will be there in 30 seconds. It's incredibly convenient, expect when it's not. On those days that for some reason the only bus that goes that way simply isn't running. But then I love it again because the whole system is so ridiculous and I can't help but be fascinated by it. I have surrendered myself to the transportation monster.

When I first moved here, I heard that you can get on or off the bus wherever you want. Just wave your hand if you want to get on and they will come to a screeching halt. If you want to get off yell, "BAJA!!" and they'll throw you off and start going again before your feet hit the ground. Over the last year, however, the city government has started a campaign to create more "official" bus stops, therefore eliminating some of the chaos. Sometimes the buses follow this and sometimes they don't, it generally depends on how strictly it is enforced on that route. 

I have started taking a new bus route to one of my classes and immediately noticed something interesting. The stop where I get on, is at a major intersection and makes logical sense because it is at the stop light of that intersection. The next "stop" is simply on the other side of the intersection. At first I assumed it was an anomaly, but it happens almost every day. They pick me up on one side at the "official" stop, cross the intersection (roughly six lanes of traffic) and stop again. But this time it's not at the stop light and when the bus stops the cars get backed up. Then the light changes and cars are stuck in the intersection. Then the cross section cars can't move. Then every car starts honking their horns as if all the noise can solve the problem. And people wonder why traffic is so bad here. 

Today as we were approaching this second "stop" a woman screamed, "Baja!" and asked to be let off. The driver didn't slow down. "Baja!" she continued and then a chorus of other lazy pedestrians began yelling "Baja! Baja! Baja!" 

Finally the coin collector fought back, "But there isn't a stop here."

To which the first woman replied, "There is if there are passengers getting off."

I was utterly intrigued by her logic. Lima public transportation isn't viewed as "public". There is a viewpoint held by some commuters that they have the right to ride the bus their way. Sit where they would like. Listen to certain music. Get on or off at a particular point. And even pay a certain rate. 

That is exactly what I find fascinating about the bus system here. Every bus is like it's own little community whether with peaceful harmony or rebellions. Yes, I have an hour long commute but it's certainly never boring.

Lost

Early one morning on my way to school, I grabbed a familiar bus on a major road in Lima. There are a handful of buses that go the direction I need, so I generally just hop on one of them. When I first began my bus adventures, I would ask every time to make sure that the bus was going in the right direction. On this particular day, I didn't ask.

I immediately paid my fare and told the coin collector where I was going. He collected my coins and we set out to fight the Lima traffic. This particular route goes straight for what seems like forever until it makes a slight right, a left and then I'm at school.

At one particular stop, I noticed a bus of the same line in front of us. I sighed and knew that soon a battle for the road would soon ensure, resulting in me barely hanging onto my seat as the older-than-me buses fight for the title: King of the Pot Holes. However, this didn't happen. My bus turned left. And it turned left nearly 15 blocks before the usual right hand turn.

"It's ok," I thought, "they want to get around the other bus."

As we continued driving and didn't make any attempt to stop our detour, I began to think about the logic of a bus changing the route and realized it was impossible. So I sat there, staring out the side window, weighing my options.

Do I stay? Do I get off? But I have no idea where I am. I will be late for school. Maybe they will turn back. Surely he is going back. Why do none of these locations sound familiar?

After a few more turns, I saw a familiar street sign. The bus veered right and all my fears disappeared. That is until I realized the slight right turn was only to pick up more passengers and he in fact was turning left. Going far, far away from the familiar street.

"Are you going to the shopping center?"
"No," señorita, "we're not."
"But you told me you were!!"


Panicked, I jumped off the bus in the middle of the intersection and as my feet hit the ground, I heard a whistle, a "mamaccciiita!" and another whistle. Fantastic. I'm lost. Guys are whistling at me. It's too early for this. I'm carrying too many bags. What do I do now?

I started walking down the road with a familiar sounding name and saw a bus stop up ahead. As I approached it, I noticed that the stop was nothing more than a dingy sign placed alongside a dirt median. The stop was covered in trash that welcomed all the dogs and none of the humans. I was standing there alone. None of the buses were stopping. This is when I began to panic.

I quickly changed the game plan from bus to taxi, but soon noticed that the only taxis traveling on that road were "colectivos," which are group taxis that run a set route. I heard Alvaro's voice in the back of my head, "You are to never, ever take one of those."

I tried to flag down another taxi, but no one would stop. I walked further down the road towards a busier intersection and still no one would stop. As they drove by, drivers shook the fingers "no" at me. I felt as if a spotlight had been placed on me and everyone around me knew I didn't belong there. Finally, one taxi driver stopped and I told him my destination,

"No," he said shaking his head, "I don't go there."
Out of sheer desperation, I begged, "Please, please, please."
"Señorita, no, I don't go there."
"Please!" I pleaded as I clutched my belongings and fought back tears.
"Ok, I'll take you to a calmer street and you can catch a bus from there."
"YES!" I screamed and jumped in the cab.

It was only then that I realized I had not yet settled on a price. An amateur mistake in the world of Peruvian taxis where everything is negotiated. If you don't agree before getting in, you are at the mercy of the driver's price point. But at that point I didn't care. I would have paid anything to be taken away from the trash covered bus stop.

As we approached my exit point, I asked him, "How much, sir." And he replied,

"Nada, señorita."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Nothing?

"Yes, nothing. I was driving this way anyway and you will never get a taxi on that street. It's better for you to be on this end of the avenue."

I told him a little bit of my story, or as much as I could in my frazzled state. I was scared from getting lost. And confused about not paying for my taxi. And more than anything I wanted to be at school.

I hopped out of his taxi and jumped on the first bus that I knew was going to school. Never mind the fact that it was packed well beyond capacity and I spent the first seven blocks standing on the stairs with nothing but a half open door protecting me from terrain below. I was on my way to school and that was all that mattered.

I finally made it, still shaken up but then discovered that there isn't much that a hug from a first grader can't fix.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to my sweet Peruvian taxi driver who fell for my begging and turned my nightmarish morning completely around.

Culture Confusion: Seatbelts

Several months ago, I found myself running errands with Alvaro´s mom and his three aunts. Four Peruvian sisters & me. Talk about being outnumbered. I crawled into the back seat of the SUV and instinctively put on my seatbelt. Within seconds of hearing "click!" one of his aunts said, "Oh, how cute! Meghancita is wearing her seatbelt in the backseat!" To which I thought, "Well, why wouldn´t I? Have you seen the drivers here?"

In Peru, the law states that anyone in the front seat, drivers and passengers, must be wearing seatbelts. For the back seat, however, there is no such law. Like most Americans, wearing a seatbelt is second nature to me. I get into the car, close the door and latch my seatbelt, without even thinking about it. Even in Peru, where I know it´s not the law, I wear my seatbelt.

Taxi and bus drivers try to evade this law by wearing tshirts with a "seatbelt" painted across the front. To the passing eye, this painted "seatbelt" passes the test for a real one. Since most buses in Lima are converted fifteen passenger vans or small company buses, there is usually a front passenger seat. The commuter sitting in that seat is obligated, by law, to wear a seatbelt. Yesterday, I sat behind the driver and had a clear view of the front  passenger seat. A young girl about my age climbed into the front seat and pulled the seatbelt aross her chest. That´s where she left it. Hanging by her left hip. Without latching it in the fastner.

This puzzled me. I realized that this girl wasn´t "wearing" the seatbelt because she thought it was safe, she was "wearing" the seatbelt because she wanted to avoid a fine. I wondered, "If you are going to pull the belt across your body, why not go the extra 1.5 inches and actually fasten it? How much extra effort does that take?"

It´s baffling. I mentioned this story to Alvaro, when I said, "I always wear my seatbelt, even in the back!" he chuckled and said, "Yes, I have noticed."

Now in addition to my English speaking accent, blue eyes and short bob haircut, wearing my seatbelt screams: "Look at this gringa!!"

The Boycott

Something I have learned about riding buses in Lima: it´s an active sport. If you choose to be a passive particpant you will never, ever get a bus to stop for you. In the race to get ahead of other buses that run the same route, some buses will not stop at a designated stop unless passengers are getting off. That´s where the active comes in. You must spot the bus, flag it down and inevitably dodge a few cars to board.

On my ride home, I make a transfer at one of the busiest stops. Of the eight or nine lines that run past that stop, there is only one that will take me towards my house. This provides quite a challenge because for some reason, this particular line rarely has passengers get off at the stop. Meaning I must flag down my bus or I lose my chance. This is difficult when you´re 5´2" and there is a wall of buses blocking your view.

Yesterday I tried to flag down Chance #1, going so far as to walk into traffic (no worries, Mom & Dad, it was a red light) to make sure they saw me. The driver looked at the coin collector. The coin collector looked at me. They both looked at each other and then simply shook their heads. I waited for the light to turn green, hoping they would fly across two lanes to pick me up. They didn´t.

I waited several minutes and finally saw Chance #2, but a few seconds too late. The bus was packed and in the middle lane. The smaller bus couldn´t see me past the sea of larger buses. I waved my arms, ran to the front, ran to the back, waved my arms again but all for nothing. They drove off.

Frustrated, I decided to walk a few blocks and catch the bus at the next stop. I was fuming at the inefficiences of the system and daydreaming of the day when I will once again have a car. I was walking using my angry stride and finally made it to the stop. As I stopped, a bus drove up. In fact, it was Chance #2. I´m certain the coin collector recognized me as "the gringa who was failing her arms like a crazy person at the previous stop". He looked at me and tried to get me on the bus. As if to say, "You wanted to get on before, why not now?"

Because I am boycotting you, that´s why. I prefered to wait five more minutes in the bitter wind than ride with those who had so boldly rejected me. Take that, coin collector guy.

Jack & Rose

Last Tuesday I was riding home on the bus and had a moment in which I very clearly understood that I am living in a country other than my native home. Most of the time, I don't think about my exact location in the world. I don't often think, "I am in Peru" just as I never really thought, "I am in the United States." This is where I live, this is where I have decided to build my life and that's normal for me. But the other day, I had a rare moment when I understood the vastness of the statement, "I live in Peru". 


I was sitting inside an old, rusty miniature tour bus pressed up against the makeshift wood paneling that adorned the sides. The bus was calmly driving along and I felt very much a part of Peru. I admired the scenery around me and fully appreciated what makes this Peru and not the United States or Germany or Chile. Suddenly a phone rang next to me and Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" was sounding throughout the rusty bus. I let out a slight chuckle and thought, Am I still Lima? What year is this? I felt as if I had been transported back to 1997 when I was in elementary school and was so utterly uncool because I was the only kid not allowed to see that year's blockbuster. I thought about my fourth grade school year and how it will forever be marked by that humiliation. Then I remembered the next summer when my grandmother, unbeknownst to my mother, let us watch Titanic. I remembered felling like I was the biggest, baddest rebel around. To this day, it's still one of the most rebellious thing I've ever done. 


I was lost in the mind of my eleven year old self and then was interrupted by the raucous calls of the bus conductor. He was summoning passengers from all corners of the intersection and the driver started to rev the engine. One last woman climbed in the bus and barely made it inside before we darted across five lanes of traffic. Then I thought, "Yes, I am still in Peru."