a typical bus ride

When certain activities become part of a regular routine, sometimes we forget how remarkable the experience itself can be. This week I took two of my volunteers with me on the bus (a.k.a. colectivo) to Alfonso Tranquera, and realized - seeing the whole experience through their eyes and listening to their giggling comments afterward - just how fascinating a bus-ride in a foreign country can be.

I thought I would share a bit of the Paraguayan colectivo with the rest of the world.

First: the bus schedule. Each day, there are roughly 3 buses that get as far as Mariscal Estigarribia and return into Asuncion. They leave the town at "6am, 11am, and 2pm" but this can really mean any time during the 6:00, 11:00, and 2:00 hour provided it is not raining and has not been raining for roughly 16-24 hours. When the weather is questionable, people somehow know - without consulting any authority on the subject - whether the bus will be coming or not. For example, I say I'm taking the 6am bus in the morning and I get several nods of approval; then, several hours later, having not spoken to anyone or received any phone calls on the subject, one of these folks will tell me quite matter-of-factly that the bus is sure not to come in the morning. Somehow their information is always accurate.

But let's say the bus does come. When it arrives, you can't miss it. If you don't hear the rumbling engine shifting gears noisily as it bumps over the rough terrain, you will hear the horn. Bus drivers announce the arrival of the bus by leaning on it roughly a quarter-mile before arriving in each town, and holding it for a good 30 seconds or more. Before I understood the reason for this, however, I actually believed something was wrong with the vehicle itself - ny first thought was the VW bus in 'Little Miss Sunshine' which honks uncontrollably because of some sort of electrical malfunction. Fortunately, the wiring is just fine on these buses - but it is certainly jarring when the horn blares you out of your daydreams during the ride.

It is necessary to hold an arm out to flag the bus down and to board quickly, as it only barely stops (slows down) to allow you aboard. It is also necessary to find a seat promptly so the bumpy road doesn't throw you into another passenger's lap. On the buses from Mariscal Estigarribia, there is an assistant whose job it is to a) tell you to board quickly and move to the center of the bus when it gets crowded, b) find a place for large bags on the floor in the back of the bus, c) keep track of who has gotten on and off and take appropriate payment from each person (this is actually quite amazing), and d) keep the driver's guampa filled with terere'.

Each bus originates in Asuncion and terminates in a community out in the campo. The name painted on the side of the bus corresponds to its destination point, where a cooperative maintains the buses in running condition - filling them with gas, cleaning them each day, and doing periodic repairs. One result of this set-up is that the buses often have to stop for maintenance while passengers are aboard. From Mariscal Estigarribia, the buses make a regular stop in Primero de Marzo (where the bus company is based) for about 30 minutes. All of the passengers are asked to disembark in front of the gas station, and the bus is taken to another site to be sprayed down - inside and out - while the bus driver and his attendant drink terere'. I was happy to oblige the "cleaning time" last week, when the dusty dry air made the inside of the bus somewhat miserable. A half hour later, the colectivo returns to pick up its passengers, shiny and clean (although the seats are usually somewhat clammy).

Ocassionally, the bus will need to stop for gas. In this case, passengers are not asked to get off, nor does the driver turn off the ignition. Just this morning, I sat patiently in my seat - along with 20 other passengers - as the gas tank was filled while the bus was running. Pretty safe.

A bus ride is never boring. There is always entertainment of some sort or another, and there is always food for purchase. I have made it a habit to skip breakfast on Friday mornings before my 4-hour trip back to Asuncion, choosing to wait until the town of Eusebio Ayala where I can always count on the girls from Chiperia 'El Indio' to board the bus with a full basket of fresh chipa. Chipa is the Paraguayan equivalent of the hot pretzel, in terms of snack food. Essentially, it is a cheesy cornbread twist with a crunchy crust all around - like the best part of a cornbread muffin. The inside is chewy and salty and delicious. The chipa girls are amazing at what they do - somehow they make their way up and down the aisle on a bumpy crowded bus, taking money and passing out chipa without dropping anything or ever missing a single customer.

I witnessed an extreme example of chipa-girl dexterity earlier this week, on my trip from Itagua to Alfonso Tranquera. One of the passengers on the bus was transporting several industrial plastic tubes, roughly 5 inches in diameter. The tubes were laying in the aisle of the bus and ran the entire length from front to back (I wasn't sure how they managed to get them aboard, but I didn't ask). When I boarded, the bus was already packed with people, and I was smashed against the back of the driver's seat for the first few minutes. When he insisted I remove my backpack and place it on the floor next to him (where it remained, knocking against the gear-shift intermittently for the remainder of the ride), I decided to push my way through to the middle of the bus where there appeared to be some more comfortable standing room. This was when I realized that the tubes were quite long and the "standing room" was actually being occupied by several children lounging atop the tubes in the middle of the aisle. I straddled the tubes as one of the children clung to my leg, and I situated myself for the remaining 2-hour ride with one hand on each of the ceiling rails. Behind me grocery bags and duffle bags lined the aisle, in front of me people squished together and stood precariously on the tubes, below me the children snacked on candy and soda and giggled. It was amid this chaos that an adept chiperia girl made some fantastic sales that afternoon. As she passed me, I switched both hands to the left-side ceiling rail and swung myself over someone's lap careful to not let my shoulder bag clomp them in the face. She tiptoed between the children and over my legs, continuing her route to the back exit. Incredible.

The other colorful details - roosters crowing from inside a passenger's bag, folk musicians boarding the bus to entertain the masses, and those moments when you realize that everyone on the bus knows each other - are all worthy of much further description, but I believe I've covered a lot for one entry. Hasta la proxima.