This is simply a long story about a short ride.
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| Ok, one picture. Just to set the stage :) |
The bus is an interesting place.
A subculture all in its own, a frozen space in time transporting its passengers to their desired location (or within a few blocks from it). Everyone strangers. People leave without saying goodbye and come on without saying hello. Most passengers sit and stare, at what I am not sure. Some look out the window, not at the streets or the people because they have seen that all before. Rather I think they are looking back into the past or at what the future may hold for them. Or perhaps they are looking no where at all, delighting in the peaceful serenity of colorful moving objects passing by.
Others sleep. How they know when to cease the siesta and get off at their stop I have yet to figure out. Nearly every one is silent, ears absorbing the excess noise from the city streets around them. The only thing circulating is the air that manages to slide in through the window that has been pushed just a few inches open.
When all the seats are taken (which is most of the time), passengers resort to leaning against the side wall opposite the midway door. It is incredible to watch the power of body and personal space take effect. Granted one´s "personal bubble" in Argentina is half the size allotted in the States, but none the less still exists in all its wonder. Last week I was in a bus at quarter to 9am (rush hour) and it appeared that at each stop people got on and no one got off. We were, to put it figuratively packed like sardines in a crushed tin box, except vertical of course. Everyone as close as possible to those around them without touching.
I looked around and took note of the milliliters of space between each dangling arm, held tightly against ones bag pressed tightly against their body. Somehow all with at least a finger on the nearest bar or hanging handle manged to stay upright as the bus driver danced in and out of the lanes, stopping and going and honking in patterns unrecognizable by even the greatest mathematician. When necessary, people leaned against the ego of the person standing closest to them.
Then I think of all the people surrounding me. While I am narrating observations and ironicities in my head, I wonder what everyone else is thinking of. Or if this is their opportunity to meditate for the day. A bumper of time between the demands of work and family. A time to breathe and think, or not think.
While I realize I am the host of the show and the star of my life, all of these people are the lead actors of their own world. Overwhelmed for a moment at the thought of all that is connected to each of us within this 40 foot long rolling world, I feel humbled. Each with our own set of goals and dreams, hopes and fears. Are they making the journey home? Are they leaving home? Do they know where they are going?
