In which Tim rides a bus...

Last Monday our training schedule informed me that the entire afternoon would be given over to learning how to navigate the local bus system. We were to spend an hour in a classroom learning about how things worked, and then be sent out (accompanied by staff) to practice our newly acquired knowledge. Naturally, I rolled my eyes. I mean, come on. How hard could it possibly be to catch a bus and ride it across town? Give me a map, show me which way is North, and I am good. Teach me something IMPORTANT that I haven't already done in plenty of other countries. As the dear reader can probably imagine, my pride was about to have the wind knocked out of it.

We walked out to the street to find a bus (here called "guaguas"). We did not go to a bus stop, because there is no such thing here. You more or less stand by the road looking for a bus that is going in the right direction, and has the markings that tell you what it's ultimate destination is. I have yet to see a poster or pamphlet that explains the bus routes or how they are organized. Everyone just sort of knows what bus goes where. The 10 B bus goes from Pantoja to Maximo Gomez Blvd and back again. Everyone just knows that. And there is no 9 A bus, or 11 C bus. The names are arbitrary.

This is the part of the story that involved my friends and I waiting by the side of the road without really knowing what the plan was. Apparently one chooses a spot along the route and waits for the bus to come along, at which point it is advisable to stick out ones thumb or wave exuberantly so that the bus actually stops. There is no schedule, so the wait could take a while. It's possible to wait half an hour without seeing a bus, and then have three come by within five minutes of each other. It is advisable, especially in the middle of the day, to pick a spot with a lot of shade.

When the bus came we found seats in the "cocina" (lit. translation = "kitchen"), or the very back row. The music was blasting, I was getting a nice lung-full of exhaust, and there were quite a few more people on that vehicle than would have been legal back home. But we were on the bus, and we were learning the route. It still seemed pretty basic, with the greatest ordeal being that of fitting my not-so-short legs into a not-so-large amount of space.

After about half an hour we made it to our destination in the heart of the city, got our bearings by looking at a map, and got ready to cross the street and pick up the same bus route going in the opposite direction to get home. At this point I stole a glance at the horizon, and couldn't help but notice a great, dark mass quickly blocking the sun and bearing down on us. I was momentarily nostalgic about the fact that I was about to experience my first rain storm in the country that is now my home for the next few years, but I quickly remembered a similar incident in Bangladesh, and my nostalgia melted away like ice cream on a hot summer day. The rain came fast, and it came hard. It was not as torrential as other down pours I have experienced, but I was pretty wet. My small group sprinted a few blocks to find shelter under a marquee in a spot where our teacher assured us we could catch a bus back to the training center. Great.

The buses started coming by, and my first response was "I guess we will have to wait, these buses are way too full". Little did I understand of what was to come. The rain was coming harder, and we wanted to get home. A bus came that appeared to have enough standing room for our group. We ran to get on, but it appeared that we were not the only pedestrians seeking shelter and transportation. There were legions of people evacuating the sidewalks for vehicles. We joined the squeeze to get on, and somehow I was the last one. I suddenly found myself hanging out the open door of a bus that was moving at no low speed through very tight traffic. Over the next few blocks I managed to pull myself further in, and got wedged between two of my female colleagues who had also found standing room. At this point I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking "well, we are on the bus, and there is absolutely no way they are going to put more people on this thing". Once again, little did I know. The people kept coming, and coming, AND COMING. I got shoved further in, to the middle of the aisle directly in front of the door. The only solid thing for me to hold on to was the door of the bus. I latched on like a limpit. The two girls on either side of me could not reach anything either, so I had one clawing on to my left arm to keep from falling over, and the other squeezing the life out of my right shoulder. And still they kept shoving people onto that bus. There was definitely a person riding in my armpit for a little while. I think I might have been sitting on someones shoulder. I lost track of the number of people that I was in close physical contact with. I wondered for a moment if I wouldn't be sucked into the vortex-like crowd and be permanently stuck on this Santo Domingo bus.

But eventually we came to our stop, and I was able to somehow pry myself from the midst of the forest of limbs with which I was entangled. It would be a lie to say that I wasn't frustrated, irritated, and just plain grumpy. I was ready to never ride a bus again. But after a tasty dinner and a good night's sleep I felt significantly better. And I got on a bus again the next day, and had a better experience. I've learned how the system works, what routes go where, and how to be more comfortable. I realize now that what I perceive as disorganization and chaos may really be a form of order with which I am not yet familiar. I see that comfort and convenience are culturally relative, and that it seldom pays off to come into a situation assuming that I am an expert before I know what's really involved. I have learned a little bit about humility. And I am sure that the next two years will have many more such lessons for me...