Public transportation in the only mode
of transportation for me here. I haven't driven a car in a year and 4
months and I'm beginning to forget what it feels like to be in charge
of my own travel agenda. While I have not had bus rides as long as
other volunteers here, I've still experienced a few 7 hours bus rides
in the past, and they're not fun; especially since, for the life of
me, I can't fall asleep on a bus here. I felt like trying a different
writing style to share a typical bus experience with you:
I squeeze myself
out of the jeepney, hunched over as to not hit my head on the roof,
while holding my inconveniently large backpack in front of me, trying
not to fall on the woman with a baby on her lap as I shuffle
awkwardly past. I make it to the back of the jeepney and jump down,
glad to finally be free from the confined bodies squished on either
side of me for the past 20 minutes. I stand up straight, take a deep
breath, crack my back, put my backpack on, and look around the bus
terminal for my bus home. I am hot and sticky and receive no relief
from the equally hot and sticky air. I glance at my full water bottle
longingly, debating whether I should save my bladder from bursting on
the bumpy bus later or save myself from possible dehydration now.
Instant gratification wins out and I down a quarter of my water,
feeling only slightly ominous about a possible bursting, bouncing
bladder in my near future. To the left I see the yellow bus under the
sign that says “Dumaguete” and head over to it. There are only 4
people in the bus already, causing me to inwardly groan as I realize
I still have at least 30 minutes to wait for the bus to fill up
before it will leave. I take advantage of the silver lining this
offers though and grab the front seat next to the driver that
provides more leg room, and I pray no one will sit next to me. Bus
rides are my zoning out time where I get lost in the scenery and my
music, and having to spend a few hours riddling out a conversation in
a foreign language with a stranger tends to take away from the zen
state I prefer to experience bus rides in. Almost 45 minutes later
the driver starts the engine and pulls out of the terminal, finally
allowing a breeze to come through the open window beside me and
relieving me of the sweat dripping down my face, stomach, back, arms,
and legs. Nothing is safe from dripping sweat here. I am in luck with
an empty seat remaining next to me, so I say a silent thank you for
the locals being too timid and shy to sit next a foreigner, and sit
back to endure the 6-8 hour bus ride ahead of me.
The first part of
any bus ride in the monotonous
drive out of the city, surrounded by flat roads, buildings, people,
and minimal green. I take this time to go through my music options to
determine the mood my music will take for the ride. I scroll through
country, classical, soundtracks, pop, rock, upbeat, slow and lazy,
audiobooks, everything I have and eventually decide on country music,
as I knew all along I would. I choose “Somewhere in My Car” by
Keith Urban, a new favorite of mine, and lean back with my feet
propped up on the bus's dash board (another perk of the front seat)
as the bus goes past children waving, dogs chasing each other,
chicken running across the road, and elderly locals gossiping
in groups. Soon enough we leave the city limits and are surrounded by
flat rice fields with an occasional nipa
house here and there with the mountains looming in the distance. The
conductor has reached me by now, after making his way through the
rest of my local travel companions, and asks for my destination. His
hole puncher marks my ticket and the small punched out paper bits go
flying into the hair of the girl sitting behind me. He hands me the
ticket, I hand over my fare, and then continue with my window gazing.
Every few kilometers we go through another barangay and the bus stops
to let people on or off, never allowing the bus to go more than a few
streets without stopping again. My seat-partner-absence is short
lived as the seat is filled by a middle-age Filipino. I smile briefly
and then return my gaze to the surrounding landscape, hoping he'll
let me continue with my zen state. My butt starts to hurt so I shift
in my seat and glance at my watch, hoping at least an hour has gone
past so I don't feel too bad about my butt's low tolerance for
sitting. Only 30 minutes have gone by. I sigh and accept, once again,
that this will be a long ride.
My seat partner is soon sleeping (as all
Filipinos somehow manage to do in the most uncomfortable positions)
and I am bored out of my mind, seeing as rice fields are only
entertaining for so long, and decide to take advantage of another
perk of the front seat: reflective windows and mirrors. Sitting at
different angles I am able to see a few of the other passengers
sharing this excruciatingly long journey with me. A couple rows
behind me is an older Filipino holding a rooster and I'm momentarily
surprised I hadn't heard the rooster crow already, but then remember
they tend to be quiet on bus rides for some reason, maybe too much
outside stimulation to justify an attempt at displaying their
dominance. I predict the Filipino won't be on the bus long. I can't
imagine him wanting to ride more than an hour with a rooster on his
lap. As I silently laugh to myself at the possible image of the
rooster pooping in his hand, my eyes wander a few seats away and I
see a young mother with her infant child sleeping adorably in her
arms, mouth slack with drool starting to pool out. I take a moment to
acknowledge that I no longer find it strange to see babies without
car seats, instead relying solely on their mothers' arms to save them
in the event of an accident. In fact, I'm not sure I have ever seen a
car seat in this country. Between the mother's legs stands a young
girl, maybe 3 or 4 years old. There's no room for her on her mother's
lap with the baby there so she stands there, leaning her body on her
mother's legs and resting her head on her arm on the seat-back in
front of her, trying her hand at the act of sleeping while standing.
I marvel again at all the odd positions I've seen Filipinos of all
ages sleeping and remain quite impressed with their seemingly
nation-wide ability.
My
focus goes back to the road ahead and I feel a sense of excitement as
I realize we are nearing the mountains, my favorite part of the
journey. The sun is setting now as the landscape becomes more defined
with hills, and I appreciate the beauty of the sunset with its
perfect blend of deep purples, reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows,
providing a perfectly contrasting background to the lush green rice
fields in the foreground. Despite all the natural disasters, poverty,
or political corruption that can happen in this country, its beauty
has always prevailed and reminds its viewers that hope never dies and
is always there to provide a silver lining.
Twenty
minutes later we are in the mountains, weaving along the road on the
side of the cliff, still passing through barangays every few
kilometers. I begin watching the driver as he maneuvers the bus
expertly around the corners and think to myself that this must be his
favorite part of the drive too. Every now and then he pushes
seemingly-random buttons on the dash board, whose effect I cannot
determine, no matter how hard I try. It's one of the mysteries I
ponder every time I'm on a bus. There are generally fewer people who
want to get on or off the bus in the mountains so he can keep driving
and get into the groove of his curve dance. His body seems to move
with his hands as he turns the bus to the left and then the right and
back again. It's almost meditating watching him do this. He looks so
content in this moment of driving, weaving, dancing, repeat. He knows
the boundaries of his bus well; we come to an area of construction
where the road is half as wide and the driver balances
the bus expertly on the edge of the paved road as we drive past the
construction workers pulling a late night.
As we come up on the next barangay I spy a dog
sitting in the middle of the road in the distance. The bus doesn't
slow but instead heads right for it, honking its horn in warning as
it approaches. The dog glances up and seems to take a lifetime to
decide if its worth the effort to move out of the way of the oncoming
bus. I start to feel nervous for the dog as it lies there and glance
at the driver, silently begging him to slow down or dodge the dog or
something, but the driver drives on, straight at the dog. I brace
myself for the bump we'll undoubtedly feel from running over it, but
at the last possible second the dog stands up, moves 3 ft out of the
way, and returns to his seemingly relaxing nap as we continue past,
not seeming to care that his life could have just ended. I take a few
seconds to calm myself down and reflect, for about the thousandth
time, how different dogs are here compared to in the States. Dogs in
the Philippines are extremely street smart. They look both ways
before crossing the street, they know how much space a vehicle needs
to get by and they won't budge if they know they're outside that
space, even if they're sitting in the middle of the road. These dogs
are amazing.
I
glance at my watch and see that almost 3 hours have gone past,
meaning that I'm almost half way done with this leg of my trip. I try
to catch site of the speedometer in front of the driver to gauge our
speed, but it's broken, as it is in most vehicles here. But since no
one ever gets pulled over for speeding or other driving violations,
this is of little concern. We pass a sign telling me we've gone all
of 120 kilometers, or about 75 miles. In 3 hours. That means we've
averaged 25 miles per hour. I'm confounded by this realization as I
imagine how much faster this trip would be in the States, going 70
miles an hour on paved highways. And now I've opened a can of worms
as I start thinking of home and how much I miss everything and
everyone on the opposite side of the world. It's dark out now and
with no street lights I can imagine the bus is driving in Indiana on
back country roads were all you can see are the trees on either side
of the road and the headlights in front of you; no surrounding
landscape, no nipa huts on the side of the road, just trees and road
in the middle of nowhere. I start to feel sad and then realize I'm
still listening to country music, which is singing about all the
things I miss from home. So I decide to switch my music genre in the
hopes of putting a halt to this feeling of homesickness. I change to
an upbeat Maroon5 song and focus on the non-American faces
surrounding me, and I'm brought back to the present, my homesickness
pushed to the back of my mind for the time being.
Eventually
we exit the mountains on the opposite side we entered and are
rewarded with a rest stop. My bladder wasn't as bursting as I had
predicted so I give myself a mental pat-on-the-back at my small
success. My stomach is beginning to growl though so I splurge on a 35
peso ($0.80) siopao
(fluffy dough encasing packed meat and sauce). The driver isn't back
from his break yet so I pace around the bus, stretching my legs and
giving my butt a rest, dreading when I'll have to get back on the
bus. All too soon it's time for me to take my seat again and the
drive continues. Looking out the window isn't as entertaining anymore
since it's dark outside, giving no view to enjoy. Instead I continue
on with my music listening and reflection people watching as the
remaining time goes by.
The end of a trip always seems to go fast to me,
maybe because I start to recognize my surroundings and the journey is
no longer simply unfamiliar scenes. We enter the city limits of
Dumaguete and the bus begins to stop at every crossing, letting one
or two people off each time, and considerably slowing our progress to
the finish line. I begin considering where I want to get off the bus.
I could stay on the bus until the bus terminal at the other end of
the city and immediately transfer to my next bus to take me the
remaining hour home, or I could get off in the city, grab some
McDonald's as a reward for enduring yet another long bus ride, and
then continue home. The internal debate doesn't last long and again,
instant gratification and my growling stomach win out and I end the
ride with a delicious caramel sundae from McDonald's. Happy ending!
So I just binge read your blog. I'm super impressed with your ability to adapt to sleeping in strange places. Maybe soon you'll be sleeping standing up on a bus too? It could be because it's close to lunch time, but reading about Filipino food is making me crave food I've never even had!
ReplyDeleteSo, confession time: I was going to send you a postcard a year and a half ago, but it's still blank and in my desk, whoops. A comment on your blog is almost as good, right? Let me know if all of your traveling ever brings you to Atlanta! :)