Transportation

The buses of New York stand in the shadows of its mighty subway system. The buses of Ecuador and Peru are king. And insane.
But they are the veins of Latin America. People use the long-distance hulks like public buses. Frequent stops are made along routes to let folks off at small towns, at their wooden houses, or just nowhere. The nowhere, eventually, must lead somewhere.

Growing up with buses as your main means of transportation—where cars are for the rich and the trains are either wrecked in earthquakes or for cargo—must make you used to them. I wasn’t. I’ve never wanted a Valium or some heavy-hitting tranquilizer so urgently. I didn’t have one, so I was wide-eyed for all of the rides.

I had heard all the legends about Latin American buses, but riding them extensively is a different story. It’s the perfect storm. Largely unpaved roads, either dirt or stone. Place that road on the edge of a mountain cliff. Throw in road work and the incessant drive to pass anything going the least bit slower. And top it off with utter darkness and nonstop music.

The smaller buses were actually my favorite. They couldn’t go as fast, and were generally more fun. My drive further into the jungle, sitting next to an older female farmer (her branch of bananas was stowed on the roof) was memorable. As was the surfer bus racing against the waves, blaring good Cumbia in its path.

The city buses are a different, but equally colorful, breed. Their conductors, usually young males clad in ties, are less navigators and more salesmen. It is made quite known they want you to board their bus. The most aggressive of them, frequently on the older buses, would hop off and hustle the pedestrians. They’d sprint across traffic to punch their time cards. Simultaneously (as in my favorite Quito ride) they’d intensely follow the day’s soccer match or great friends on the street.

All buses are fair game for venders. They’d leap on the buses and strut the catwalk with their wares—everything from chicken and plantains on a stick to plastic, musical perfume bottles. There were tabloids with naked bottoms featured on the cover. And, especially in the rural areas, coolers with something enticing and warm nestled under a towel.

I’m still crossing New York’s streets waiting for destination names to be cried out in the night.

City buses in Quito.

There were a lot of old cars in Ecuador and Peru (especially the tin-can cabs of Lima) but this was no Cuba.

Bicycles weren’t used in abundance for foot travel, but were employed for moving stuff.

The town crier of the city buses was part salesmen, part money collector, part monkey (lots of leaping on and off).

Trucks (camionetas) were frequently utilized for transporting workers and goods....Venders making the rounds at a bus station. This guy was slinging “magazines” (porn).

Getting a snack before that long bus ride.

Highway police were a more common sighting than beat cops. An armed guard accompanied us on our six hour journey over the Peruvian border....Frequent roadblocks of every sort made travel slow.

Improbable places to get off a bus (this one heading east over the Andes from Quito.)

On one bus we even got a bologna sandwich....Plantains and people on the bus to Misahualli from Tena....The Friday night bus station scene on the way to Guayaquil.

A city bus in Guayaquil.