The Jesus Bus

So- it is 1:20 here in B.A. While I am incredibly tired, I just am unable to sleep. I am on a bus on the way to Cordoba. Greg and I love B.A. Really. However, every once in a while, you get a craving for this little thing called oxygen. Interesting that we chose to do a marathon here- where ewe get to suck in the fresh, black exhaust as the buses and cars honk by (did I mention that everyone uses their horns as much as they use their brakes- I really wish I were joking. If I were president here I would enact two laws right away: 1) all horns will be removed from vehicles due to a gross misuse of them 2) People who do not clean up after their dog will receive a fine equivalent to 10% of a month’s wages…. Sorry for the tangent). In addition- it is amazing to runs by all of the smokers- helps me get my daily dose of nicotine ( for as obsessed with this culture is about their appearances- they do not seem to mind all of the side effects of smoking… dark circles, wrinkles, etc… maybe that is why the health insurance companies include plastic surgery?) . So Greg and I heard that you can take these great buses out to pretty much anywhere. They have different classes- with the best class having a large chair that fully reclines and has a foot rest. They leave at night and arrive in the morning. Perfect! So we venture down to the bus station. Imagine JFK airport- but with trash all over the ground and peddlers from Mexico selling everything from super panchos (hotdogs) to socks to school supplies. There are literally a hundred different bus companies. While you would think this would mean competing prices-( and you are an American so of course your capitalistic ways would)- all of the tickets with every company are within 10 pesos of each other (yes, being the bargain shoppers we are- we checked). So we finally settled on the company that had the nicest attendant. Our bus was to leave a few days later.

At 9:15 we arrive for our 9:30 departure. While we thought we cut it close- nothing here is ever on time. There are hundreds of platforms. I wish I could describe the enormity of this place- it is quite a scene. My favorite part is all of the stray dogs that walk around- and occasionally sneak onto the buses. There are several announcements being made simultaneously over different loud speakers announcing what bus is departing soon. Even if I spoke perfect Spanish, the garbled competing voices would still be incomprehensible. But we do find our bus, trek over to its departure platform, hand over our backpacks to the driver, and hop into our seats. They are a plush blue velvet- and quite roomy. As the bus prepares for departure, a woman comes by and hands us papers. While I am unable to understand it- it soon becomes apparent that it is a scripture from the bible. We are asked to remove our bibles from the front pocket of the seat. Over the loud speaker in the bus- a woman begins a prayer/scripture reading that lasts at least twenty minutes. The end turns into a hymn. (Their version of the airplane safety talk maybe?). We soon notice that our bus is also adorned with stickers proclaiming that “God is the Savior” and other religious sayings, and notice that the radio is locked on the religious music station.

What makes this so spectacularly fabulous is the sheer irony of the situation. Greg is so anti-religion that it is almost a religion in itself. And out of 75 bus lines that we could have chosen for our trip to Cordoba, we chose the holy one. No wonder the attendant was so nice! I wonder if you have to be Catholic to work for them?

So here I am- unable to sleep- not because the bus is bad in any way. It is blessed and safe. The only person snoring on the entire bus is seated directly behind me. This is not light snoring either- it sounds like a little kid slurping the bottom of their drink- desperately wanting the last drops…. Except this woman is desperately slurping for air. Yes- I did say woman- and I wish I had my camera available because I would take a picture of her. As I look around, I also realize that Greg and I are the youngest people by at least 30 yrs. on the lower half of the bus. The guy who sold us the tickets said it was the more tranquil floor than the top- I guess by tranquil he meant older?