Aneya: The Bus System

Ahh, the buses of Chile. I feel that I know them well by now. I've taken the metropolitan ones, of course. They whip through the streets of Santiago at an alarming speed, stopping whenever they feel like it, to pick up passengers or men selling ice cream or coloring books or, weirdest of all, band aids (Really? You're trying to sell a single band aid?) You must have a BIP! card to get on (you can't pay with money) which is both a good and a bad thing. The buses can be a nice alternative to the hot, stuff metros, and we use them frequently. I have to say the public transportation system in this city is efficient, affordable and downright impressive.

But what I really want to talk about are the other buses. The big, regional buses that pull up to the station every day, inching forward until their huge rearview mirrors threaten to hit awaiting passengers in the head. We've also taken quite a few of those. Some, to nearby cities like Valparaiso or Isla Negra (both about 2 hours away) we've also taken long bus rides, down to Temuco (8 hours going, 12 hours coming back). And the system is always the same. And yet it never fails to amuse me.

You buy your ticket beforehand, at the counter. It's really just a receipt, it doesn't look like an "official ticket" and yet-- it is. They tell you, vaguely, where they think the bus will be arriving "either gate 8 or 15". Grreat. So one of us will run over to gate 8, the other at 15, waiting. The bus is usually late, and people herd around the entrance, barely letting passengers off before they race on. You have assigned seats, which is nice. And then- you're off. The bus driver, usually an older man, and his assistant, a younger one, sit in the front section, which is blocked off by a door. It's clear glass, so you can see right through it, but they can talk privately.

I think it's so cute, that the driver has a buddy he can chat with, especially during those long journeys. The younger man will eventually come to the back and collect the tickets, ripping them in half and asking where our final destination is. He asks this, because people get off at a variety of odd locations. And I mean odd. You'll hear the men talking "Ya, just drop me off next to that tree other there, that's fine." "You see that little shack in the middle of nowhere? Right there's good." It's unbelievable, really. And yet. The driver obliges and drops people off wherever they want, making the journey that much longer.

And yet, Lauren and I don't really mind. By this point, we're used to it. We've got our iPods on, we're singing along, we look at the beautiful scenery around us. We watch as oncoming buses honk in recognition of us, and the driver smiles and honks back. And we think what a lovely alternative this is to Greyhounds back in the U.S.

-- Aneya