People say that the best way to learn about a culture is to just dive in, and see what happens. I like to think that I've done this, often to the extreme over the last two months. I learned about healthcare by burning myself on a muffler of a motorcycle and traveling to the clinic to get a tetanus shot and medication, and I learned about delinquency by being mugged on the side of the road when going for my leisurely walk (exercise really is dangerous). I've learned about religion by becoming a part of the congregation, and about the food by stuffing my face so that later I have to stuff myself into my own jeans. But amongst all of these tasteful and invigorating experiences, nothing smells like cultural immersion more than a bus ride to Rancha Arriba or the capital.
Picture this: to get to Rancha Arriba, I take a broken down land rover that looks like its on it's last leg. I get to sit on the outside, which means I'm next to the paper thin door separating me from the side of the mountain and a rocky river. The window is also open, meaning I could just fly out of that, as seatbelts clearly haven't found their way inside this gem. So far, the physical demeanor of the bus is a little different than our typical greyhound or little yellow school bus. And then there are your passengers.
Typically, on a bus in the US, people don't really talk to each other. Sure, you have the occasional love story probably written by Nicholas Sparks where two strangers meet on a bus and fall in love, but it's not the norm. People don't talk to strangers, which really is a reflection on how most of our culture interacts as a whole. Welp, not here. Everyone that enters is sure to greet each other personally, making sure that they have made at least two new friends by the end. And conversation is plentiful. Sometimes, it's with the driver, which is slightly nerve racking as he isn't so much looking at the winding roads, but instead is looking at the person speaking, and sometimes it's a whole group debate about political parties. And I get to sit in the middle of it all.
Being on the bus has also taught me that the limits of space do not exist in this country. I'm pretty sure I live in a big Mary Poppins bag where things magically appear and fit when there is no physical explanation for how it happens. Take the inhabitants of the bus just last week. We had a man with his chicken and a woman with her baby in one row, along with two other people when there was really only room for half a person. We had one man sitting on the wheel of the bus because all the other seats were taken, even though the driver insisted " no no esta bien, much espacio". Let me tell you. By no means was there mucho anything, let alone space. For amongst this group of people, we also had some sacks of platanos, a sack of rice someone else got to sit on, some suitcases, and a bag of oranges. All intermingling together, hoping that the bottom of the bus would hold until the next stop.
If you're lucky, you might also find yourself on a bus to a major city, where along the way vendors will hop on to sell you things. So if you forgot your sunglasses or container of favorite peanuts at home, it's okay because someone will surely come and try to sell them to you. It does kind of take away the joy of napping, as you have people yelling in a confined space, but after a while it becomes nice background music of some sort. It's also just a fun paradox of what you would find in the Us: I'm pretty sure that if random vendors jumped on a city bus lawsuits would be quick to follow, and stranger danger would be heightened to a maximum degree.
For me, despite the danger and fear of breaking down, bus rides are one of my favorite parts of the week just because they say so much about the culture. People here are open to each other. They want to talk, they want to learn, they want to share. Ans they want to take care of each other. When the seats in the way to Santo Domingo are full, people give up their seats to those who need them, and let others sit on their arm rests. Here, it's not about the individual, but about the community. People will give up a little, or a lot, of their comfort just to make sure someone else has their share. So while my safety isn't a hundred percent guaranteed, and my comfort is taken away when there are four people on a two person bench, I find myself looking forward to the rides. I may have to pray a little more than I do during trips at home, but I've also met a lot more friends and laughed a little more. Maybe greyhound has something to learn from the transportation here. Maybe we all do.
Wishing you a happy Sunday,
Sabrina
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