A study in buses around the world

It still amazes me how striking cultural disparities between places can be. For example, this morning I was at the bus stop, prepping myself for the fight to get on the bus. When the 7:20 slowed in front of those waiting and opened its doors, everyone stood back to let someone else, anyone else, go ahead of them. No one there was elderly, or disabled, or carrying six shopping bags, but no one wanted to be the one to charge ahead – me first – and run up the steps, taking two at a time. Usually I find that I’ve somehow edged me way to the front of the line. Months of fighting for a space on buses in other countries has created an anxiety in me, much like a sprinter feels before the gun goes off at the start of a race. In Kyrgyzstan, getting on the bus was like fighting your way through a crowd of citizens in the bread line. There was no mercy and nothing spared for those not willing to lay it all down. In Spain, my roommate used to joke: “No one in this country is in a hurry until it’s time to get on the bus.” Elbows were thrown, people were shoved aside, and heated words exchanged. It’s almost a let-down when here, in the United States, where life moves at a rapid pace and the mentality is to achieve, achieve, ACHIEVE, there is absolutely no rush to get on the bus. Have we become a culture of bus-wusses? Maybe Americans (or perhaps softy Seattlites?) have lost their basic need for minor confrontations. We have espresso and Hollywood to keep us sharp. In the end, though, riding the bus here is MUCH less stressful. And you walk away with fewer bruises.

Practicing to be a Pirate

In order to prepare for my New Years sailing trip around Antigua, I will start honing my pirate-ness for several hours every day. This will include saying a gravely 'YAAaargh' over and over again, as well as running people through with a wooden dagger.

I'll also be wearing an eyepatch.