Since buying my bicycle, I have not been frequenting the bus lines quite as much as I had previously. However, since last week's work required semi-professional attire due to a kick ass conference, and the sooty blasts of exhaust I would have to ride through don't mesh well with dress clothes, I reverted back to being a motorized commuter for the week. As such, I've been reminded what a unique experience it is to ride a bus in Medellín, especially when that bus happens to be the most well traveled and ever present route in the city.
Since moving to my new apartment I've had the privilege of being only a few blocks from the Circular Sur bus route. This is one of only a handful of routes that do wide circles through the city and has by far the largest coverage of any of the options. As such, it runs about every 2 mins and I'm lucky enough to get on at a stop where there is always a bus waiting for its companion to come up behind and and send it off on its way.
But the convenience of the bus is not really what I want to talk about. The real thrill is the culture that you are periodically privileged to partake in. This comes in many forms. As I may have mentioned before, the informal economy is thriving throughout the entire country. Students carry boxes of snacks to sell to their peers, artists hawk their wares in most major parks and on various key party streets, and various salesmen and musicians periodically get on and off the buses to ply their trade. This means that on any given day, you could be offered anything from candy to specialty coat hangers to needle threaders to children's books to a Bach concerto.
At first, I found this a little disturbing as those selling products get on, pass out whatever their selling to every person who will take it, give their shpeal and then come around to collect either money or their product back depending on how generous you're feeling. Some of these people are genuine entrepreneurs just trying to a make an extra buck, while many others are people who have fallen on hard times or who have physical or mental disabilities that make it difficult for them to encounter steady work. In these cases, they've all got a story, which usually includes sick relatives they're responsible for or a history of drug abuse they're trying to out run, or the like. In some cases, those coming aboard to sell their goods wear T-shirts proclaiming their place in a rehab or mirco economic charity to give a little extra credence to their tale. In all cases, no matter what anyone is selling, the price is never more than 2000 pesos, or about $1 and is often less. In many cases, passenfers give what change they have without asking for any product in return, or overpay just to help out.
That's the story of the hawkers, but now that I'm on one of the major bus routes, I get an entirely different treat. Nearly every single time I've taken the bus to or from home or work, somewhere along the way a musician or two have hopped on board, warmly greeted the audience, and politely informed everyone they're there to add a little culture to our lives. This 'culture' comes in the form of music that can range from a haughty teenager rapping along to a boombox, to love sick guitarists, to traditional folk singers, and all the way to full on concerts of classic music (my favorite of which is played by two young men on violins). Now, the music would generally be impressive in it's own right, but when you add the fact that these people are standing in the aisle of a busy bus, careening down the far-less-then-smooth road and managing to keep their balance and rhythm even when the driver slams on the breaks to pick up a last minute passenger, you can't help but walk away with a lot of respect. As such, I've taken to carrying a little extra change in my pocket and am always happy to see someone get on board with an instrument in hand looking to make my ride just a little more pleasant.
