The Horn on the Bus Goes Honk Honk Honnnnk...All Day Long!

Public transport in Lima is... interesting. Neither of us would drive here for love nor money. With over 8 million inhabitants, roads are nearly always choc-a-bloc with vehicles that think they own them. And the worst perpetrator of all...the bus; a common fixture on the Latin American landscape. And it just so happens we are completely at its mercy to get anywhere!

Buses come in 3 basic forms: the combi (VW van in the picture), the micro and the more conventional big bus. Travel is very cheap; 40p to go the length of the city! But one does pay a greater price...

Take our journey to church... we emerge from under the local bridge of the Panamericana Sur, the road which runs the whole way from Chile to Alaska (!), after passing hoards of people screaming the names of bus destinations. Now the game begins - we struggle to find a bus that has the word TABLADA scrawled across its side, sometimes in a Halloween font with dripping blood effect if the scribe was feeling particularly adventurous at the time. Seemingly hundreds of buses pass, some are even large, well-lit buses with empty seats, but alas they are never going our way! After an average 20 minute wait, in rattles our bus which appears to have been through the wars but somehow remains in working order. It's dimly lit inside, all suspension seems to have gone and it's absolutely packed. We rush to climb aboard, trying not to be deafened by the blaring tanker horns and people yelling more bus destinations in our faces. Quickly we reach for the metal rail beside the door, as the bus jerks forward before we have both feet onto the first step.

Each bus here has a COBRADOR, someone aside from the driver, whose job it is to charge people their fare on board when he's not shouting place names at you. They should then give you a little ticket, but this doesn't always happen. Fare evasion is common here with many people handing over their fare very begrudgingly. After realising, yet again, that there's no free seats, we huddle together somewhere in the middle of the cramped vehicle and here we stay for the next 50 minutes. On the plus side, our balancing skills are definitely improving amidst the lurches and leaps. Generally, buses here are up against it: the roads lack investment and repair, the traffic is chaotic, and people get easily hot and bothered on board. The drivers are indeed masters of their art, managing (mostly) to avoid close encounters with pot holes, other vehicles, pedestrians and dogs. Thankfully, rucksacks, animals and large sacks of potatoes have now been banned from buses. There is a reason for this! However, I did hear a cat meowing from under a seat the other day, indicating that these regulations, as with many rules here, are considered more as suggestions than anything too serious.

The journey is a heady mix of bumps, smells and sweat as personal space is invaded and loud Latino beats, that seem to be the soundtrack to public transport, blare from the radio. Often, traffic inspectors come on board, police sirens whizz past, arguments break out and sellers advertise their goods, all adding to the experience. Sometimes the bus breaks down or knocks into other cars, much to the passengers' annoyance. Although not yet a feature of many of our bus trips (thankfully), it is also not entirely surprising to become aware of a foreign finger poking about in your pocket in search of a pretty penny or two. Whether this is the work of an opportunist or a hardened criminal, it is not too difficult to understand why this is a common occurrence in this city of contrasts.

It is within this fusion of sounds and smells that we encounter the next bus-related phenomenon: the sleeper. Sleepers are remarkable beings who are so well adapted to their environment that no movement, sound, smell nor sight can awake them from their slumber. We watch with awe and fascination as their eyes close, their heads fall forward and their mouths drop open, unlikely to stir again during our journey. While this is a great way of avoiding the possible annoyance, frustration and fear of travelling on the bus, it has a slight drawback in that sleepers can miss their stop; something that can often lead to heated exchanges with the driver/cobrador. Somehow they get the blame for this, however, as they rightfully assert, their job is to drive the bus, a job that, in this city, requires the full concentration of two people, believe me!

If we are lucky, a seat will become free, at which point we dash for it, glad for the rest. We needn't be fooled though, as leg room that accompanies the hard, plastic seats makes for equally uncomfortable travelling, but at least we are no longer at risk of being thrown down the aisle by a sudden jerk or pressed up against another sweet-smelling sweaty individual.

Now, the most important part - getting off. When we arrive at our destination and want to leave the comforts of modern travel, we have to shout ''BAJA' loudly so the driver or cobrador can hear. They will then apply the brakes with full force as they endeavour to stop somewhere convenient for us. With the same speed used to board, we jump off before the bus pulls away, engine growling deeply. Standing in the wake of its black diesel smoke and dust, we can't help but feel a small sense of achievement; once again we have survived the emotional experience that is...The Bus.