Bus Riding Quito
One of the grand things about Ecuador in general and Quito in particular is its transportation system.
Buses are everywhere, come by most places frequently, and cost only 25 cents (USD). Of course there are some peculiarities about this system you have to get used to. For instance, all the busses have a myriad of signs plastered across the lower left windshield showing the various destinations each bus goes. However, you have to be careful, because different buses go to different destinations by varied routes. There is a conductor who stands by the door and yells out destinations, but sometimes you need to ask.
EXAMPLE: I’d just finished teaching a morning class. Since I was done teaching until that evening I decided to head home. I grabbed a bus tagged as “La Gasca”, the street I live on. Of course, the direct way to the hostel would be “up hill,” but I’d seen this bus go along La Gasca going “downhill”. I figured that I’d get home eventually, right?
Away we went. Past the Central Universidad, through the Tuneles, and for that matter we went over hill and over dale. The city started to wear away to muddy roads, dilapidated structures interspersed with plots of green corn. Empty field grazing miserable looking cows. And the bus was held up by a man trailing four small goats.
The bus twisted and turned through an astonishingly narrow series of turns on what was soon becoming a mountain track rather than a city street.
Of course, while we made our varied stops, on come the vendors. These people, young and old, come on and sing, chant really, a plea for the rider to buy what they offer. The first man was selling Salsa CDs; illegally copied I’m sure. Next was selling gum, Chiclets at a quarter a tiny box. They’d chant their spiel, hand out samples for riders to consider, chant more praise of their offering, then go back through the bus, picking the samples back up or taking money for the sales they made. Then they popped off the bus at the next stop.
We climbed one last hill, made another series of tight turns and stopped on a muddy hilltop. Here a decrepit building stood next to three empty buses. My bus heaved to a stop. The driver called for all passengers (myself and one young girl) to get out. We were ushered onto another bus to continue our trip.
Back down the narrow, muddy road and its sad looking buildings, miserable cows and the man and his goats. Back to the city streets, Los Tuneles, and then the bus turned onto the Occidental. More vendors came on, stop by stop, selling outdated valentines cards and caramels, chanting their pitches and collecting their change before hopping off.
And finally we’re off on La Gasca.
The trip, which normally takes 10-15 minutes by direct bus, lasted two hours. I was hungry and thirsty, happy for the adventure, but vowing never to do that again.
Buses are everywhere, come by most places frequently, and cost only 25 cents (USD). Of course there are some peculiarities about this system you have to get used to. For instance, all the busses have a myriad of signs plastered across the lower left windshield showing the various destinations each bus goes. However, you have to be careful, because different buses go to different destinations by varied routes. There is a conductor who stands by the door and yells out destinations, but sometimes you need to ask.
EXAMPLE: I’d just finished teaching a morning class. Since I was done teaching until that evening I decided to head home. I grabbed a bus tagged as “La Gasca”, the street I live on. Of course, the direct way to the hostel would be “up hill,” but I’d seen this bus go along La Gasca going “downhill”. I figured that I’d get home eventually, right?
Away we went. Past the Central Universidad, through the Tuneles, and for that matter we went over hill and over dale. The city started to wear away to muddy roads, dilapidated structures interspersed with plots of green corn. Empty field grazing miserable looking cows. And the bus was held up by a man trailing four small goats.
The bus twisted and turned through an astonishingly narrow series of turns on what was soon becoming a mountain track rather than a city street.
Of course, while we made our varied stops, on come the vendors. These people, young and old, come on and sing, chant really, a plea for the rider to buy what they offer. The first man was selling Salsa CDs; illegally copied I’m sure. Next was selling gum, Chiclets at a quarter a tiny box. They’d chant their spiel, hand out samples for riders to consider, chant more praise of their offering, then go back through the bus, picking the samples back up or taking money for the sales they made. Then they popped off the bus at the next stop.
We climbed one last hill, made another series of tight turns and stopped on a muddy hilltop. Here a decrepit building stood next to three empty buses. My bus heaved to a stop. The driver called for all passengers (myself and one young girl) to get out. We were ushered onto another bus to continue our trip.
Back down the narrow, muddy road and its sad looking buildings, miserable cows and the man and his goats. Back to the city streets, Los Tuneles, and then the bus turned onto the Occidental. More vendors came on, stop by stop, selling outdated valentines cards and caramels, chanting their pitches and collecting their change before hopping off.
And finally we’re off on La Gasca.
The trip, which normally takes 10-15 minutes by direct bus, lasted two hours. I was hungry and thirsty, happy for the adventure, but vowing never to do that again.
posted by Unknown at 8:31 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home