La Micro, Part 1

I ran out of my house every morning this summer (January in Chile) around 8:45—I had class at 9:15—to make it to the parada or bus stop that is about a block from my house. The trip between the two cities should take about fifteen minutes, but you never know. There could be a lot of traffic, you could get one of the extremely rare drivers who actually drive the speed limit, or the buses (called micros here, short for microbús) could be running late. This last situation leaves you getting antsy on the street corner, waiting for your magic number to come rolling around the corner. They have a very complex numbering system for the buses here in Chile that corresponds to their routes. All I’ve really figured out so far is that I have to take a 212, 213, or 214 bus to get to school, and I can take any of those home, as well as any bus that says “Libertad” (a main avenue in Viña), though that means a little more walking. 

Let’s say that the micro is running late this morning. So you’ve made it to the corner on time, but you’ve been standing there for nearly ten minutes when a 212 comes flying around the corner. The drivers tend to drive like maniacs when they are running late, but it does get the adrenaline flowing early in the morning—almost as good as coffee, not that I’d recommend trying to drink it on the way to work.

So you wave, just to make sure the bus driver stops, and hop aboard. It costs 500 pesos, slightly less than a dollar, or 150 pesos, if you’re a student, to go to Valpo. The “conversation” between you and the driver generally goes like this: “Valpo, por fa.” The conductor takes the offered coin or bill, rips off a boleto, a small paper ticket, and hands it back to you with change if necessary, “gracias.” The conductor has got this down to an art and manages to do it without having a wreck or running anybody over. By this time you’ve already started speeding forward. He doesn’t even really look at you, just sticks his hand out behind him waving it somewhat impatiently—leaving you to receive your ticket and change.          

Now, to find a seat. That is if you can find an open seat during the morning commute—not likely. So generally you have to cling to any surface you can so as to not end up in the lap of the nearest Chilean, who is already giving you sidelong glances because you are a gringo/a. However, most of the commuters will get off the bus in the center of Viña, and you can usually find a seat for the rest of the ride.

Let’s say you decide to sit in the back row, where there are five seats. To make your way back there while the bus is speeding along you must navigate your way down the aisle. If you are lucky, some of the seats will have handles—very helpful this—with which you can support yourself on your way to the relative safety of a seat. Now the back—this is definitely the most fun place to sit, especially if you sit in the middle where you have very little to support yourself with and run the risk of getting launched into the aisle. Always good to live on the edge.

Now that you’ve survived the “find a seat challenge” and the bumpy ride/race, your next task is getting the bus to stop where you want it to stop. This means locating the bell—if there is one—and pushing it somewhere ahead of where you want to get off. Not the hardest thing ever, that is if you know where you want to get off...

Bus rides in the morning are relatively tranquil, but the afternoons, it’s another story altogether...