Ride that Bus

Virginie has a swimming lesson every Thursday at 10:30 am to which Didier usually takes us.  I know he loves the time spent with us, but it must also be difficult to escape the perils of his workplace for a 1/2 hour lesson and return to who knows what.  So today I decided to exert some of that confidence that has been so lacking since moving here and took my baby to the bus stop to catch a bus to our lesson. 

Now this is no M86.  It's not even the M103.  I am talking about a bus through the narrow streets of a developing island where one enters on the left side of the bus as it is slowly moving on the next stop, meaning it is not really idling.   It is picking riders up Flintstone style, with a running start and keeping it moving!

We had to walk on the West Coast road a little bit to get to the bus station.  This is fairly treacherous as there are no sidewalks at this section and the fallen almonds and remaining mangoes in the road make it difficult to navigate.  The street is narrow and cars are passing in both directions and truthfully, while I realize that cars drive on the opposite side from which I am used to, I still look left and right as it they were driving the same way they do in the States.  I don't know.  I wait for the all clear pretty much.  This whole experience is taxing and I haven't even made it to the bus stop yet!

The national bus service of Barbados has blue buses that run a series of routes covering the island and a private company sporting yellow buses covers the same routes for the same price.  The yellow bus drivers are paid according to the number of passengers they pick up, so they are known to be a bit reckless.  I figured, although we were just going a few stops down the West Coast road, best to stick with the blue buses.  But no blue buses passed!  As the fourth yellow bus passed me and was waved on, I told myself, "Whatever comes next, I am taking it!  We are going to be late for swimming lessons!"  Wouldn't you know that a yellow bus with Rasta driver pulls up blaring, "Burning hot!  Blazin' hot!"and I picked up my baby and with the help of the driver's assistant got on that bus!

I paid my $1.50 fare to the assistant who cleared a front seat for us.  He carried my stroller up the steps for me and got us situated.  Never looking at me, but still taking care.  His eyes had the faded yellow of someone with a history of the blaze up, but I don't judge.  He helped me get on the bus and helped again when we arrived at our stop.  We drove through Holetown, passing construction sites and Super Centre, the bank, and the Chattel Village shops.  Virginie flirted with any passenger who made eye contact with her and loved the breeze on her face.  There was no A/C but it was surprisingly comfortable.  I imagine a longer journey might not have been.

Once off the bus, I righted the stroller and walked toward Sandy Lane to our lesson.  I arrived early and with a little bit of pride.  Feeling self-sufficient for the first time in months, maybe longer, gave me something to smile about.  Virginie swam like a little fish and passed out soon after the lesson as I walked her back down the hill to the main road.  Rather than take the bus home, I walked, crossing the street when the sidewalk ran out or construction work prevented me from safely crossing.  It was hot, unbearable really, but I felt so good to be on my own, moving, walking with Virginie as I had done with Lily every day in New York when she was small.  I want the girls to feel the joy of moving one's self, getting from one place to another, encountering new experiences.  And when I say the girls, I guess I mean myself too.  I am trying, Barbados.  I am really trying.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle