The Bus

Riding a bus ïn a foreign country is a must for anyone who wants to to get a hands on experience of local culture. Carl and I set south on a six city bus tour in six days, through the Andes Moutains. (Lets take into consideration folks that there ain´t no interstate loops around cities, the Pan American Highway which runs throughout most of the west coast of South America can go from six lane to six potholes to six boulders in the middle of the road).
We wait anxiously for each bus stop. Everytime the bus stops to pick up or drop off there is a mad frenzy of vendors climbing onto the bus with about a minute thirty to sell their wears.
¨¡Aqua! ¡Aqua! ¡Cola! ¡Limonada! ¡Manzana! ¡Manzana! ¡Helado! ¡Helado! ¡Empanada Queso! ¡Papas Fritas!¨
It becomes a spanish symphony of drinks and treats sqeezing themselves past one another through the isle trying to make a few centavos before the bus begins to rumble and the tires slowly start to move away from the curb. Yes, I did just say that the tires are slowly moving away from the curb with our five singing salespeople still on board. I will tell you, the ecuadorian people have a thing for jumping on and off moving buses. They all begin a mad scramble toward the front while the porter (a young man in his ´late teens, early 20´s who has become an expert at moving bus jumping) helps them each off.
I have only been on the bus for thirty minutes. This is going to be fun.