School buses were not needed, because Mom taught at the tiny Christian school where I began my education. And from grades 5-12, a bus was not required (or provided, I might add) to go from my bedroom to the kitchen or living room.
And the tiny towns where I've lived as an adult don't have running bus systems.
As a child, I always wished I could ride the bus, and remember that each year when we went to our county fair my favorite part was riding in the school bus from the parking lot to the fair grounds.
My childhood wish has more than come true in Costa Rica... I've probably ridden the bus more in the past two weeks than I have in my entire life combined.
And I love it.
Love it!
Of course, there was the time a few weeks ago that I got on the wrong bus, and ended up... not quite sure where. I'd get myself oriented, and in my head scream at the driver, "Turn right... I'll know where I am if you go right!" And without fail, he would either turn left or go straight. This exhausting game went on for almost an hour before we finally ended up in a place that I was familiar with, so got off the bus and walked the four miles home.
Or the time that I was the only one on the bus for almost fifteen minutes. In San Jose. During morning rush hour. And I realized I could look at this one of two ways. Pretend it was the bumpiest, dirtiest limo ride of my life, or that the driver was most likely taking me off route to kill me.
. There have been countless funny, random things.
Realizing we'd been at this stop for a really long time and looking up to see that the driver was no longer on the bus. He was in a nearby store, recharging minutes on his cell phone.
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Sitting at a traffic light long after it's turned green, as the driver bought fruit or coffee from a street vendor.
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Hearing the commuter train's horn, feeling the brakes slam, and the bus going into reverse as we narrowly miss being hit.
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Enduring what seemed like a driver's first day of managing a stick shift, and repeatedly being thrown into the back of the seat in front of me as we went from gear to gear.
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People immediately give their seats to older people (or pretty women) as they step up onto the bus.
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Watching men, who when there are rows and rows of empty seats, still choose to sit Right Next To the pretty girls
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Making eye contact with fellow passengers, and smiling or laughing as all of these occurred
And there are the scenes that are forever burned into my memory and into my heart.
Watching two men step off the bus - the first stood quietly while the second pulled out his white cane and placed his hand confidently on the shoulder of the first... and then watching as the first also took out his white cane, and they began their slow, trusting walk into the chaos of a San Jose street.
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Seeing a street vendor run over to help these blind men cross the trash-filled chasm between the street and the sidewalk.
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The homeless man who was half in, half out of his cardboard box, trying desperately to find shade and comfort.
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Or the other man, lying flat on his stomach on the wet sidewalk with a coat over his head - and as we drove by I was left wondering whether the coat was to help him sleep, or to block out the world that has gotten too cruel for him.
