octubre: BUSted

I like walking. It is a great chance to get some blood moving and see more of the city while I make my commutes to and from jobs. Also, the bus drivers here are crazy. Every ride is a lurching, gear-crunching, stomach jolting experience. Not to mention when the only seat is next to a man and he undoubtedly stares at me for the majority of the trip as if I am a zoo animal that seemed to get lost somewhere and find my way on the ruta ("ruta" = bus in Cuernavaca).

I have another reason to dislike the rutas now. I got bruised from a recent ride, and it is one of those painful, colorful ones with yellow and purple. To relive the story, I was on the bus heading home and I had an armful of things, literally, my arms were hugging the packages I carried. At a red light I stood up to exit the ruta. Despite the red light, the driver unexpectedly launched the bus forward and slammed on the brakes and I went pretty much flying from the middle to the front of the bus, no arms to grab ahold, and slammed into the metal bars at the front. Ouch. I was so embarrased of being the lost zoo animal that apparently has trouble keeping her footing on public transport. I jumped off as quickly as I could, to stand on the curb rubbing my arm and trying to make my physical and pride wounds feel better.