Killer Buses

There exists in this fine city what may prove to be the bane of my existence: death buses. This is literally what the locals call them- combis de la muerte- or killer buses. And with good reason. These mobile machines of mayhem careen down the street in every direction, black billowing smog clouds trailing treacherously behind. Men hang halfway out the open door shouting their destinations at you, as a cacophony of crying car horns pierces the ears. The majority of these mini-buses, meant to hold maybe a dozen or so people, are packed like clown cars with at least five times as many poor souls, hunkered over in hopes of making it home alive. No joke.

Now imagine trying to catch one of these killer buses to where you actually want to go in a city where you recognize nothing. Very fortunately for me, my poor co-worker blazed the trail over the past nine months of transport torture, and knows the colors and sizes of the buses that might just take us to work at 7 in the morning. The perilous properties of these death machines are compounded by the traffic, through which it can take up to an hour to travel about five miles.

And then there is the ride home. Imagine, if you will, the Tijuana border at six on a Friday afternoon. People stumble onto the bus intermittently, selling everything from homemade slices of pie, to candies, to cigarettes, to children’s toys. They jump in as the bus slows down on a corner and hop off at the next. All in between the screams of the bus man hollering destinations and frenzied people trying to hop on the right bus. It’s truly a sight to behold. It also makes me realize that my day really wasn’t that bad and that some people truly have to hustle to even make a sole (Peruvian currency).

Nonetheless, I am extremely thankful that my company’s office is moving five blocks from my apartment this week. I am one lucky gal. Now if I could only rescue my lungs from this toxic tumult. On the bright side, I manage to miss the worst of the muffler muck by taking side streets around town, where death buses are scarcer.

This morning I saw a man actually taking a broom to the walls, attempting to scrape off the grime and dirt spit at it from the many cars clamoring about this city. Good luck there buddy.

Forgive me if I appear to be complaining. As you will find, I am most happy with my new home in most regards. However, the minibuses are my nemeses. And so it goes.

All in all, the chaos and confusion of Lima’s streets make me smile. It’s nuts but there is a certain charm to it all. We’ll see if that perception persists. ☺