I did not mind taking the bus

 I did not mind taking the bus.  

I first remember taking the bus, “la gua gua”, when I was maybe 6 in Cuba, and we were going to my grandmother’s house in bus number 32 from El Nautico to El Vedado.  I was enthralled by the system where one would pull the cord on the side so the bus driver would know to stop on the next stop.  I thought it was ingenious. Who would have thought of that?   

In the old country, the bus had two attendants.  There was the driver, “chofer”, and the conductor.  The conductor was the person who would collect the fare or the transfer, “transferencia”.  He would also give advice on how to get to a certain place using the bus system.  I was always worried that when the conductor asked, we would not find the money or transferencia.  What would they do?  Kick you out?  Shoot you?  Luckily, I never found out.  Remember I was six. I was surprised that in the US there was no conductor.  Who could you ask about the connecting bus?  I kept thinking, when would it be the best time to pull the cord?  Right before the stop, or right after the previous stop? I could not reach it anyway.  But, in a bus we always had time to think about such things.  It is not like we were going to go anywhere fast.   

What I liked about riding the bus was that I had time to listen; I could observe, strike up a friendship, or just think about anything.  Or I could read a book, which I did often.  These were usually books about sports or something my sister recommended.  Nowadays, people seldom exercise the art of doing nothing. 

Late on a Sunday afternoon, I was going home from the Montmartre Hotel in Miami Beach.  I had worked three shifts in a row with my dad and I was tired.  This was in 11^th grade; it must have been in the Spring.  I had to transfer from the T bus to one of the Flagler buses, then to the 27 bus at 12^th avenue.  We went westbound on the south side of the Omni Mall.  And, as the driver took a left onto Biscayne BLVD, an old Cuban guy commented to his friend beside him: “La mujer Cubana.  Ha sido comprobado que son las más bonitas del mundo”.  (The Cuban woman.  It has been proven that the Cuban woman is the most beautiful woman in the world).  I found this statement amusing, did not really disagree with it and did what any other young Cuban man would do.  I switched to the other side of the bus to get a better view. I almost laughed out loud since the lady we were looking at was a classmate, someone I knew well both from Saints Peter and Paul and ILS. She was walking north on Biscayne Blvd in front of the old Jefferson Store with presumably a family member.   I thought to myself “that is not the most beautiful woman, that is just __________”.  I have known her for years.  Then I thought, “esperate … esperate. (wait..  wait)……”   I kept looking at her.  She looked different.  She was wearing high waisted blue jeans and a blouse tied in such a way as to show a bare midriff.  The blue jeans were not tight yet nice fitting enough to delineate her Cuban attributes.  Either she had changed, or I had.  As the bus drove away from the Jefferson Store, I could see her and her Cuban attributes and just thought: Old Cuban Guy was right.   

Experiences like that you miss when driving.  Of course, this was in 1974.  The buses were air conditioned then.  There was no smell of gasoline or diesel.  I was not in a hurry.  Although bad for one’s health, I kind of like the smell of gasoline. 

Just random thoughts, since right now I am on vacation practicing the art of doing nothing.   

Be well my friends. 

Moose