a short begining

So we left at around 6am from our house and waited without the sun at the bus stop a half a block away for what likely the very first bus that runs along Himno Nacional. It was dark and there was a slight breeze – nobody was on the road. The first bus we saw was hauling so much ass that we weren’t able to read the route number on it’s windshield quick enough to realize that we had to flag it down until it was too late. The next guy with our route number, I think it was 5, was crawling. And when he stopped at our bench (which here, are much better than some rotten old wooden SoCal bus stop benches liable to give you splinters and always have either an advertisement of some DUI attorney, lousy used car dealer, or says this space for rent), it actually waited until more than us 2 were it’s passengers. Some lady came and we were off; a middle aged woman probably hustling to get to her job. She struck me as morbidly determined and unhappily accustomed to being who was probably usually the first person on this bus.

            We waited around the bus station for a few minutes until Carolina showed up. Her father, mother, and sister all came to drop her off. She was going to be gone with 2 guys and another girl (who we were meeting up with later in Oaxaca), so I guess they just wanted to make sure that nothing seemed fishy. She’s 24, but you know, things are different here. Anyway, we got 2 drinks – non alcoholic – for the bus ride to D.F. norte, which actually takes 4 ½ hours despite the 3 hour projection by MS Map Point. I slept most of the way anyhow.

            The Mexico City bus terminal is ridiculous. Pushin’ and shovin’ all over the place. It’s pretty big, too. I’d say that it shares the same amount of foot space with the San Diego airport (I forget the name right now – Jefferson?). It didn’t bother me really. What did bother me was that we had to wait eight and a half flippin’ hours for the next, and probably last, bus to Tuxtla Gutierrez, Oaxaca.

            Only an hour had passed until I decided that it was in my best interest to find cheep beer and make the wait fly right on by and at the same time guarantee solid sleep on the 12 hour bus ride. It’s win-win, right? Eventually all that I was concentrating on was keeping my cool in a Mexico City bus terminal. During this, I spent a lot of time spacing out watching the shoe shiners. There’s something transfixiating about observing their craft. This is, of course, until you’re approached by what may very likely be the most underqualified hooker ever. This happened to me, and I think she told me that it’d be alright if I had her baby – that I didn’t have to worry about it. After a moment she finally gave up on me.

            Before I knew it, it was time to “board” the bus. As it turned out, it's really 15 hours to Tuxtla.