The buses are not
buses. They are vans with 14 seats, at
peak times squeezing in 16 people, and a big sliding side door operated by the
passenger sitting nearest to the door. Some of the buses are newer and cleaner than
others. All are Japanese made Honda or
Nissan. All are fitted with powerful
speakers that blare the local radio and current, local, pop hits. The 35 Km run from Portsmouth to Roseau takes
about an hour plus, and costs 9 EC ($4.50 Canadian). You pay the driver when you get off according
to the distance you have travelled.
Buses traveling to and fro stop at unscheduled intervals along the way,
often to pick up or deliver packages, children, messages, or for unidentifiable
reasons. Sometimes the driver will pull
over and the passengers will buy a hot plantain or roasted corn on the cob from
a lady at the side of the road through the window. From time to time the driver will hop off for a quick pee.
When you want to get off
you shout “STOPPING” and hope the driver hears you above the din. If you happen to be sitting at the back of
the bus, getting off is an athletic event.
The ceiling is low, there is no aisle, there are lots of legs, parcels,
and other impedimenta to negotiate. Then
you get to the door and pull it open, toss your baggage, parcels and children
out, slide down, go to the window on the passenger side (they drive on the
left) and pay the driver. Often you are
let off inches from a drain or a deep tuft of grass with who knows what waiting
inside there. Going to Roseau I ask the
driver to take me to the hospital and he makes a little detour up the hill. Going from the hospital to catch the bus to
Portsmouth I take the intercity bus (85 Canadian cents).
Getting on is another
adventure. I have only gotten on at the
‘terminals’. Burrows Square in
Portsmouth is the gathering place for the buses to Roseau. It is crowded with vehicles: all parked in
what appears to be a confusion, all with motors on, all honking their horns,
all drivers shouting. Buses from the
villages arrive and the drivers hi-jack the passengers to fill their bus. They
will not leave until their bus is full although they all promise to leave
immediately. I have often waited for 20
minutes on the bus that is leaving right away.
This is the reason I walk the extra distance to catch the bus at Burrows
Square although I could get it much closer to where I live. The bus gets to my stop FULL and does not
stop.
The process in Roseau to
return to Portsmouth is much the same only more crowded, confusing, noisy and
hectic.
I know that there is a
protocol amongst the drivers, competition is fierce, politics of bus operation
are complex, and there is no way I could ever figure it out – or even want
to. I have my favourite drivers, they
know me by now, and they compete for my little fare. They call out to me as they see me coming to
attract my attention. I look to see
which bus has the most passengers as that will be the bus leaving soonest,
smile and get on. If I know it will be a
wait I drop a dollar in the hand of “Cucumber”, a street person, who looks
after me: he gets me a seat up front with the driver and makes sure the bus
waits for me while I go across the street to get an ice cream cone.
On the bus: if the news
is on and if there is some political discussion on the radio the denizens will
erupt into a passionate debate on the topic.
Most people play or text on their phones, some sing and bounce around to
music on their phone, some sleep, some eat, or visit and chat. I just go into the ‘zone’. I rather like the bus ride, the scenery is
spectacular, the near misses are heart throbbing; I can actually think on the
bus. I take the late bus home from
Roseau at the end of the work day so it tends to be quiet.
I wanted to include photos, but I am a little intimidated. Maybe later.........
