The Bus

As I mentioned in a previous blog entry I have a bike. It’s this tiny, white BMX with shitty brakes, which Laz is going to try and fix for me, that I love. But a bike can only get you so far and it is often very unsafe to be riding your bike on the road. Drivers here will come within a foot of you (I kid you not) and that’s when you are riding as far on the edge of the road as you possibly can be without falling off. So mostly I ride when there is lots of traffic, as crazy as that sounds, because then people are going so slow you just pass them.

Another mode of transportation, and only slightly safer sometimes, is by bus. There are TONS of local “buses” which will pick you up at any point along the road. There are no bus stops, which I am guessing is because these are no real buses in the first place. They are locals who have these big vans with signs saying “Maho” or “Ph-burg” or one of the other places they drive to. For $1.50/bus ride you can get around the island pretty well. It doesn’t matter how far you ride the fair is still the same. It is highly recommended that you have exact change and if not, don’t pay with anything more then a five, because otherwise they will get extremely grumpy and take forever to give you the change which probably wont end up being correct. But having said that, most of the drivers are really friendly and if you sit in the front seat they wont stop talking for the entire ride. You will get their life story, their wife’s life story, and probably their dog’s life story as well!

I absolutely love the buses! They are packed with locals and so far I have been the only white person in every bus that I get on. The other day was a particularly adventurous ride home. I had gone to Marigot, on the French side, and the one bus had just dropped me off and I flagged down the next bus back to Mullet Bay. As it pulled up I could see that this particular bus was in pretty rough shape. None of the buses are really nice or anything but this one just looked tragic. I couldn’t open the side door and someone from inside had to help me. When I stepped in I was immediately forced to do an awkward straddle over the giant hole in the floor while I attempted to close the door. Having successfully done this I made my way to the only empty seat; a lopsided, misshapen seat that was leaning precariously backwards. About two minutes into the ride we stopped for a guy to get off and as he opened the side door it unhinged itself and was less then halfway attached on to the doorframe. I exchanged glances with a girl about my age and we both laughed a bit as the driver got out and, using his entire body weight, threw himself against the door to get it back in place. Needless to say it was an interesting ride. I’ve never had the experience of watching the road fly by below you.

Another funny thing about the buses is that many people insist on having conversations on their cell phones. A couple of days ago when I went to Philipsburg, I had the pleasure of sitting behind a lady who was screaming, and when I say screaming I mean SCREAMING, into her phone at her son who had apparently cut school again. When she finished the fifteen-minute conversation she started talking to the bus on a whole about how her son is such a failure and even though no one answered her, or even acknowledged her, she continued telling us about her son for the next five minutes until she asked for the bus to stop.

You are never guaranteed a spot on the bus. Even if it is completely full and there are no seats left, the driver will often still stop for you anyways and you end up uncomfortably sitting on the floorboards by the door. About the only guarantee you have riding with the local buses is that it will always be an adventure.