Once the bus drives out of the station, the driver's sidekick usually loads the VCR and turns on the overhead television and if you're lucky, there is only one. Soon, it's the blare of women screaming, babies crying, bombs exploding while men shoot, fight, stab, rape and murder their way through the most excruciatingly bad Asian movies ever made on this planet. The scenes are difficult to view through the snowy screen so the children gather around on the floor under the television in order to see better. These sorts of movies are served up on almost every bus I boarded in South American in various degrees of the same, with innocent children's eyes glued to the snowy screens for the duration of their trip. I'm shocked by what they view. Rapes on screaming women and deadly assault seem to be the most common fare. Usually within the opening scenes of every film there is a gun involved and someone is shot. The drama continues in this fashion without letup and in one particular film, culminated in scores of people of a darker persuasion murdered in order to rescue three white people, one of whom was a beautiful woman with an impressive cleavage and a rubberized mouth. The amount of blood and gore expended to make the save might have filled a swimming pool.
This is what to expect after the bus leaves the station. It's torture for the ears as these lackeys play the videos at ear-shattering volumes. There's no asking to turn it down. Nobody's bothered by it but me. The screen could be suffering from a gray or green screen, it could be grainy or pock-marked, nothing is clear but everyone watches. Suffer or disembark. If you're particularly unlucky, the bus may have more than the one screen. and if you complain, people look at you as nothing more than an American spoiler.
For some reason it's not okay to experience silence anymore, to read a book quietly in your seat or look out the window and meditate on the landscape. We must be externally entertained at all times, full time, our brains engaged in mind-numbing activity as we soak it up. Smoking is not permitted on buses, don't want to ruin the childen's lungs. I soon became exhausted with asking bus drivers to either turn it down, or slow down. Bus rides in South American be be an unsettling experience, that is, if you live to tell about it. Which brings me to the next part of my story.
The worst bus drivers are here in South America. If they're not drinking while they're driving, or drinking at the many truck stops, they're hung-over and sleepy from the day before. Only take day buses because bus drivers usually drive for more than 12 hours a day and fall asleep at the wheel. And if they're not grouchy and moody, they're maniacally smoking and drinking coffee and talking with their sidekick helper or one of the passengers sitting up on the dash.
On a bus ride to Guayaquil, the bus driver was playing chicken with another bus driver as we were coming down a steep mountain pass from Zamuma. I looked out my window to see a bus staying beside ours for a good ways down the mountain and I thought the bus just couldn't get up the piss to pass when I realized our bus driver would let him pass. The driver and his lackey were laughing and pointing out the window to the other driver. It was great fun! Except the buses are loaded with women, children and old men and the roads are dangerous with blind corners and steep winding curves. Watching as the two laughed and slapped their knees was unsettling.
I waved to get the sidekick's attention and he stumbled towards me, laughing through the aisle. In spanish I said, 'es peligrosos,' and in English, 'it's not funny cocksucker.' Oh, they slowed down in good time and we obviously made it to our destination, but these are the kinds of scenarios you're likely to encounter. All in good fun, in South America.
