Car-less In Cuenca: An expat tells how riding city buses makes his life is richer

By Steven Rigney

I don’t have a car in Cuenca. Don’t want one. I find that this is a common sentiment among many expats. Undoubtedly, this has a good deal to do with the favorable economics of the public transportation system as well as its efficiency. But it also facilitates a slower and less complicated lifestyle. Of this auto-less cohort, there are many who rely solely on taxis, some who utilize a combination of bus, taxi and tram, while others depend mostly on buses. I am of the latter group.

I live about a mile and a half from El Centro and have a plethora of bus lines stopping within two or three blocks from me. I can easily get to the north or the south side of downtown as well as the surrounding neighborhoods. Of course, this transportation choice requires one to be comfortably ambulatory. The buses don’t always go close to where I want to go, requiring a longer walk. Sometimes daily business will require attendance in a variety of locations, each separated by a few blocks. Breakfast on the south side, banking in the middle and shopping on the north side. By the time I’m done, I’ve easily got a mile or two under my belt. ‘S okay, I like to walk.

If one desires an exposure to a very large slice of Ecuadorian culture, look no further than a bus ride. The only thing missing is most of the minority of well-off Ecuadorians who shun the buses. One can taste that slice of culture exposure by going to Supermaxi or Mall Del Rio. A significant majority of Cuencanos take the bus.

The variety of experience that one may derive on any particular ride depends on a multitude of factors: the time of day, are the kids getting out of school, the skill of the driver, traffic flow and many more. Over the years of living in Cuenca, I have heard may tales and opinions from Gringos about their experiences taking the bus. Allow me to share a few of my own.

Mind you, I have had many rides that were ordinary, benign and without incident. Frequently though, some quality captures my attention, educates, entertains, or simply amazes me. There are some downsides, to be sure, but I am a richer person for taking the bus.

Let me first dispel the concern over personal safety. There are no more bad people on the bus than one would find anywhere. Certainly, when standing in a crowded bus, one should mind their personal belongings: purse, wallet, backpack; the normal prudence one would exercise in any vulnerable circumstance. However, no need to be paranoid. The positive, interesting or heart-warming human interactions immeasurably outweigh the negative or dangerous.

Speaking of crowded buses, they are not always crowded, but one cannot conceive of just how implausibly bursting they can become without experiencing it. It really is laughable. I have been the last one on, standing on the first step, holding the rail tight, waiting for the crowd to slowly make its way rearward. This, as the bus continues on its way with the door unable to close with me and others in the way. I’ve observed that many times while walking, as well. It’s normal.

Once on the crowded bus, whether seated or standing, one must prepare to get off at some point. It requires advanced planning to get to the exit door before your stop arrives. The more overfull the bus, the longer it takes. One gets educated on how to pull off this maneuver by watching the locals. From young kids to frail old ladies, they weave their way back as the bus jostles, jerks and lurches, squeezing through the sardine packed mass of humanity as best they can. The peaceful cooperation in action is quite a sight as the placid scrum somehow makes enough room.

In this overly stuffed crush of humanity there are still boundaries that need be respected. As such, some circumstances require a seldom used or necessary attention to social mores and propriety. In this extreme setting, I’ve had times of awkward, yet inwardly humorous occurrences. It happens. More than once, I have found myself sitting in an aisle seat on an excessively crowded bus with a buxom young woman standing facing me, her breasts at face level, millimeters away. I dared not turn my head. With each jerk of the bus causing a soft, unavoidable collision, it was hard not to notice! Or keep a straight face.

Foremost in bus riding instruction, no matter the density of ridership, is: hang on! At all times. For your dear life. You will fall if you don’t. Or be dumped, unceremoniously, into someone’s lap. Patience is required while making one’s way to a seat or final standing position. Picking the next handhold, waiting for a break between lurches and always keeping legs and feet braced for balance are mandatory bus skills. And it’s good exercise. It bodes not well to be inattentive. Some drivers are immeasurably worse than others, but very few feel it’s their job to keep their passengers upright as they navigate the vagaries of urban bus driving.

Getting off the bus can be an adventure as well. Sometimes the step down is more of a jump than a step. Sometimes the crowd prevents the driver from seeing the exit activity in his mirror and he closes the door before one is fully out. And then there is the activity that may be outside the bus stop, such as pedestrians or motorcycles passing close by. One time a young woman on a bicycle was speeding past the bus just as I stepped off. As she came between me and the bus, she slammed on her brakes and went flying over the handlebars. By reflex, I reached back and snatched her right out of the air by her arm, saving her from a rather nasty crash on the pavement. As with many things in this delightful experience we call Ecuador, the operative word is: awareness.

Unlikely a place as it may be, I have been exposed to significant levels of talent while on the bus, from a flawless guitar and Andean pipe performance to an excellent singer/guitarist rendition of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. One never knows when a simple but an amazing display of brilliance may show up. I was seated while idly watching a standing teenage boy fiddle with a Rubic’s Cube. Before fully paying attention, I noticed he had it solved. Cool. He mixed it all up again as I attended his behavior more fully. He solved it again in about two minutes as the fingers on just one hand were a blur of twisting, turning motion. Hmm. After mixing it up, he solved it again, just as fast… left-handed. Okay. He wasn’t through. He pulled out another Cube, mixed them both up thoroughly, and proceeded to solve them both simultaneously, one in each hand. This took a little longer. About three or four minutes! Okay, maybe I’m just easily entertained?

And sometimes there is the poignant. I got on the bus, swiped my card and looked up to find a seat if possible. I noticed, as I had many times before, that all eyes were on me as the only non-Ecuadorian present. Here I was, being tall and very white, completely strange to this local population. No mistake, I was an outsider. But I felt completely accepted and unthreatened; just a curious oddity to them. Something dawned on me. How would I feel, being a Black person getting onto an all-white bus in Alabama? There is no doubt that I would not have felt the same sense of ease that I was fortunate to be experiencing. I counted my many blessings.

The comings and goings of the variety of characters and the ever-changing circumstances one is constantly exposed to is a study of our species. Young mothers with babes strapped to their back to old ladies with their large bundles of wares, students to workers, the well-dressed to the humble campesino, all following an unwritten etiquette. For the most part, seats are made available to those mothers or the infirm or elderly. Shouts are made to warn of a rider stuck in a closing door. Tolerance is on full display. Again, for the most part, it is a human system that seems to be working just fine.

I chose to give up car ownership with all its responsibilities and expenses in exchange for an opportunity to experience my new home in a much more intimate manner. The laws concerning even small fender-benders, snarled traffic, chaotic driving culture as well as parking considerations, are all odious to my sensibilities and not worth any convenience that may be had by ownership. I have exchanged the stress of driving among the maddening crowd for a mostly delightful, ever-changing, carnival ride. All in all, a pleasant choice.
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Steven Rigney is a native of Washington state in the U.S. and has lived in Cuenca part-time since 2012. When he’s not writing, he enjoys hiking and mountain biking around the hills surrounding Cuenca.