What is it with me and buses?

Same disclaimer from previous post applies. Thanks for your gracious patience and understanding.

This past weekend I went to go visit some friends from the program. I had purchased a bus ticket earlier in the week from Concepción to Talca, where my friend Cody would pick me up. On Friday after class, I rode in to Concepción. Gloria had offered to drop me off at the bus station. When I arrived, she was in a panicked frenzy at the thought of me traveling four hours by bus...by myself! Granted, I have experienced this hyper-overprotectiveness before and it should have come as no surprise.  

Side story: I ran across the street last weekend (ALONE...gasp!) to buy some tomatoes for Gloria because she was cooking a pie and couldn't leave the apartment with the oven on. After she reluctantly agreed, she passed me some money and reminded me to be careful crossing the street about five times. She watched me from the balcony and shouted at me to make sure I looked both ways before crossing the street in case I missed it before. If I were in America, I would have been mortified. When I returned 5 minutes later, she asked me if I had gotten lost and if everything went ok when I paid.

Silly of me to expect the same woman from the story above to just drop me off at the bus station and be on her merry way. Oh no. She parked, held my hand (I kid you not) and lead me through the bustling terminal and marched up to the ticket counter to ask where my bus was. I had already spotted my bus...grouped with all the other buses from the same line, clearly marked "TALCA." I just let Gloria do her thing...Chileans are not to be reasoned with. We walked out and she asked a few passengers and both drivers to verify that it was the correct bus and then proceeded to tell them that I was from the United States, that I barely spoke Spanish, and needed to be told when to get off. Then she pulled me onto the bus (yes, still holding my hand), led me to my seat and...buckled my seatbelt for me. She would have sat with me until the bus pulled out if the man occupying the seat next to me hadn't kindly asked her to move. She gave him a once over and told him that if he had planned on talking to me that he'd better "speak loud and slow and articulate because she's American." To my horror, she also threw in, "She already has a boyfriend so don't get any ideas." 

Finally she got off the bus and by that, I mean she was escorted off by a clearly annoyed bus driver. Sufficiently embarrassed, I dug through my bag for my iPod. Next thing I know, she's by my side again telling me for the zillionth time to get off at 8pm in Talca (as if there were other options). Attempting to make a joke, I said, "Wait, where do I get off?" Immediately, she looked as if she were about to pass out and then she started crying. Smooth, Kels. I told her I was joking and that I would be fine. A now furious busdriver folded his arms and glared at us. I gave him an apologetic look as she gave him a chest pat and brushed past him, sniffling. I had my headphones in for approximately ten seconds when the man beside me (he had the window seat) tapped me. "I think it's for you," he said, nodding towards the window. And there was Gloria rapping on the glass, gesturing at her watch, flashing 8 fingers, and obnoxiously mouthing TAL-CA!! For Pete's sake, woman...I've traveled the world (am I allowed to say that?) by myself. I think I can manage my own travel plans.

After we were finally on our way, the lights inside the bus dimmed, and the feature presentation began. A five-hour bus ride, a cushy seat with a foot rest to boot (there's your pun for the day...you're welcome), AND a complimentary movie!? Best 3,000 pesos I've ever spent! Perhaps I spoke too soon. The cinematic selection was Un pedazito del cielo (A Little Bit of Heaven), a new release pitched as a romantic comedy (which I have since decided was a grossly misleadingly advertisement). The movie features Kate Hudson as a cancer patient who falls for her dreamy doctor. I was contentedly watching the American film in my mother tongue (English is sweet to my ears these days) while the other passengers were audibly grumbling because they couldn't read the subtitles from their seats. The young man sitting next to me leaned over and asked me if I could understand what they were saying (gesturing at the screen). I hesitated, afraid of the direction the conversation was heading, and said yes. Sure enough, he followed up with, "So what are they saying?" And with that, I kissed my peaceful cinematic experience goodbye. 

A few minutes into my live translation, the old woman across the aisle tapped my arm and asked me if I would be so kind as to speak up as she was hard of hearing. Of course, señora, I would be obliged. I accrued 11 listeners (7 of which I am now friends with on Facebook...these Chileans don't miss a beat) in a span of twenty minutes. Everything was going quite smoothly until the plot turned sour and I quickly began to realize that this socalled romantic comedy was none too comedic. I would love to know whose bright idea it was to air a movie about a dying cancer patient on a Friday bus route...what a downer. I choked back my tears as long as I could but there was one depressing scene right after another. Even though I was clearly a a sobbing wreck, my fellow passengers relentlessly probed me to continue translating, anxious to stay informed. My eyes were still puffy when we pulled into the terminal in Talca. I had to employ some rather deft persuasion tactics to convince my friend Cody (who was waiting to collect me) that I hadn't been attacked on the bus...because that was his most logical rationale. Although...he was slightly on target...

New goal while in Chile: Have a normal bus experience.