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Literally catching the bus
To catch the bus, you have to stand on the side of the highway as cars and trucks zoom past. When a bus approaches, you squint your eyes to see if this bus is going where you're going. If it is, you flag it down and quickly hop on board.
I've always had a thing for busses. Maybe it's the thrill of a voyage; maybe it's the the voyeur in me, hoping to witness the beauty of people just being themselves; maybe it's the Forrest Gump in me ready to meet my next best Bubba in the face of a stranger.
Our first Sunday in Quito we decided to take the bus up north to a little town called Otavalo. Otavalo is famed for one of the most incredible artisan's markets in the country, and we hoped to find a few special
regalitos for our loved ones. We walked up the hill to the Avenida del Occidente where we stood on the side of the road waiting to climb aboard a bus that said "Otavalo" in its front window. Before long the bus came along and we successfully flagged it down without becoming roadkill.
We climbed aboard to find the bus packed to the gills with
gente. Each bus is staffed by two men: one drives the bus, while the other collects fares. The fare-collector asked a young Quiteño boy to stand up so I could take a seat. I felt bad, but I really didn´t yet know what
Voyeur
I love watching strangers just being themselves. defined proper Ecuatorian bus etiquette, so I accepted the seat graciously. Audrey and Aleks moved farther back in the bus and found seats for themselves there. The bus chugged along, people getting on, people getting off. An older gentleman climbed aboard and had to stand in the aisle, because there were no more seats. From her vantage point in the rear, Audrey was stunned that not one of the younger able-bodied people onboard offered the older man their seat. Just before coming to Ecuador, she had been touring Japan, a country where elders are highly revered. She was so struck at this relative lack of respect for elders, that she snapped a photo of this elder gentleman standing in the aisle.
I, myself, was thinking that there's something very equalizing about crowded busses. It's impossible to tell just
who is most deserving of a seat. Sure, there's the pregnant woman or the single mother travelling with a small child, whose needs are worn on the outside. But what about the young man with a bad back or a sprained ankle or a broken heart? What about all of the pains that no one else can see? Aren't we all
The older gentleman standing.
Audrey snapped this photo from her vantage point at the back of the bus. No one offered this older gentleman their seat. equally burdened in some way? Aren't we all equally deserving of that seat? Aren't we all equally able to take our turn standing?
As I sat contemplating the quotidian justice of busses with too few seats, the young boy next to me stood to
bajar. I made eye contact with the older gentleman and motioned an invitation for him to sit down next to me.
"Muchas gracias por ofrecirme el asiento," he said. He put down his bags and made himself comfortable. We sat next to each other in silence for some time. The bus was showing a ridiculous Spanish-dubbed version of the movie "White Chicks," and it didn't invite casual conversation. I noticed that the gentleman wore press-on nails on each of the five fingers of his right hand, and I silently speculated as to their possible function. When the movie finished and the movie credits were playing loudly, the gentleman next to me caught the attention of the bus attendant, "turn the volume down, please," he requested. He then turned to me and began a two-hour conversation with, "they always play these things too loudly, don't you think?" And that is how I met Hugo.
Hugo
Equalizing
Busses are the staple of transportation in Ecuador. Everyone eventually takes a turn standing in the crowded aisle. introduced himself to me as
un artista. He told me he is the prodigy of a long line of artists. His grandfathers were painters, and a painting by one of his
abuelos actually hangs in the Louvre in Paris. He grew up in the intellecutal
barrio in Quito, amongst the influence of great and creative minds. He learned to play the guitar at age 4, and his guitar became his best friend, his lover, his girlfriend, and his wife.
"Soy diferente," he told me, "I'm different than everyone else." He was a dreamer, a lover, an artist, and he has lived a charmed but painful life. He funneled all of his passion into mastering the guitar and became world-famous for his talents. He has played crowded concert halls all over Europe. He played for Pope John Paul II in Rome. The mayor of Miami once declared a day in his honor.
It turns out that the stranger sitting next to me on the bus to Otavalo is
the Hugo Oquendo, world-famous classical guitarist,
torero, memoirist, and Ecuatorian national celebrity. As if his prodigal guitar talents weren't enough, he had also been a famous bullfighter in his youth, fighting
toros The stranger beside me
Hugo Oquendo: world-famous classical guitarist. and dreaming of castanets and roses and drums. He's written a book of memoirs which is soon to be published entitled
"Cuando sea grande" ("When I grow up"), and producers in Rome are currently transforming his memoirs into a film which will be released in October.
We talked for the next two hours about art, music, medicine, and travel. We talked about American politics. He wanted to know what I thought about Barack Obama. In his opinion, Obama has the charisma of JFK, but he's concerned that he lacks experience. He told me about Rome. I told him about Madrid and about my love of flamenco. He told me about his beautiful 38 year old Italian wife with blue eyes, and their 7 year old daughter who doesn't want to learn to play the guitar but would prefer to learn the piano. He opened his bag and dug out a copy of one of his CDs to give to me as a gift. He signed the cover, and wrote down his cell phone number for me. "Michelle," he said, "someday when you visit Rome, I want you to call me and tell me, '
Hugo, mi amigo, estoy en Roma, y es bellísima!´¨
He invited me to a big concert he would be giving in Quito on April 26. Unfortunately, I would be in Puyo working in the clinics that day. "No problem," he said, "you just call me when you have time, and I will come to your home in Quito and give you a private concert there. It will be marvelous! I will give you such a beautiful concert, Michelle, you won't believe it!" I couldn't believe it, but eagerly agreed. "Are you sure you'll remember me when I call?" I asked. "I'll never forget you, Michelle, or this bus trip to Otavalo and my good fortune at being offered a seat at your side," he replied.
When we got off the bus in Otavalo, I introduced him to Aleks and Audrey. We said farewell with Ecuatorian cheek kisses, and I promised I would call....
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Stella
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Wow, what a fasinating "voyeur voyage" on a bus. I loved the picture of the elderly lady and her bright skirt; who is she observing so intently? Not very fair of you to leave us hanging with "I promised I would call...."