It’s 12:35 pm Tijuana time. I’ve been standing in this line for 8 hours now. For the last 3 hours I’ve been crushed up against the counter pleading my destination – Hermosillo, Hermosillo, Hermosillo – the capital of Sonora. Why I wonder am I so intent on this destination? It looked great on the map I bought from Wanderlust -The Travelers store on west 4rth, a few blocks down from my warm, cushy apartment in safe, predictable, latte infused Kitsalino.
The blips of hope about Sonora have diminished in the past hour as I have begun to truly understand the motives of the Stone Face and his green jacketed accomplices.
To my left is the Aquila ticket counter. The wall board lists Baja destinations, increasing in price the further down the list I scan – the further you travel south. The prices are in pesos - $110 is the cheapest ticket – to Ensenada. I recall that name when I was studying my map back in Vancouver, but I know little else than I may be able to afford the ticket.
There’s no bank around to cash a travelers cheque and the bank machine in the terminal is out of funds. All I have left is $10 USD. Is 10 bucks more or less than 110 pesos? If I go over there and ask, I loose my position in the crush against the greyhound counter. I need a ticket out of here and at least 3 pesos to pay to get into the bus terminal bathroom. Let’s just say the pressure for a decision is building in many ways.
For the past 2 hours the Aquila lady has been shouting out Baja destinations trying to attract customers. I dismissed her at first because my intention was to go to Sonora, on the opposite side of the Sea of Cortez from the Baja, but in the last 20 minutes the prospect of being on the road to anywhere has started to grow in my mind as a reasonable idea.
In a flash, so fast I can’t remember the actual decision, I am standing in front of Ms. Aquila and in another flash I have a ticket to Ensenada, and 63 pesos change, enough for an orange crush and a trip to the bathroom.
In an instant my whole trip has turned south. Yet the prospect of being on the road moving south to warmer climes lifts a burden of bus station confusion from my mind and I leave the ticket counter feeling elated. I gather my kit and bust out of the international section, buy a pop and slip my 3 pesos in the bathroom turnstile. I have fond memories of one particular Tijuana bathroom stall. It was a liberating moment knowing I would soon be on the road – feeling a little lighter. Where I am going and where I am going from there is unknown. But … alas, I am going.
No comments:
Post a Comment