A Bus Story

I spend a lot of time on buses here in South America. Here's a bus story.
The bus tugged up the mountain road smooth as a steam boat. We'd just passed into Argentina with fresh stamps on our passports and I settle into my seat with a book, ready for the long haul.
Outside the Andes unfold on either side, the sun searing white, licking the shadows right off the hills. The horizon is miles away, the landscape immense and rolling, like God threw a bunch of giant cowboy hats on the ground and draped them with brown velvet...interesting art project...
I'm deep in this book (really good ones are a rare find) when our bus suddenly slows and then stops with an exhale..pshhhhhh...
i look up, the other tourists look up, we look at each other, a whisper rolls through the bus ¨what happened?¨¨why'd we stop?¨ Outside the bus is a dusty brown pueblo with a dirty river running around it. The din of confused tourists gets louder, and suddenly it's like the start of a scene you'd see in a musical...right before a song... ¨Trouble in River City?¨ It starts with an S and rhymes with HIKE!! STRIKE!!
Nooo...
The town has STRUCK! And they are lounging in the middle of the highway with rocks and umbrellas, drinking soda, and staring at the line of trucks and cars slowly forming on each side.
A blond woman in khakis with bony knees begins to walk through the lounging strikers awkwardly trying to figure out what the fuss is about, and pretty soon the road is full of curious tourists trying to figure out why the strike is going on...and more importanly..WHEN will it end??
In typical South American fashion, no one knows...maybe 5:30, maybe 6...the official is on his way...negotiations are taking place...he has to drive from Ukuiti...that´s 2, no 3 hours away!
So, realizing we still have at least 3 hours in the middle of nowhere, I take a hint from the strikers---fiesta! The even had a bbq going on. I practice my french with the french couple behind me, then spanish with an argentinian from switzerland, then I play an israeli game with a canadian, englishman and australian...After we'd exhausted our game...and I lost too many times...i go back into the bus where new news has come from the front...The police have come!! But police don't do anything, says the bus driver...And alas it's true. The police stand there, then they start to chat it up, then they just stare at everyone. After 3 hours the official comes. The bus can't move until something has been decided! So I daydream. I start thinking of funny comebacks I would say if I had a Texas accent.
¨Boy, I'll shove this can o lard up yer ass so far you'll be pooping pecan pies for christmas¨ har har har.... They all involve sticking things where the sun don't shine...and special holidays. Ah the bus! A place for expanding the mind...Finally the strikers decide that we can all go if we sign a petition supporting their cause..Sure...no problem! You can have my first born too..just get me outta here!
And then after 4 hours of exciting political unrest...We are free!! Free and on the road with just 5 hours left of our trip!
The homestretch doesn't look so appealing when the englishman falls ill and blows he roof right off the bathroom. But this is the way travelling should be! Filled with excitement and danger!
We get into the Salta bus terminal at 12:30 at night, and me and 5 others find a hostal and get wasted (well I get wasted) off one bottle of wine because I haven't eaten all day.
Good wine = good nights sleep...Argentina Here I Am!