HAVANA TIMES – These days, public transportation is at its worst. The truth is that, for as long as I can remember, it has never been good.
I remember that back in the 1970s, during the summer, my mother would take us to the beaches east of Havana. We would visit relatives because we were a very close-knit family. The downside of these wonderful outings was traveling on public buses (there was no transportation other than the state-run system). It was hell. We would leave very early in the morning and walk to the bus stop for Route 62, which started in Old Havana and ended in Guanabo, east of the capital.
We could spend two or three hours waiting there. I remember one day particularly well. One of the buses came by, completely packed, and didn’t stop. My mother shouted at the driver, “I hope you get a flat tire, you rotten person!” I’d rather not repeat the other insults my mother hurled at that driver, although he deserved every one of them.
We couldn’t give up on going because our relatives were waiting for us. Besides, how do you explain to five children, all excited about going to the beach to visit their aunt and great-grandmother, who had lunch ready and waiting for them, that we had to go back home because the buses wouldn’t stop? This happened several times, but that particular day my mother refused to give up. I think she didn’t want to disappoint us. We were still so young to already be experiencing such frustrations.
The second bus did stop, and we managed to squeeze aboard, packed like sardines in a can, as we say here. When we reached Vía Blanca, there was the previous bus, stranded on the road with a flat tire. The driver of our bus stopped to let some of the passengers aboard, since they weren’t to blame for the shortcomings of the state transportation system. People on our bus started telling my mother, “Lady, you’ve got a cursed tongue! I sure wouldn’t want to get on your bad side!”
The return trips were much the same. After spending a lovely weekend with our aunt and great-grandmother, we would leave their house, reach the bus stop, and sit on the sidewalk to wait. Once again, buses would pass without stopping. Many times, we had to go back to their house and spend another night, hoping to return home the following day.
That was back in the 1970s. Things haven’t improved at all since then. On the contrary, they’re worse. My neighborhood used to have four bus routes: the 58 to Central Havana, the 77 to Guanabacoa, the 71 to Casablanca, and the 94 to Regla. There was also the 26 to Alamar. Now we have none of those, just one route they call “the spinning top.” I’ll never understand the absurd names they give these routes, because in this case the only person who might get dizzy spinning like a top is the driver. The bus leaves the Bahía terminal and goes as far as the tunnel exit, operating from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. It gets so crowded that hardly anyone can squeeze aboard.
Now I want to tell you about a recent experience a friend of mine had. She was leaving work to head home and was standing at a traffic light along the Malecon when a car stopped. The driver asked her, “Where are you going?” She asked him in return, “Are you going through the tunnel?” “Yes,” he replied. She thanked him and sat down in the passenger seat. The driver immediately struck up a conversation.
“Where do you work?” he asked my friend.
“In an office,” she replied.
“And how much do you make?” he asked.
When my friend told him her salary, he said it was very little and offered her a chance to earn some extra money if she would just give him a little kiss. As he spoke, he puckered his lips and pushed them forward.
Keeping her composure, she replied that she didn’t need the money, but out of curiosity she asked how much he would pay her if she agreed.
“A thousand pesos,” he said.
Then he added, “I picked you up because, as soon as I saw your arms, I could tell you were a little hairy, and I love that.” He reached over and touched her arm.
She responded, “Look, sir, you’ve got the wrong idea. Besides, I’m 60 years old. Don’t touch me. Stop the car. I’m getting out here.”
The driver told her not to worry, that if she didn’t accept, nothing would happen. “I always give it a try. You have no idea how many women say yes.”
This man was offering her 1,000 Cuban pesos for a little kiss, and up to 5,000 Cuban pesos if she agreed to take things further.
My friend tried to remain calm so she could learn more about him and reach her destination safe and sound. As she got out, she told him, “I’m not a prostitute.”
Traveling in this country is always a risk, no matter what form of transportation you manage to find.
I wanted to share these Cuban stories with you. What do you think?