The bus to Salta Argentina
Intense
heat,
Dripping sweat, we order cervaza frio
And bask in the cold gold
Cooling from the inside.
Too soon the big bottle is empty
And we´re on the bus.
The bus that cost allot
And should be so comfortable,
But perhaps South Americans
Are shorter in the leg.
I relax in the comfort of air conditioning
Only to be roused by loud Spanish rock videos
On the buses television.
Almost naked women
Thrust, bump and jiggle
Their flesh,
To the incessant steady beat
Of song after song after song.
Then hours of loud Spanish car crashes,
Gun fights, brawls.
I bury my head in my book
To avoid the violent images
But the noise is relentless,
Like Chinese water torture,
Hammering away at my soul.
After five hours,
A chubby Latin in bus uniform
Delivers cold flattened sandwiches
Which taste wonderful.
Anything to escape the boredom.
And a glass of fruity fizzy pop,
Which means an hour later,
I have to brave the stairs of the bus
While it heaves and rocks,
To find the filthy disgusting loo.
Eventually,
after many hours,
The noise ends.
Almost heaven,
If only I could straighten my legs and arms.
I doze until morning.
At 6AM, we arrive in
The strange dark city of Salta, Argentina.
Fifteen hours on a bus.
We get a taxi,
Book into another expensive hotel,
(Again listed in South America on a Shoe String)
And sleep.
Sleep until the traffic roars,
Sleeps until the sun is up
But the shadows are still long,
Sleep until the morning air is fresh.
Then we are ready to embrace the day
And start another adventure.
Dripping sweat, we order cervaza frio
And bask in the cold gold
Cooling from the inside.
Too soon the big bottle is empty
And we´re on the bus.
The bus that cost allot
And should be so comfortable,
But perhaps South Americans
Are shorter in the leg.
I relax in the comfort of air conditioning
Only to be roused by loud Spanish rock videos
On the buses television.
Almost naked women
Thrust, bump and jiggle
Their flesh,
To the incessant steady beat
Of song after song after song.
Then hours of loud Spanish car crashes,
Gun fights, brawls.
I bury my head in my book
To avoid the violent images
But the noise is relentless,
Like Chinese water torture,
Hammering away at my soul.
After five hours,
A chubby Latin in bus uniform
Delivers cold flattened sandwiches
Which taste wonderful.
Anything to escape the boredom.
And a glass of fruity fizzy pop,
Which means an hour later,
I have to brave the stairs of the bus
While it heaves and rocks,
To find the filthy disgusting loo.
The noise ends.
Almost heaven,
If only I could straighten my legs and arms.
I doze until morning.
At 6AM, we arrive in
The strange dark city of Salta, Argentina.
Fifteen hours on a bus.
We get a taxi,
Book into another expensive hotel,
(Again listed in South America on a Shoe String)
And sleep.
Sleep until the traffic roars,
Sleeps until the sun is up
But the shadows are still long,
Sleep until the morning air is fresh.
Then we are ready to embrace the day
And start another adventure.