The Cairns bus confuses me. The website is cryptic, I can never find timetables posted at the stops, and you must have your route memorized to alert the driver when you want to alight. In Sydney, I learned to at least memorize the stop prior to mine, but even that took some trial and error. One night I alighted too soon, and another night too late. Obviously, I always got to my destination.
On my first day in Cairns, I thought I would check out the downtown area (Central Business District or CBD). I walked to the closest bus stop, noticed no timetable posted, but did see a map. As I was studying the map to determine which bus to board, a bus arrived and stopped for me without even my hailing it. Well, I thought, if anyone knows the answers to my bus related questions, it's this guy. I said to the bus driver, "I'm not sure if this is the bus I need." He smiled and said, "Where are you going?" I told him I wanted to go to the Esplanade. "Cairns," he said. I thought we were in Cairns. I guess not.
I quickly learned that I would ride from Zone 5 to Zone 20 and it would cost $2.80 each way. Finally, I could use these coins that were weighting down my bag. I dutifully presented exact change to the driver almost every time I boarded the bus. In Cairns, the bus driver deals with all the finances, which is time consuming, but offers an actual interaction with the driver. In both Sydney and Melbourne, you must purchase your ticket or pass at a convenience store. Melbourne is even further advanced. You may use the same ticket/pass for all public transport: buses, trains, and trams. Genius!
The next day, I was waiting patiently at the same bus stop. I still hadn't figured out the timetable. A woman sat down next to me on the bench and enquired, "Do ya know what time this bus comes? Damn city council...can't even post the times!" I replied, "No, I have no idea. I just wait here until a bus shows up." She looked at me quizzically, "Don't ya have anything else to do?" "Actually, I don't have anything else to do. I'm on holiday here." Her eyes widened, "Whaddaya a millionaire or somethin'? Holiday in Australia...nothing else to do?" Her tone was a bit insulting, so I countered with, "If I were a millionaire, I wouldn't be taking the bus. I'd take a taxi." We shared a hearty laugh at that, and I felt like we were back on equal ground. The funny thing about chatting at the bus stop is the temporary relationship you develop. The bus comes, your conversation is over, and you're on your way. I wonder if people who take the same bus every day have "bus friendships" or even "bus affairs".
One day, an older, indigenous gentleman boarded a bus I was already riding. As he paid his fare, he saw a man he knew seated on the bus. He bellowed in a Louis Armstrong like voice, "Hey you....f**k you!!!" At least that's what I thought he said as he reached into his pants pocket. Oh no, I thought, I'm right in the middle of this altercation, and if he's pulling a gun from his pocket it'll be difficult to escape his line of fire. The next thing I knew, he sat down next to the man and they began a jovial conversation. Quick geopolitical interlude: I never begin political discussions in foreign countries. It's sort of like the first date rule for inappropriate conversation topics. Never mention politics, sex, or religion on a first date. However, as I travel, if I'm asked my opinion, I try to feel out the situation and the other person's affiliations before I answer. Someone asked me point blank, in reference to gun control, "What's wrong with your country?" In Australia, the gun control laws are strict and the penalties severe. Needless to say, my fear is incrementally quelled the longer I'm in this country.
When I took the bus back to the house where I was staying each evening, I tried to begin the ride around twilight. The neighborhood was pitch black with only a few street lights. To attest to the safety of the neighborhood, all you need to know is that my hostess never closed her doors, even at night. She kept the thick security screens locked at all times, but the humid climate and the lack of central air conditioning demanded the cross ventilation. I was lucky enough to have an AC wall unit in my room.
One night on my return trip, two brothers were riding at the back of the bus. One boy was about eleven years old and barefoot, and his brother was about eight and wore flip flops. I heard the older boy cussing up a storm in the back of the bus. At one point, I sneaked a glance to confirm it was a child speaking so graphically. The boys signaled for their stop, and the older boy alighted first, popping a plastic bag at a deafening decibel as he exited. He jumped off, hurried down the street, leaned against a picket fence, and snickered. His brother wasn't so lucky. Before he could exit, the thirtysomething bus driver caught his attention and quietly admonished him. All I could hear was something about telling his mother what happened and how he should be ashamed. The younger boy apologized quickly and sincerely, then fled off the bus. The older boy was still smirking and exuding a nonchalant air. The bus driver crept the bus forward, level with the older boy on the sidewalk, whose expression had now changed to petrification. The driver beckoned with his finger for the boy to board the bus. This time, the chastising was audible. "You think you're funny, do ya?" Dead silence from the boy and from the passengers watching this scene. I felt like one of my former students, observing me doling out a consequence to an offending student. I could empathize with the bus driver completely. After at least a full minute of the boy's motionless expression and the passengers patiently waiting, the driver shouted, "GET OFF!!!" The boy leaped off the bus and scurried down the street toward his destination. I thought maybe a slow clap was in order, but the expressions on the other passengers' faces discouraged me. We continued on our journey as if it was a daily occurrence.
This last incident confirmed my prior observations that bus drivers are revered members of society in Australia. When I first arrived, back in September, I noticed that people would wave to and thank the bus driver as they disembarked at their stop. I recalled stories from a former bus driver friend in the US who was given many different hand gestures, but never a grateful wave. Just by observing the way the public treats their country's transit employees, much is revealed about the character of that country.
The next day, I was waiting patiently at the same bus stop. I still hadn't figured out the timetable. A woman sat down next to me on the bench and enquired, "Do ya know what time this bus comes? Damn city council...can't even post the times!" I replied, "No, I have no idea. I just wait here until a bus shows up." She looked at me quizzically, "Don't ya have anything else to do?" "Actually, I don't have anything else to do. I'm on holiday here." Her eyes widened, "Whaddaya a millionaire or somethin'? Holiday in Australia...nothing else to do?" Her tone was a bit insulting, so I countered with, "If I were a millionaire, I wouldn't be taking the bus. I'd take a taxi." We shared a hearty laugh at that, and I felt like we were back on equal ground. The funny thing about chatting at the bus stop is the temporary relationship you develop. The bus comes, your conversation is over, and you're on your way. I wonder if people who take the same bus every day have "bus friendships" or even "bus affairs".
One day, an older, indigenous gentleman boarded a bus I was already riding. As he paid his fare, he saw a man he knew seated on the bus. He bellowed in a Louis Armstrong like voice, "Hey you....f**k you!!!" At least that's what I thought he said as he reached into his pants pocket. Oh no, I thought, I'm right in the middle of this altercation, and if he's pulling a gun from his pocket it'll be difficult to escape his line of fire. The next thing I knew, he sat down next to the man and they began a jovial conversation. Quick geopolitical interlude: I never begin political discussions in foreign countries. It's sort of like the first date rule for inappropriate conversation topics. Never mention politics, sex, or religion on a first date. However, as I travel, if I'm asked my opinion, I try to feel out the situation and the other person's affiliations before I answer. Someone asked me point blank, in reference to gun control, "What's wrong with your country?" In Australia, the gun control laws are strict and the penalties severe. Needless to say, my fear is incrementally quelled the longer I'm in this country.
When I took the bus back to the house where I was staying each evening, I tried to begin the ride around twilight. The neighborhood was pitch black with only a few street lights. To attest to the safety of the neighborhood, all you need to know is that my hostess never closed her doors, even at night. She kept the thick security screens locked at all times, but the humid climate and the lack of central air conditioning demanded the cross ventilation. I was lucky enough to have an AC wall unit in my room.
One night on my return trip, two brothers were riding at the back of the bus. One boy was about eleven years old and barefoot, and his brother was about eight and wore flip flops. I heard the older boy cussing up a storm in the back of the bus. At one point, I sneaked a glance to confirm it was a child speaking so graphically. The boys signaled for their stop, and the older boy alighted first, popping a plastic bag at a deafening decibel as he exited. He jumped off, hurried down the street, leaned against a picket fence, and snickered. His brother wasn't so lucky. Before he could exit, the thirtysomething bus driver caught his attention and quietly admonished him. All I could hear was something about telling his mother what happened and how he should be ashamed. The younger boy apologized quickly and sincerely, then fled off the bus. The older boy was still smirking and exuding a nonchalant air. The bus driver crept the bus forward, level with the older boy on the sidewalk, whose expression had now changed to petrification. The driver beckoned with his finger for the boy to board the bus. This time, the chastising was audible. "You think you're funny, do ya?" Dead silence from the boy and from the passengers watching this scene. I felt like one of my former students, observing me doling out a consequence to an offending student. I could empathize with the bus driver completely. After at least a full minute of the boy's motionless expression and the passengers patiently waiting, the driver shouted, "GET OFF!!!" The boy leaped off the bus and scurried down the street toward his destination. I thought maybe a slow clap was in order, but the expressions on the other passengers' faces discouraged me. We continued on our journey as if it was a daily occurrence.
This last incident confirmed my prior observations that bus drivers are revered members of society in Australia. When I first arrived, back in September, I noticed that people would wave to and thank the bus driver as they disembarked at their stop. I recalled stories from a former bus driver friend in the US who was given many different hand gestures, but never a grateful wave. Just by observing the way the public treats their country's transit employees, much is revealed about the character of that country.
Interesting! Those bus drivers sound great! I wish Norwegian bus/ tram drivers took more control over their vehicles! I hate the late night shenanigans we passengers have to put up with here. After 10pm, it's all loud packs of drunk that are always yelling vomiting and falling on you (especially this time of year). I think it's quite a victorious feeling when you master the public trans in a new city. It's interesting that it can be so different from place to place. I guess I've been in Norway too long because the idea of looking for a posted timetable seems so antiquated- we all have apps for our smartphones that gives us real time updates on the tram/ bus arrivals/ delays etc. We buy tickets with our phones as well. Only tourists try buying tickets from the drivers, who are always fumble threw the transaction and charge you double for wasting everyone's time. I sort of miss the old timey ways of public trans. Nice blog!
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