Unlike the average US citizen, I celebrated my 21st birthday without one drop of alcohol in my system. Instead of boogeying down in a bar or club, I was bus-hopping from Valparaiso to Buenos Aires. And so, it is only fitting to devote a post to commemorate all the bus rides I have taken for the past 6 weeks.

21 lines for 21 years and 21 hours:

Stale air surrounds you, suffocating you at times
Humid, cold, hot, dry, stuffy
–these are the environs that fluctuate like two ends of a sea-saw–always extreme, never balanced
Body parts play dead as they fall asleep
then reawaken with a tingly sensation
Smells waft through the cabin
Phones ring, people chat
husbands, mothers, kids–all calling for updates from their traveling loved ones
Children cry, then sing, then giggle with that inhibitionless freedom
Movies play, teaching you new vocabulary words in
Español
And then you look out your window.
You see
flat plains of cropland, of desert
rolling hills of lush green forest
rocky, mineral-rich canyon cliffs showing off their vibrant colors
foggy mountains looming as you wind your way up and down
twisting, curving, setting out straight.
This is the beauty of the bus ride:
in discomfort, you find yourself awe-struck
swept away by foreign landscapes
all from asiento dos, tres, y cuatro.

Note: The buses in South America are not your typical Greyhound in the US. The seats are cushy, they recline into a bed, and they serve you food and drinks. They are a great option, and actually the only option, for long distance if you cannot afford the high price of the airplane tickets.