El Mayor

24 Jan

I’ve been spending some time on buses recently, and making headway with my reading as a result.  Though it’s probably less than healthy to constantly read about armed revolution, with the only other activity being sleep.  Because the result is dreams, or nightmares, depending on how you look at it, of being in a war and leading a revolution.

Though on my first bus out of Nequen, there was less dreaming about armed conflict, and more tossing and turning – the result of sitting next to a woman who just refused to share the seat, and the arm rest.  I also apparently made the mistake of travelling on a local bus, which was to constantly make stops along its route all night, waking me up in the process each and everytime.

I arrived to San Martin around 6 in the morning, just able to make out some mountains in the background, though it was still too dark to see anything clearly.

More waiting, more reading, and about two or three hours later, I was on another bus en route to Bariloche.


Not a bad ride at all actually.  We traveled along some pretty scenic roads with mountains and lakes in full view.  The bus driver, or el mayor as I dubbed him, waved to every car and truck we passed, seemingly have made this drive for the last ten years or so.   A fact which actually comforted me as we zoomed down roads I’d be careful on if I was driving a small car, down which he flew past others while driving a double decker bus.

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