Rita and Wayne passed my apartment last night with tired determination. They were on a mission to get their shoes off, and put their feet on the coffee table. Rita pulled out her high-tech pedometer, and read the number of steps they'd taken yesterday (while she was wearing the gadget, Wayne had walked every step with her): 19,764 steps. Another screen on her fancy gadget translated that to about 9.5 miles. Wow. I told you we live 18 blocks from everything!
Other than using our feet, there are several ways of getting around in Oaxaca. If you know someone with a car, you can sit in the car while you watch the walkers moving more quickly than you. We don't know anyone with a car. Or, you can pay 6 pesos to sit on the bus and watch those same walkers. Buses are the most comfy way to go when you're heading out of the city, or to one of the suburban 'hoods. Taxicabs can zip around more easily than a bus, picking and changing their routes to avoid blockades and traffic jams. A cab will usually cost 40 pesos to go anywhere in the central part of the city, including up to Col. Reforma to a couple of our favorite restaurants.
The mode of transport that is the most interesting though, is the colectivo. Not peculiar to Oaxaca by any means, it's sort of a cross between catching a ride to work with your neighbor's carpool and a cab. They are called colectivos because they collect passengers until full, then collect others as passengers get out. Colectivos stop just about anywhere along the route, unlike buses which in the city have specific stops, more or less, depending on traffic. Colectivo drivers have associations, and rules and routes, from which the driver seldom strays. The fares are preset, so we never pay the gringo price. Depending on the number of people in a group, you can catch one on certain streets or at high-traffic intersections. A colectivo vehicle is usually a Nissan sedan, with a standard transmission. Come to think of it, every vehicle I've ever been in here has a standard transmission. A Nissan sedan, will normally seat 3 small people or 2 large people in the back seat, and one person, other than the driver, in the front. Colectivos, however, have magic powers of expansion. They are not full until there are at least 3 passengers in the back seat and two in the front. Babies don't count. The price? Usually 10 pesos, sometimes less.
Here's the drill: stand on the street, on the known route of your destination. Remember, the drivers do not stray from the route; they circle back and forth from Central (the bus station known as the Abastos) to the destination all day. We look at the writing on the colectivo door for the name of the puebla or 'hood we'd like to get to. The drivers always slow a little when they see people looking for a ride, and will always hold up fingers to indicate how many seats he has. So, if there are three of us, and he holds up 2 fingers, we wait. The trick is to be close to Central, without having to walk there, in order to get a colectivo that is still fairly empty as they head to the destination.
Today, there will be five of us going to San Augustine Etla (SAE), which means we'll walk over to the Abastos to get a colectivo. Why not take a bus? The buses don't run all the way into San Augustine Etla; they stop on the main road, and we'd have to walk the rest of the way into the village or wait for an empty colectivo to take us the rest of the way. Doubling our price. Buses go just about everywhere, except places where people have cars, cutting down their customer base. San Augustine Etla is a place where most people have money, and therefore, cars.
The colectivo street at Abastos appears to be complete and total chaos! But, after a little observation, it's easy to see the organization. When the five of us walk down the street, the colectivo drivers waiting to collect enough passengers to begin, will shout out their destinations. I know most of the stations, so we can walk directly to the parking zone for SAE. Tom, who is going with us today and is six feet 19 inches (not really, but he's very tall), will get the front passenger seat; and because we're small, either Francine or I will get the emergency brake seat. You know: the one in the middle front. The others will fight over the middle back. The emergency brake seat is not quite as awful as it sounds, all the colectivos have a specially made pad that fits over the brake itself. The awkwardness comes from the gear shifter. Because the town has few stoplights, the speed control is speedbumps, or
topes. That means the driver never takes his hand from the gear shifter, and that gear shifter is under the left thigh of the middle front seat passenger (mfsp). Wheeeee! So, the MFSP has to lean to the right, onto the front seat passenger, who is sort of hanging out the window in order to give the MFSP room for the driver to shift gears. I'm usually the mfsp because I'm small, and that means sitting on the right cheek, mostly. Third and fourth gears are the worst, because he really does have to get under my thigh to get the gear shifter in place. Actually, all this is pretty funny, but no one seems to notice.
One time, several years ago, coming back from SAE, of course I was the mfsp. I offered to shift gears for our young driver. He grinned, thinking I was joking, but we did just that until we got back to Oaxaca! He was laughing at the idea of a woman, shifting gears left-handed. We worked well together. And, it kept him from trying to not touch me while getting to third gear. Bless his heart.
