The Green Bus

Rod Johnson carefully explained how to ride the bus from his neighborhood to the central area of Oaxaca City, near the zocalo. We took notes. It was simple. We would catch the bus two blocks from his house. It would make one right turn onto a main road. Later it would make one left turn by the Goodyear store. Then it would go straight to the zocolo. He told us where to get off the bus and he told us how to catch the bus back to his house.

“Go to Crespo street near the big church. The bus will have an all green front and will say 'P. Jardin,' which stands for 'Panteon Jardin.' Take that bus and it will bring you right back where you started. It is the only bus that comes here. No problem. You will need to be back here by seven for dinner.”

He showed us all this on a map to be sure we understood. He gave us a cell phone to take with us in case we needed help.

Eight of us successfully rode the bus to the zocalo to meet the rest of our team for lunch. They have been staying downtown at a bed and breakfast. We got off one stop later than we planned, but that was no problem. It only added a couple of blocks to our walk to the restaurant.

After lunch the group divided up to do a variety of touristy kinds of things. Melinda, Jenna, and I were off on our own to find a cup of coffee, take in a couple of art museums, and shop a bit.

In a couple of hours, our mission was successfully accomplished, so we headed for the bus stop at about 5:45. Just as we got there a green bus pulled up. On the front it said, “Jardin.” I got on the bus and asked the driver in my fluent Spanish whether this bus were going to Jardin. He nodded and took my money. We settled down into the gray plastic seats and prepared for our journey back to the Johnson’s house.

A sign on the bus facing us gave us great assurance. Jesus is on the cross saying in Spanish: “No one loves you like I do.”

Jenna noted that she’d ridden the bus twice before and that this bus did not look like any of the other two. I assured her and Melinda that it said “Jardin” on the front and that the driver had confirmed our destination. Just to be sure, I tapped the gentleman in front of me on the shoulder and asked him in my fluent Spanish whether this bus were going to Jardin. “Si, Jardin.” I was confident that we were on our way to dinner. Melinda, not so much.

When the bus got to the main street heading back to the house, it made a right turn, just as it was supposed to. The next turn would be left, a good way down the road. But the left turn came sooner than expected. We found ourselves following a circuitous route through unfamiliar neighborhoods, but still generally moving in the right direction.

After about twenty minutes we passed a landmark I recognized from the night before when we had gone to eat at “El Gran Taco” not too far from the Johnson’s place. It was an unmistakable veterinarian’s office painted bright blue and called “El Gato Nerd” (The Cat Nerd). I was sure we were close to home. Melinda, not so much.

Soon the bus came to a stop at an intersection none of us recognized. The driver told us this was the end of the route. We got out and surveyed our surroundings. Nothing looked familiar. We were standing directly in front of a pharmacy that was closing up for the day. We spoke to the proprietor in our fluent Spanish. (We later learned she is a dentist and her husband a physician. Her name was Maribel.)

Turns out we were not in Panteon Jardin. We were in Colonia Jardin. These are two different places, both served by green buses. But we had the cell phone. We called Connie. We could not tell her exactly where we were. We put Dr. Maribel on the phone to speak with our Dr. Christy Tharenos, who speaks better Spanish than anyone else available. But still they could not communicate where we were since this was her first trip to Oaxaca.

So Dr. Maribel told us she’d take us home. We climbed the back seat of her Toyota and I sat on what must have been one of her children’s electronic games. It began to play Ode to Joy in computer tones and I could not turn it off. Accompanied by Beethoven, we made our way through dirt streets. In only a matter of minutes we passed a familiar sight – the church building where we had worshiped this morning. We knew our way from there.

I regretted my impulsive decision that put us on the wrong green bus going to the wrong Jardin. But all’s well that ends well. That’s what I think. Melinda, not so much.