The fact that I ride public transportation in Egypt is not one that I spread around to many people. From those that I have divulged this information to I have received a variety of responses: "You're crazy," "You're brave," "Good luck with that," "Don't you think the taxi ride is worth the extra couple dollars per week?" I am presenting this attitude toward the public transportation system in Egypt simply to set the backdrop of a day at the bus station. I am not at all ashamed to take public transport, and, yes, I often think that I have a few bolts loose in my head. Nevertheless, each penny I save in relishing the adventure of "The Bus Station" is worth it. Some days I despise my frugal efforts, and some days I just sit back and laugh.
In Cairo, it is only wise to plan approximately one hour in advance for traveling a distance which might otherwise take about 15 minutes. So, each morning I leave my house around 7:30 am to be to my 9 am class on time. The first several times I used the small, crowded bus stop under a bridge near my house I would have to casually ask just about everyone around me which bus went where and how I could get to my destination. This is an amusing process in which I simply state "Midan Ta7rir" and the head nods followed by a string of incomprehensible speech either affirm my guess or direct me to the next bus. After several attempts, a couple which landed me in some very strange neighborhoods, I finally got a hang on the "system of no system" and could distinguish which buses took me where I wanted to go. Of course, one can never truely know when the bus will arrive or depart. He has only to hope that he won't have to wait another hour to catch the bus.
Safety is as foreign a concept as are Timetables. The prevailing business strategy is, "Let's crowd as many people into this bus as we can to make as much money as we can." This strategy relinquishes any concept of "Maximum Limit" or "one person to a seat with standing room." Luckily, the buses usually start from the station near my house, so I am typically able to get a seat from the beginning. If I come a bit late, I can guarantee right off the bat that I'll be standing or sitting on the dust covered floor above the engine in the rear of the bus. As the driver proceeds on his route, another man walks from the front of the bus to the bus collecting the money and giving us these wonderful little tickets, which I have yet to discover their usefulness, and then sits near the rear door which becomes the only entrance onto the bus from that point in time. This door is the salvation for every passer-by who wishes to be to work relatively on time, thus all of the people continue to crowd in until men are hanging outside the bus by the railings and the distance between one person and another cannot even be measured by the width of a pencil. Sit down and enjoy the ride, because you'll be here for another 30 minutes! I equate exiting this amalgamation of people to the birthing process. I'll let you take the details from there.
Taking the bus or the minibus from the larger, more central station near the Egyptian Museum is another story. Upon entering the station you pass by a plethora of vendors selling everything from sweets to socks, watered down juice to grilled corn, shoe shining services to old clothes. Of course I draw quite a bit of attention when I enter this fiasco, but I have to admit that it is not often that I actually experience any kind of harassment. Occasionally I hear the whistle or the call of a desperate man or a curious boy, but I've learned to just ignore that. It is at this point in time that I cross through a labyrinth of minibuses driving in all directions shouting out the location to where they are going, people hopping in and out of vehicles, potholes the size of large watermelons, and buses which enter the station with no regard as to whom or what is in front of it. Once I find the supposed location as to where my bus will arrive, again devoid of any timetable, I must sit underneath the bridge to shade myself from the unrelenting sun and inhale the fumes from the surrounding vehicles which hang in the air with the sole purpose of suffocating every individual they can. Then I wait, and wait, and wait, and wait.
The most vital task I must set myself to as I wait is looking in the direction of where the bus will be coming from. The reason for this becomes quite apparent if you know the chain of events once the bus comes into sight. When the bus begins to pull into the station, men, woman and children run toward the bus entrances before it has even stopped and crowd into both entrances to appropriate one of the hard plastic seats that line the only ventilation system on the bus, the windows. This process includes a non-biased method of pushing, shoving, and pulling, but "when push comes to shove," the Egyptian system of manners (which is quite a strong one) does prevail and you find people making way and giving up seats for older women, pregnant women, women with small children, and white foreign girls. Many days I am fortunate enough to acquire a hard plastic seat or the edge of a step to rest on, but equally as often I get the joy of standing cramped as tightly as possible in between the rows of seats next to men who are quite good at keeping their physical distance from me as much as is in their power.
After this riveting exhibition when I've settled into my new environment, I realize the quality of the air that I've been inhaling since entering the little enclave under the bridge. It is one of those discoveries which would persuade anyone to encourage the efforts of building electric cars. The exhaust and pollution choke the life out of every alveolus in my lungs. The worst part about it is that you are stuck in a bus where the air outside is the same as inside under a bridge that allows for no circulation of clean air in the least. Every vehicle that crowds in and out of that station exhausts polluted fumes that hang in the air exasperated by the heat and high concentration of people. This wait can be anywhere from a few minutes to thirty or forty minutes depending on the number of people that get on the bus, the time of day, the number of buses going to entirely different places ahead of my bus, or the mood of the driver. Freedom comes at last as the bus leaves the station and continues toward its destination repeating the same confusing dance as described before.
The other modes of public transport carry their own little distinctions. For example, riding minibuses (white, 12 person vans which usually carry around 16 passengers) presents challenges like finding a vehicle that has a complete floor without holes, never really knowing whether the driver is high or sober, squeezing your way in and out of the vehicle after having effectively communicated your desire to "descend" at a specific location (which, if you don't know how to do this, don't ride them or you'll never get off), and listening to the arguments between the driver and passengers when he doesn't get all the money he thinks he's supposed to or he decides to take a route slightly different from that which was originally assumed by the passengers. Riding the metro, which is quite often a relatively normal and enjoyable event, can get interesting during the rush hours when people, previously hidden from sight, descend in mass from all directions to squeeze into the train cars with no adherence to "enter on the right, exit on the left." Regardless, this is the system, or the non-system of the public transportation in Cairo. Enjoy your ride!
The most vital task I must set myself to as I wait is looking in the direction of where the bus will be coming from. The reason for this becomes quite apparent if you know the chain of events once the bus comes into sight. When the bus begins to pull into the station, men, woman and children run toward the bus entrances before it has even stopped and crowd into both entrances to appropriate one of the hard plastic seats that line the only ventilation system on the bus, the windows. This process includes a non-biased method of pushing, shoving, and pulling, but "when push comes to shove," the Egyptian system of manners (which is quite a strong one) does prevail and you find people making way and giving up seats for older women, pregnant women, women with small children, and white foreign girls. Many days I am fortunate enough to acquire a hard plastic seat or the edge of a step to rest on, but equally as often I get the joy of standing cramped as tightly as possible in between the rows of seats next to men who are quite good at keeping their physical distance from me as much as is in their power.
After this riveting exhibition when I've settled into my new environment, I realize the quality of the air that I've been inhaling since entering the little enclave under the bridge. It is one of those discoveries which would persuade anyone to encourage the efforts of building electric cars. The exhaust and pollution choke the life out of every alveolus in my lungs. The worst part about it is that you are stuck in a bus where the air outside is the same as inside under a bridge that allows for no circulation of clean air in the least. Every vehicle that crowds in and out of that station exhausts polluted fumes that hang in the air exasperated by the heat and high concentration of people. This wait can be anywhere from a few minutes to thirty or forty minutes depending on the number of people that get on the bus, the time of day, the number of buses going to entirely different places ahead of my bus, or the mood of the driver. Freedom comes at last as the bus leaves the station and continues toward its destination repeating the same confusing dance as described before.
The other modes of public transport carry their own little distinctions. For example, riding minibuses (white, 12 person vans which usually carry around 16 passengers) presents challenges like finding a vehicle that has a complete floor without holes, never really knowing whether the driver is high or sober, squeezing your way in and out of the vehicle after having effectively communicated your desire to "descend" at a specific location (which, if you don't know how to do this, don't ride them or you'll never get off), and listening to the arguments between the driver and passengers when he doesn't get all the money he thinks he's supposed to or he decides to take a route slightly different from that which was originally assumed by the passengers. Riding the metro, which is quite often a relatively normal and enjoyable event, can get interesting during the rush hours when people, previously hidden from sight, descend in mass from all directions to squeeze into the train cars with no adherence to "enter on the right, exit on the left." Regardless, this is the system, or the non-system of the public transportation in Cairo. Enjoy your ride!
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