Being as I am from a small town in the land of cars, buses have always loomed as an especially terrifying way of getting around. When my friend Cameron left the Washington Heights neighborhood of New York City and moved to Woodlawn, I nearly fainted when her directions ended with “and then you cross the street and wait for the bus”. Wait for the what?? Get on the who?? Press the stop button when??! Oh my God. I would wind up in some murderous crack alley for sure.
Buses are without question the most intimidating form of public transportation. On subways and in taxis, it’s perfectly acceptable to stumble about, studying maps and asking inane questions. But buses leave precious little room for error. In fact, to be successful on a journey by city bus, you need to know where your stop is before you even get there.
When I lived in Aix-en-Provence during my third year of university, I lived just far enough outside the city for getting to and fro to be a mild hassle. In retrospect I am amused that I found both the walk I endured and the prospect of conquering local bus routes perplexing (Aix was small and manageable), at the time it was a new experience. I took the bus maybe twice- a relatively foolproof route as the lines by my homestay were more or less in a loop. But the tiny little bus intimidated me so much that I walked to and from downtown at all hours, in every manner of footwear. By the time I completed my 5-month study abroad, I had mastered the art of walking great distances over cobblestones in heels.
Confidence in my bus-route navigational skills hadn’t improved much by the time I moved to Boston, and so I carefully selected an apartment within walking distance of the T (subway). Occasionally I was forced to do the unthinkable and take the bus to visit a friend who lived in Brighton or Watertown, but the ordeal was made simpler by their living in easily recognizable areas or (most mercifully) at the very end of the line.
Avoidance can only go on for so long. Before I knew it, in an attempt to escape a heinous roommate, I was agreeing to live in Medford. The locale posed two transportation options: walk 20 minutes to the T or walk across the street to catch the 101 bus, which linked up to another T station. It was simple enough really, to walk across the street and wait for the thing. And on the rare occasion that I took the bus back home, I obviously had sense enough to know where to get off. My confidence in bus usage increased immensely, if unjustifiably. I found myself giving directions via bus in cocky tones along the lines of “really, you can’t possibly miss it.”
My puffed up chest would soon deflate.
After conquering Boston’s MBTA, I moved to Daegu. South Korea. I was on another planet. With an indecipherable alphabet and local populace that could tell with one glance that I wasn’t a local, my sense of ease with urban public transport came to a grinding halt. The subway was easy enough, as it consisted of only two lines and listed the name of every stop in both Korean and English. But buses… whoa.
The first person I met in Korea was my colleague and friend Courtney, who as far as I could tell was intimidated by absolutely nothing. She rolled through the city with ease, throwing around what seemed to me an impressive amount of Korean. That she could read Hangeul positively blew my mind- particularly on buses! With Courtney to hold my hand, I rode the bus to and from our friend Cheri’s and out to Daegok where her boyfriend Mark lived. I relaxed on these occasions and paid little attention, promising to start listening to her in time to remember the routes and stops for myself.
The next thing I knew, my babysitter had abandoned me. And I sort of knew which buses went where… but was I sure? Could I really handle it? Eh, best not to chance it and take a taxi, I reasoned. And so went the next 9 months of my time in Korea.
Sometimes it takes a sudden, surprising event in your life to make you realize you’ve been a total chickenshit about something ridiculous for an inordinate period of time. In my case, it was the breakup of a romantic relationship. I was “on my own again”, as the feeling goes, and it was time to reclaim my confident, invincible single self. How better to go about that, I decided, than to tackle this city bus business once and for all?
And so I did. On Wednesday, I walked over to the bus stop near my apartment and painstakingly glared at the routes of the two different buses that stop there, all in Hangeul of course. (Which, unlike during the Courtney days, I can now read for myself.) Aha- there it was! Kyung-day Kyo- Kyungpook University bridge- what I always told the taxi driver to get to Cheri’s apartment! I stood on the sidewalk and waited, tapping my card against my thigh and feigning impatience at waiting for that darned bus. When it arrived I climbed on as if it were the most natural thing in the world, something I do- la ti da- every day really. As our surroundings began to look familiar and I recognized Cheri’s neighborhood, I pressed the little stop button and hopped right off with the greatest of ease.
My second opportunity to conquer the bus came earlier tonight, as I made plans to leave my friend Ashley’s apartment. She lives in the same building where Courtney’s boyfriend Mark once was, that is to say, along another route I once tackled (avec babysitter) via bus. As I was leaving tonight she asked if I planned to go home by bus/subway, which I did want to do in an effort to avoid an expensive taxi ride. She told me where to go, and for a moment I panicked. “Which ones can I take? Which numbers?”
“The 406, the 703, the xyz, the 123….” I began to feel dizzy as she listed them all. I was about to reach for a pen and write them all down when she restored my confidence by reminding me: “You’ll be alright, you can read the sign. Just avoid the ones that don’t go to Sangin subway station.”
Goshdarnit, she’s right! I can read Hangeul! At least enough to decipher “Sangin” and the Korean word for “station”! And besides, I’ve been to there a hundred times, if not by bus. I’d totally recognize it. Truthfully, the fact that she so breezily believed in my navigational abilities made me feel quite proud and determined not to prove her faith ill-placed.
I made my way down to the bus stop and sure enough, was able to see which routes visited my desired stop. I also realized that only the “express” buses didn’t, which made the whole mess infinitely simpler. I took the first one that arrived, popped in my ear buds, and gazed out the window at landmarks that were surprisingly familiar.
As it turned out, I actually missed my stop. But I realized this immediately and only went about a block beyond where I’d originally intended to get off. I was amazed at never once feeling stressed or worried. It had only taken me 15 months, but I had managed the unthinkable- the Daegu bus system was mine. Expensive taxis be damned.
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