I do not know why some people / can not stand / when the bus they are waiting for / just doesn’t come
Until recently all the buses that used to take me to my house and bring me back the following day, to downtown and the bustle of the city, were blue. My dear P12 or P16. Their names, more than bus routes, reminded me of a vitamin supplement.
Some of them ask: the last one? / Others do not get in line / and some people sometimes disrespect/ an old lady
Because the adjustments made to public transportation due to the shortage of buses, spare parts, fuel and many other hazards, the P12 and P16 buses show now the most varied colors, different makes and models, or they are “limited” in two versions: A or B, depending on how far they run.
When people see the bus / that now comes on the roundabout / people start moving / as if they were on a conga
The ancient Giron buses were brought back to life: old yellow Russian buses that used to take students to the boarding schools in the countryside, where the rumba played well with wooden bags and aluminium jars, now go directly to G and 25 in Vedado, but sometimes, if it is early, they just get to 100 and Boyeros, but that’s up to the driver.
To get on at the door / they jostle each other / and sometimes the bus suffers / a disfigurement of face
Other Havana’s routes lent their orange, green or red skeletons to transport those who live beyond the bridge of 100 and Boyeros. So now, those who rode without even thinking too much when the massive blue wonder approached now look suspiciously and look for telltale signs. Nobody wants to get on a bus that is not theirs and lose more time than necessary trying to straighten their course in another bus. To these are added those visiting the capital, which look disoriented in their daily marathon after the buses, so after a moment’s hesitation emulate them in the race.
And at the next stop / when no one wants to move to the back / and many watch the face / of the upset driver
And in today’s “camellos” (street word for that kind of buses), cousins of those unique “camellos” that took over Havana in the toughest of our special period in the nineties, is where all the true stories of love and war, horror and mystery of infectious laughter and easy tears take place, that screw your day or add that little spice you need to make your day worthwhile.
Move people, move / take a step to the back / why dont you let old Caridad / have your seat
As this song goes, on the bus are common sights the crushes, the spontaneous or ordered at the point of a discordant cry solidarity to let a lady who is about to faint to have a seat or to a girl with a baby in arms, the joking , the stories told aloud so all present can learn of them, the bustle of the pickpockets who seek others purses or to get close to the anatomy of a beautiful woman, the inconsiderate use of our time by the driver, the most expressive samples of the richness of our Spanish and the unusual variants to which our people subjects it, enraged because the bus kept going and he stepped on a foot belonging to a man who was asking permission to get off.
You will see, you will see / take a step to the back / take a step backwards my people / take a step to the back / so those upfront can fit in
Another chapter can be written on the coexistence of the most varied music genres within the bus. These range from the romantic mellow, imposed by the driver on duty and that assaults us from the speakers of the bus, to the most insulting and mediocre reggaeton that thunders from the phones of riders, especially the youngsters. If in the eighties the imported Sony radios and tape recorders roamed around the city, now mobile phones are the biggest nightmare of those who prefer to make our way in silence, making it more enjoyable with new or old images, as you prefer, of a city we love.
I know that good people / are cultivated/ that’s why the bus / doesn’t get its paint scratched
