Everything I know about Mexico (so far), I learned in combis

Gracias a Dios, my daily life now involves like 75% less travel time than it did when I was living in a far-out residential area; outside the easily-walkable area where I now live getting around is exponentially more complicado.

Even though my combi rides are not as long and painful anymore, I still rely on this (the only) system of transportation to get to the university, the supermarket, or other inconvenient places like the internet-provider store don’t evEN GET ME STARTED ON THE DISGRACE OF A COMPANY THAT IS TELMEX (sry sore subject).

I’ve mentioned these before-- they’re the white vans like what murderers drive, but in this case you’re actually supposed to ask strange men for a ride even though more likely than not you’re not sure exactly where you’ll take you and they don't even offer you candy!!

Rare solo combi ride. Luxurious or extra sketchy? Debatable.

While I fine-tune my peer-reviewed ethnography based on the patterns of behavior I've observed in combis (nerd chiste), here's a musically-themed collection of musings about my experiences:

Soundtrack for a combi ride

• You Can't Always Get What You Want

Although when riding in a sketchy van with equipped with benches there’s never really an ideal spot, it’s definitely true that not all seats are created equal.

The front seat is often occupied by some sort of VIP-- be it the driver’s girlfriend, buddy, or entire family of five-- but, when empty, it can be claimed by anyone who’d rather not deal with the crowded main cabin. The next most-desirable is the bench along the back, because you normally have a backrest and are facing the direction you’re moving (so the momentum is in your favor, which is not something to be taken lightly). The opposite seats are comfortable but slightly nauseating, and the benches along the sides often have the disadvantage of a painful ledge jutting into your spine and/or your hair flying every which way because of the open windows, leaving you with a style reminiscent of Shakira if she didn’t use any curl-styling product (just me? alrighty then..).

Since establishing these pros and cons I’ve started fighting my way to the back seat whenever possible, but if the obnoxious uniform-clad little punks middle school students pile in I end up smashed into a corner, unable to bajarme at my stop (if I could even see the stops between the mass of tweens, that is).

Sunset was so pretty I tried to snap a pick but I think I weirded out the driver...

• We’re All In This Together

My extensive experience with transporte público in Buenos Aires taught me the golden rule of co-riding: avoid eye contact or interaction of any kind with fellow passengers. By maintaining an imaginary bubble around yourself you can pretend like your personal space is not being severely encroached upon with every sharp turn.

Sin embargo, it turns out this tip does not hold true in small town Mexico. To the contrary, each person who enters the combi is expected to greet everyone with a buenos días/tardes/noches to which everyone duly responds. Instead of intensifying our glazed-over glares when the going gets rough (like a literally bumpy road, sudden stop, or insane speeding by a driver who is animatedly talking on to a compadre on speaker-phone), riders exchange amused/terrified/confused expressions despite being uncomfortably squeezed into a vehicle that is most definitely not designed to carry upwards of 20 people. Instead of conveniently not noticing that someone in the distance is wanting to board our van, passengers alert the driver to wait so that more people can subir. That is, even when packed like sardines, people tend to remain good-natured, and the brief duration of our journey together is somehow enough to create a sense of community between the most different of people.

• R-E-S-P-E-C-T

As is the norm with most city’s public transportation etiquette, it’s expected that you surrender your seat whenever a pregnant woman, elderly person (referred to as those of tercera edad, or the "third stage" of life), individual with disabilities, or mother with young children boards the combi. But in addition to this basic gesture, fellow combi-ers (combi-ans?) also eagerly extend their hands to steady anyone who might need a little extra help, and don’t hesitate to hold someone’s groceries/science project/child while they get settled. It’s often a group effort when little kids are involved, and it’s a shared responsibility to hold/pass/entertain los chamacos. The other day a woman jokingly asked if I’d take her fussy son with me when I got off, but for some reason when I obliged she rain screaming after me (jk jk about the second part, I was going for a Jesus-throwing-his-sandal-at-the-leper-thing here @Dad).

• Jesus Take The Wheel

Besides the complex pulley systems used to open the sliding doors from the front seat (like a fancy Honda Odyssey automatic door but operated by a hand and a rope, basically the same thing right?!), many combi drivers also trick out their vehicles’ interiors with speaker systems or express-yoself signage. This may come in the form of sassy messages (e.g. something loosely translated as “If you don’t want to pay your children’s passage, leave them at home and we’ll all be happier” or even sometimes swatsikas??), but more often than not there is some sort of religious image or phrase displayed above the windshield. The prominent portraits of Christ on the cross are evidence of the strong Catholic culture that pervades everyday life here, with the convenient side effect of reminding me to pray for my safety because none of us are wearing seat belts and the locals drive like maniacs…

O sea, just in case you were picturing my Mexican experience as a glamorous vacay, I wanted to provide you with a more accurate (and much more comical) mental image of me, wedged between an old lady and teen boy in a kidnapper van, all of us sweaty and wind-blown but also not (too) bothered. Hope this post did the trick.