Thursday, December 6, 2007

the 9 hour 'Houston to New Orleans' leg

It's a dark, lengthy journey from Houston to New Orleans. Along the way are rest stops at lonely bus depots lit by the neon of a fast-food outlet.

Some time during the journey I became aware of the factions forming among the travellers.

Up the front near the driver sat the man from Honduras who bought a Snickers bar at every pit stop and vigorously ate it as soon as the bus pulled out of the station. He and his friend spoke animatedly in Spanish, arms and chocolate bar wrappers flying.

Spread relaxedly through the back rows were those from Louisiana. All African-American and very happy to be heading home, they chatted away, bursting every now and then into a rant about discomfort or baggage issues.

It became apparent that I fit into neither group. I sat wedged somewhere in the middle, unable to manage more than a superficial conversation in Spanish, and not black or well-versed enough in southern street speak to slip unnoticed into the cool back-row social circle. Ipods come in handy during moments such as these.

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