A reminiscent bus journey – Part 2


My mind is racing. I have a million different thoughts flying around my head as if there is a quiddich match happening and the snitch is playing havoc with the 2 teams. Anyone who knows what I’m on about here will now have a picture in their head. Whilst my brain is dancing I’m sitting comfortably on the number one bus from Rose Hill to Port Louis. Apart from having to hold the curtain to refrain it from hitting my face I’m pretty content in my seat. 

It’s a busy time to take the bus. The traffic is like a snail race. The bus conductor smiles. He looks happy. He takes my money and hands over my ticket with a look of satisfaction for his job. Wouldn’t that be nice. It’s hot. Not warm, hot like being in the sauna whilst still walking out into another. I’m literally sweating like a pig. I smell bad and I’m wearing my sunglasses to cover my tired eyes. I’m watching the world pass by the window… stopping and starting as the vechicles move a few metres at a time. 

It’s busy here. Beau Bassin is more lively than I thought. The shops are plentiful and the people are going about their lives. As we take a another halt a small ragged post catches my eye. ‘Port Louis 5 miles’ there and then I saw a photo opportunity but afraid to take out my smashed screen phone I decided against it. I smiled though. Something old and full of character still showing face in the modern age… and yes you heard me right my phone is smashed, and yes it looks as though I’ve thrown it in a rage. I promise it’s not the case. I’m just completely clumsy! 

The houses look well built here and plots of land shout at you with their hand made signs for sale. I can see why it’s popular to build here but the busy road is somewhat hard to take in. The police 4×4 is in its usual place on the end of a small bridge. A dead end road which is sandwiched by two low brick walls. Kids, what looks like jumping into the water. I really hope I’m wrong and that my eyes deceive me. The nature is prominent here. Trees creating well sort after shade spots and great natural surroundings of times past. 

My bag is on my lap. I’m still thinking of a million things. What’s right, what’s wrong, morals and ethics. All bundles of words created from the last 6 hours of my day. The hands on my watch seem as if they’re going forward in time yet I feel like we’ve gone nowhere. The sun is hidden by the clouds as I stare at the people waiting impatiently for their bus. I feel a sense of relief knowing I’m on my way home but discontent that I have to yet climb onto another bus and walk up the mountain roads. I think about the exercise and then decipher whether I should be moaning or appreciative that I’ll be burning some calories.

The buildings of Port Louis start to appear, the mountain gives an impression of being in reach. It always lie. The bus conductor parks himself on he empty seat that accompanies me. “bonjour… blah blah blah” is what hit my ears. (My french is not quite there yet) “English” I replied. “Yes, of course”. He spent his time discussing the traffic, weather and work. Whilst I was obviously respondent, my mind was still playing quiddich. My forehead showing signs of respiratio, lips dry from heat and conscious of my bad odour. We’re finally here. The south bus stop. The journey isn’t over. 

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