I'll never ride another bus for as long as I live

I bought a one way ticket to Paradise, to St. Croix in the American Virgin Islands. I bought a one way airline ticket from Miami. I thought it would be cheaper to take a bus from Little Rock, Arkansas to Miami. It was but...........


From my journal: 12/11/88

Atlanta, GA 3:20 am - Somehow I managed to sleep most of the way from Birmingham. I was miserable before I got to Memphis. There are too many strange people and most of them smoking. A nasty man sat behind me and blew his smoke on the back of my head. I'm so tired. I can't breathe. Thank God, I will never take another bus as long as I live.

My legs keep falling asleep. I can't stop thinking about lying horizontal in a warm and comfortable bed, alone, without all these ugly, scary people around me. I'm so thankful I was not born one of the ugly in the world, one of these sad and creepy people.
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I have taken buses many times before this. When I was in high school I went between Little Rock and Fort Smith many weekends to visit my boyfriend. I remember them being fairly nice, clean and rarely ever full. There were the occasional weirdos that I avoided but nothing ever happened and I don't remember being afraid or uncomfortable.

Travel has changed since then and with it the buses and the people who ride them. Too many of them are no longer commonly used by families and anyone who preferred not to drive and wanted to save some money or just couldn't afford the more expensive airfare. Many of the cross country buses are used primarily by transients, mental patients without a hospital, and the poor or pathetic who are just trying to get someplace. Many of these people are rejected in one place and shuffled off to another or may be the type who prefer to stay on the move. Whatever the case, it's not hard to see from the crowd that they are not stable, healthy citizens.

I must confess, I did ride a nice bus recently. It was from New York City to Easton, PA and it was as it should be, normal people trying to get somewhere. I recalled my conviction to never ride another bus again for as long as I live but reasoned that I was in a city where almost no one owned a car and many lived in the surrounding areas so the bus is the most logical and economical way to make the commute. I was also assured by people who knew that they were very nice and they were right. But I will still not take a bus from Arkansas to anywhere, ever.
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12:30 noon - I missed my bus connection while I was writing my last journal entry. It left at 3:25 am. I spent 5 hours sitting in the Atlanta terminal with the transients. I put my bag in a locker and wandered around trying to find a clean, quiet, and safe place to sleep. I slept about an hour in the ladies restroom on a table.

I sat by a Shoshone Indian named Raymond for a while. He was a large man with very long black hair. I thought he was going to catch it on fire when he lit his cigarettes so I gave him a rubber band to put it up with. He asked me to do it for him but I declined. He was interesting to me, because I had never spent any time with Native Americans. He stunk of a hangover and kept jiggling his cheeks, shaking his leg, closing his eyes and chanting. I soon found that it really wasn't possible to have a real or interesting conversation with this native.

I stepped outside briefly to see the snow and look at downtown Atlanta but a voice on a loudspeaker repeated the advice of not going outside because crime was so bad. I saw a scarred and mean looking man and went back to my seat. I tuned my radio headphones to a classical music station and tried to tune out my surroundings. I will never, ever ride another bus as long as I live.

12/12 6 am - Because I missed my connection, I was late getting to Miami. My bags were not at the bus station. The building was nothing more than a small room with a door and a few chairs inside. It was situated in the middle of an open field area. I could see lights all around and the airport not far away. I waited about 3 hours, hoping my bags would arrive on another bus. Only one other bus arrived but no bags so I took a taxi to the airport in time to catch my flight to San Juan. I was going to my unfamiliar island destination with only a backpack containing a change of clothes (sweats), makeup, and some peanuts. I thought for sure my bags would be forwarded and catch up to me. I will never ride another bus as long as I live!

I just kept thinking ...beaches....susnhine....warmth

I gave my old blue raincoat to a Haitian woman. It was an ugly old thing that I brought along just to have something rather than nothing and had planned to discard it when I got to a warmer latitude. This woman was trying to get to New York but seemed unable to make it happen. She didn't have any money and didn't know what to do so she just sat there, going nowhere, doing nothing. Pity.

I flew to San Juan, my birthplace, but had a very short time between flights so only I saw the airport. I vowed to get back there someday and visit the fortress at El Morrow where I was born when my father was stationed there while serving in the army in 1964.

I arrived, wearing sweats and carrying only my backpack, in balmy St. Croix, in the afternoon and took a taxi to the guest house in Christiansted where I had made a reservation, La Casa Loco. I was in an old world, island city. I was tired and really needed a bed to sleep in but, of course, I had to see more of my new home. I checked in, dropped my backpack on the bed and set off to explore the waterfront city of my new home.

I knew that my bags and I would be reunited eventually. I had phone numbers for the Greyhound Bus and Airline I flew on. I would call them the next day. This first day I just wanted to enjoy the warm air and get orientated, meet some people, and relax.
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It was two weeks before I saw my luggage. In my inexperienced and naive youth, I had assumed my bags would follow me and end up sitting at the St. Croix airport because that was how they were labeled for my final destination. I called repeatedly trying to locate my bags and finally found them at the Miami airport in the cargo storage with all the lost packages, shipping crates, and boxes. I got on the phone with a man who was working there and I asked him to look around. I said "Do you see a beige suitcase and a burgundy colored garment bag?" He said, "yes". I said, "Do they look like cargo"? He said, "no". I told him that my contact lenses and clothing were in those bags and I needed them as soon as possible. I asked him if he would please put them on the first plane to St. Croix and he did. I got them the next day. I just had to get the right person on the phone.