Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
me that a taxi could take me to the terminal, about six miles away, for $10. I agreed so he
directed me to the next available driver and off I went. At the most I was out nine bucks,
but I saved time.
It was 3 p.m. when I arrived at the Tijuana Central Bus Terminal. Most of the counters
were vacant. There were no lines. Clerks happily advised me about schedules and ex-
plained the differences among bus classes: Executive, First and Second.
I looked at my map, the portion that gave times and distances. I had to choose between a
three-hour trip to Mexicali, or a six-hour ride to Sonoyta. Three hours seemed about right,
plus I had never visited Mexicali. I chose Península Lines, Executive Class.
The experience was pure luxury. The Península Line provided a lounge, with coffee, sofa
chairs, and two free computers. At 3:30 p.m. a hostess in a blue uniform called our group,
and as we boarded she offered refreshments, water, beer or soda.
There were eight rows of three across seating, twenty-four seats in all, two on the left and
one on the right. Each seat was ample enough for the comfort of a Sumo wrestler, and all
seats reclined.
There were four TVs with drop-down screens. The rear of the bus had a telephone, a bath-
room and a sink. “Ironic,” I thought, “bus comfort is like what the airlines used to offer,
while today's air passenger is treated to the scrunched seating that once was the bus.”
I asked the driver if I could sit in the first row, which was vacant. He told me to sit in my
assigned seat. I learned that this was not unusual because the driver often used the first
row as his storage locker. The driver was in charge, and if he wanted the curtains drawn,
you wouldn't see daylight.
The driver, well-groomed, uniformed, professional, greeted us, closed the door, backed
up the bus and pulled out of the terminal He followed a sign pointing to Mexicali. He
plugged in a movie starring Gene Hackman and Dustin Hoffman that opened with whirl-
wind action and violence.
I preferred to forego the movie and watch the scenery as we drove through the desert's
mountains. I peeked out between the curtains. The hillside was dotted with wrecked cars.
The driver shifted into a low gear and we climbed higher into the mountains, along a cliff
route. At least thirty derelict cars had gone over the side. I suspected these cars were
stripped and dumped, not accidents. There were no roadside crosses.
