There’s a bus that I take to work sometimes, when I’m up early and can afford to take my time getting downtown.
Sometimes, this bus’s route is perfect because it’s anything but straight. It winds its way through many distinct, and disparate, neighborhoods in the city—from working class South Vancouver to the industrial part of east Van to historic Chinatown and then frenetic downtown. If I didn’t get off here, I’d eventually ride over the Burrard Bridge, pass through the loveliness of Kitsilano, and end up in stately old Kerrisdale. I sometimes think that the route was pieced together from all the leftover parts of the city that hadn’t yet been serviced with a regular bus. Or maybe the planner who mapped out the route had a sense of humour that day. Or too much to drink. But the meandering quality is something I appreciate on days when I like to sit and think, and I want to avoid the packed and harried quality of the skytrain commute.
But sometimes, this bus’s route is frustrating, because it’s anything but straight. Of course, I’m only frustrated on days when I’m in a rush, or when I’m tired and looking forward to unwinding at home and tempted by the convenience of taking only one form of transportation (instead of skytrain + bus) to get there. When the route starts to wind and rush-hour traffic is added into the mix, and sometimes roadwork (which seems to be everywhere in the city lately), I sorely regret my choice of convenience over time…and melt in impatience. These kinds of rides are not conducive to thoughtful reflection.
About a week or two ago, I left the house earlier than usual and caught this particular bus to work. I also happened to catch a glimpse of a lovely moment—or vignette rather—en route. I can still see it now, in my mind’s eye…
It’s a little past eight on a lovely fall morning, still early enough for the sunlight to fall in slanted rays on the sidewalk between buildings. The bus I’m on turns left onto the main street in Chinatown. It’s disarmingly quiet, void of its usual market busyness and liveliness so early in the morning. I see an elderly Chinese couple walking on the sidewalk, and they’re holding hands. I think they’ve just gotten off of the bus ahead. The couple is probably in their 70s and they walk slowly, but there’s nothing particularly frail-looking about them. They make their way down the sidewalk, hands clasped—not, I’m certain, because the woman is weak and needs the strength of her husband, but maybe because holdings hands is the better way to face the world and start a new day.
I think I arrived to work that morning with a goofy smile on my face.
Sometimes, long and windy bus rides have a charm all their own.
