When Bread Becomes A Moving Target

There are three main types of bread here. One is the French baguette. The second is a local bread that is very dense and very cheap, and therefore my preference. The third is what we affectionately call "styrofoam bread." Imagine a fluffy white bread, remove half the density, and then make it stiff. Ick.

Unfortunately styrofoam bread is by far the most common bread here. For some reason it is considered to be nicer than my favorite type. This is probably because of the French, who turned up their noses at my bread and made it illegal. Now that the French are gone the bread has made a comeback, but only from a limited number of specialised bakers. As a result, figuring out where to buy the stuff can be quite a challenge.

Half a mile from where I work there are always guys selling this bread. Unfortunately it is half a mile in exactly the opposite direction from my apartment, and there is nothing else in that direction to make it worth the one-mile round trip. So ever since I moved in to my new apartment I have been looking for a place to get the kneaded gold.

I thought I had struck the motherload (or at least a small vein) when I saw a guy selling the bread right next to one of the places the vans like to stop. RIGHT next to it. In other words, the bread tasted faintly of diesel and burned oil. But hey, you take what you can get.

Unfortunately, the next time I swung by he wasn't there. Or the third time. Or the fourth.

Then I found another guy selling bread at another location just a 5 minute walk from my apartment. Again, right next to a bus stop. Oh well, I had found a consistent supplier. Or had I?

I've never seen the guy again since.

I scoured all of the small shops in my neighborhood, looking for one that would sell me the stuff. I finally found one- for that day. The next time I went back he was out.

I talked to my neighbour about it and he said that you have to know what time of day to go to each place. He gets his from the second guy I found, but that guy never gets there until 8:00 in the morning. That doesn't help me; I'm at work by that time. Then he told me about another little shop that carries it, but only after a certain time in the afternoon. I tried there Sunday but apparently the bread hadn't arrived yet. The guy said he was out but it would be coming "right away." In this country, "right away" can easily mean three hours.

So the adventure continues!

New Transport Van Record

I have yet another update on the public transport van carying capacity. But I also have a story.

So my account of church left off with me swinging onto a passing van. I felt very cool, like Tarzan. Or perhaps like Legolas swinging up into his saddle. I think I even got a look or two of admiration from the folks sitting in the van. It's not often you see white guys riding in a van, and even less often that you see them swinging monkey-bars style from one end to the other. Wait... maybe it wasn't admiration that those looks were conveying.

So anyway, there I was, sitting in my little seat and trying not to make a scene. We rolled and bumped our way towards the main road that would take us towards where I live. This van would not actually go past my apartment so I planned to jump off at the nearest point and walk from there.

As we rolled up to the stoplight at the main road I looked out the window and saw two guys fighting. One was sitting on top of the other with his knee on his opponent's throat. Fortunately the guy next to me saw this as well, and soon the four other guys in the van had all jumped out and run over to break up the fight. Meanwhile the light had turned green so the van made the turn onto the main road and then slowed to a stop. I think the driver was trying to decide whether to wait for everyone to get back in or just keep going on his route. The fight didn't seem to be ending very quickly...

As we sat there, a hoard of teenage boys suddenly burst through the fence along the road. Half were wearing yellow jerseys and half were wearing blue, and they were all roaring with energy. They flooded into the van, quickly taking up all of the seats and then some. Then they realised that some of their team had already gotten into the van that pulled up behind mine. As quick as they had entered, the boys poured back out of the van. The group behavior was bizarre. I felt like I was watching bees rather than boys.

I was once again alone in the back of the van. Well, me and the apprentice. Up front were the driver and two passengers. The driver and apprentice started discussing something and the other two guys got out. Then the driver told me to get out as well. Fortunately we were only a quarter mile from where I had been planning to get out anyway. I was walking for a while before I began to wonder when the other van with all the boys would go past. I had almost walked the entire quarter mile when it careened past. I couldn't see very well inside but I am sure that it was loaded to the hilt. My best estimate would be 30-35 guys. On the outside of the van 20 boys (I counted) were hanging off the back or crawling around on the luggage rack on the roof. When the van got to the roundabout it rolled to a halt and the driver got out to yell at the boys on roof. I thought he was going to make them get off but he must have just been telling them to sit down and stop moving around, because nobody got off. The driver climbed back in and off they went.

Wow. More than 50 people in/on a van. For now, that's the most I've seen. I'm really glad I chose to walk rather than getting inside that rolling mass of humanity!