Taking the Bus to Buga
“Why did you get on the bus?” I was recently asked.
A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to Colombia alone for a weeklong getaway. Colombia is a fascinating nation, one that has undergone centuries of strife but buoyed by a spirit of resiliency and hope. I spent most of my time in the metropolitan city of Santiago de Cali, which rides the edge of a long valley between two mountain ranges.
On a Friday morning, I decided to venture away from Cali. I walked through the downtown streets past hundreds of vendors selling everything from avocados as large as coconuts to broom heads. It was very apparent that I was not native to Colombia but I really didn’t draw that many looks. At least I didn’t think so.
After about 40 minutes, I reached the city’s bus terminal. It was ridiculously busy, with pedestrians hustling from every direction headed in every direction. I found an information desk and, using my minimal Spanish, was able to determine that I needed to take the escalator to the second level. I found a ticket counter and purchased my boleto. Finding the bus itself was a different matter and it took three different interactions for me to locate the correct bus to the small town of Buga, about an hour and twenty minutes north.
I stepped onto the bus that sat about twenty people. Again, it was very obvious that I was not local. The rest of the bus was filled with Colombians, most of them traveling as families. I took my seat and we were soon off.
The countryside was dotted with sugar cane fields, a few cattle and little houses and tiendas here and there. Motorcycles passed the bus along the shoulder at highway speeds. It appeared to be common practice.
When I arrived in Buga, I stepped off the bus and started walking toward the town’s main attraction, a Catholic church that housed a relic. Pilgrims came to this iglesia to request miracles, and on this day there was no shortage of requesters. The experience was surreal as the line trudged past the life-sized wooden crucifix stored behind the altar. Rosaries were rubbed, Pesos were left. Prayers were recited.
I left the church and just began wandering around town. I found an open-air restaurant and consumed lunch. The staff, like most people in Colombia, spoke no English.
After a couple of hours I returned to the terminal and found my bus back to Cali. The ride back was uneventful; I took in more of the scenery.
So why did I get on the bus to Buga? As a foreigner in a strange land with limited skills in Spanish, I was surely taking a huge risk. But I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t even nervous. This felt like an adventure. Like there was something on the other side compelling me to see it, and I’d have felt cheated had I not taken the chance and left my comfort zone back at the hotel.
At the same time I got on the bus to Buga, I was frozen in other areas of life. My search for a new job has crossed over into the second half of a year. I felt like that next job was never going to come. I worried about my value, how I would provide. Christmas is coming. Gifts need to be bought. My fear had turned into panic. I was handling my home life the exact opposite of how I had handled Buga.
“Why did I get on the bus?” Because I was confident that the decision was going to make me grow. I was learning a new place, an unknown culture. It was exciting, and that excitement outweighed any concern.
Are you in a season of life where it seems that only uncertainty lies before you? Are you afraid? In a panic? I challenge you to think about the bus to Buga and your own life. How can you change your perspective to turn the fear of the unknown into the confidence that there is a positive on the other side?
I’m still searching for that job. But the dread I used to feel upon waking up every morning has been replaced with a new perspective. This day, and every day, is a bus trip to Buga. And I’m excited to go.
