I like long bus rides. No. I LOVE long bus rides. Alone. I love the solitude and anonymity. I don’t complain of the butt numbing experience. But all I care about is having the time to think. And ponder. And reflect. Of planning the future. Or reminiscing past loves and memories.
I like feeling the smoothness or bumpiness of a road or highway. The vibrations traveling from the tires to the engines, to the bus’s body and to the seat. The sight of the landscape zooming past you for hundreds of kilometers. Cities, towns. Buildings and structures. Trees and farms.
I like the stops and more stops. Stops for additional passengers or stops for alighting passengers. Meal stops at overpriced eateries. The smell and flavor of munch food sold by ambulant vendors. The different tongues spoken and heard. Different topographies and vistas.
I always want to travel on long bus rides. Preferrably alone. It gives me peace of mind. It gives me space. But most of all, I like sense of traveling to somewhere. Far. Faceless. Nameless.