I’m dreaming of pre-pandemic Mexico.

We didn’t have a car in San Miguel de Allende, and it was just as well. Not that the walking is easy there: the narrow sidewalks and cobblestone streets require you to pay close attention so you don’t twist an ankle or come crashing to the ground. On foot, though, you’re up closer to the street murals, the trim on the doorways, and the bougainvillea that tumbles down the walls.

For longer errands, the Route 4 bus got us from the Bat Casa to the center of town in about twenty minutes. How the bus negotiated the turns on the narrow streets was a mystery to me. Maybe it entailed some Harry Potter-style wizardry or a brief escape into another dimension. (Perhaps we really would get to Elvis Presley Blvd.)

Comfort was not the main virtue of the municipal buses.  I wondered how long a set of tires typically lasted on those cobblestones. Nonetheless, I usually felt a great sense of well-being, even while jolting and swaying along. I wasn’t in charge of this vehicle. My only job was to look out at the street sights. Why were those clothes hanging from trees? Was it laundry? No. Street vendors, it appears, were selling them second-hand.

You can click to hear and see how Latin pop sometimes made riding the bus feel like a party.

So here’s yet another thing to add to the list of simple pleasures I’m dreaming of: the days when taking the bus, at home or abroad, will again feel something like a party.