by Etira
, for Cusco Writers Guild

In something as mundane as a city bus ride in Cusco, supernatural magic is contained within the experience. I can see, feel, touch, hear, smell and intuit many cases of the extraordinary in the ordinary.

The bus is regular in it's size and shape, but there's the irregular effect of the sun light reflecting off its crown.

The bus driver and “cobrador” are usual Peruvians, but they are remarkable in their responsive facial features and smiling reply when I say “buenos días”.

The woman I sit next to looks established with a job and well-dressed, but the way she has her two-toned streaked hair is noteworthy.

Having the bus get more crowded with people is commonplace, but the pleasantries exchanged and courtesies extended are uncommonly wonderful.

The route of the bus that I take is unexceptional, but each ride I have taken of the same bus route is exceptionally not the same.

There is no special quality to the general chatter of the people on the bus, but the bursting laughter of the woman in the seat in front of me and the giggle of the baby in the arms of the woman next to her are heartfelt, endearing aspects of their conversation.

The majority of those riding the bus take no particular interest in each other, but the significance that we are all connected merely by being in the same bus at the same time is truly incredible.

What appears as a normal “cobrador” performing a mediocre job, is actually an excellent, first-rate execution of a multitude of tasks like taking fares from the passengers, remembering who paid or who has change to return, making correct change as people "baja" the bus, calling off all of the stops, helping people on or off the bus, and still be able to carry on a conversation with someone.

The plainness of being a bus driver is in actuality a very impressively not plain, complex skill of maneuvering safely through the weave of streets, traffic and pedestrians.

The common cacophony of the bus radio, the honking, the traffic sounds and the vendor giving his spiel blend into a symphony of noises in an uncommon accordance as the heartbeat of the bus.

The undistinguished monotony of people getting on and off the bus, becomes the very distinguished, outstanding creation of human diversity.

It is customary for women to hold their child in the same seat with them, either on their laps or the child between their legs, so as the woman and her child exited the seat across the aisle from me the child unconventionally held onto my leg which sent her radiating warmth through my pants and at the same time she looked up into my eyes giving me waves of maternal emotions.

As the bus passes a variety of half-built, dilapidated homes and buildings, there are those that might be considered the foremost in this class I'll call “shanty” and for which could be said “wow, that is a cool half-built building!”

An average-looking student who decides to sit in the vacated seat next to me and with whom I strike up a conversation, is an atypical boy who remembers quite a few English words and gives astute attention to my teaching him a few more.

This normal, ordinary bus ride is an abnormally extraordinary experience of a spectrum of sights, an assortment of poignant feelings, an array of skin sensations, an orchestration of sounds, a gamut of aromas and odors...and all in harmonious synchronicity appreciated by me with energetic influences of intuition.