Do not disturb the driver!
I hate extreme sports. I mean the ones which are the epitome of Russian Roulette. Newspapers are full of accounts of misfortunate jumpers whose bungee lines broke or parachutes failed to open. I prefer mountain expeditions. It’s not a totally safe business either but at least a little bit depends on you and in case of an equipment failure you can do slighly more than just sigh: “oops!” Still, in order to get to the mountains, often you have no choice but to take part in some of the deadliest and most extreme competitions. Like riding a Chilean city bus, for instance.
Once, while staying for a few days in Santiago and having nothing particular to do, I decided to go climbing to Cajon del Maipo. It’s a pleasant Andean region with some high summits, including one peak above 6000 m, not far from the Chilean capital. Just two hours on the bus. That’s correct – on the bus! Bad idea. My journey through the vast suburbs of Santiago got me more adrenaline than if I had parachuted myself to the mountains from a helicopter. All for the driver’s ultimate approach to his job.
I was watching with terror and some sort of masochistic admiration, how easily and skilfully he was driving his shuddering, trembling, puffing and grating vehicle down the crowded alley. He was using the breaks less than sporadically, with ill-hidden repulsion – generally only when somebody wanted to get in or get off. And even in that case occasionally. But instead he was constantly on the horn. Yes, in Chile, like everywhere else in Latin America, a horn is much more important and many times more interesting a device than an ordinary, boring break.
In the suburbs of Santiago private buses stop wherever they wish, the middle of any crossroads included. Enough you wave a hand or, in case you want to get out, just shout: “Baja!” and within a couple of seconds the vehicle slows down from 100 km/h to… Well, not really to zero. It slows down precisely to the speed which allows you to hop in or out without breaking your neck. According to the driver’s modest evoluation, of course. Therefore, any regular superhuman working behind the wheel for the municipal public transport, 
besides controlling the situation in front of his vehicle and in a rear mirror, has to observe the sides of the road, looking for potential passengers. Often - surprise, surprise - the driver is also in charge of any ticket and money issues so, additionally, he has to monitor the bus inside. You guess, the nerves of steel and the lightning reflex come handy as, while performing his ticket inspector’s duties, he slows down, accelerates and changes lines in a dense traffic to avoid bumping into dozens of other buses and cars doing exactly the same.
Here comes the element of competition. If in a certain place one can expect waiting passengers, be sure - the closer to that spot, the more ruthless the fight starts among the drivers doing the same route. There are no speed limits, no traffic signs, nor any other rules in the end. Instead there’s a wild chase, with sneaky maneuvers and the merciless strategy so skillfully executed that it would put most F1 drivers to shame. There’s only one winner. Who speeds the rest of the pack up, hits the jackpot. Then the game starts again.
My driver was a real champion in this Latin-American urban war craft. He was gracefully maneuvering in a crowd of vehicles and dodging the potholes. Accelerating and breaking in an attempt to pick up and drop passengers, he had verve as if he ware driving a Ferrari. At the same time he was counting money, giving passengers' their change, wresting with the jamming gearbox, honking and cursing other drivers, checking on his mobile phone every few seconds and leading a loud conversation with two pals in the front seats. Atop of it he still had some split attention to spare and check on the shapy ass of a girl preparing to get off.
Extreme sports are addictive, they say. Supposedly, if you look into death’s eyes every now and then, you become used and nonchalant. Well, not in my case. After so many identical rides I was still clamping the seat in front of me and wishing I were already high in the mountains, to feel calm and safe at last.