The Overnight Bus to BerlinAug 3, 2004
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| Europe is conspiring to deprive me of sleep. The bus driver was a peppy, bug-eyed German named Ben, which he told us several times over the course of the 10 hour journey to Berlin. By the way, pep is not something I look for in the driver of an overnight bus. I boarded to the sounds of Bryan Adams blasting over the stereo, and it got better from there-easy listening favorites at 70 decibels. But I had learned from the sleep-talking Aussie experience, and I had my earplugs at the ready. By the time the bus pulled out of Amsterdam at 11:30, I was already half asleep. But I failed to account for the devious ingenuity of this cruel bus driver. He waited until an hour down the road to spring his welcome message on us, interrupting the muzak and ramping up the volume until it pierced even the sound-proofing of my earplugs. Instead of dreaming, I listened to Ben give his spiel in Dutch, then German, and finally English. He barked it, he didn´t announce it, and by the English version, I already knew the various sound effects ("Pee-pee, und Poo-Poo," and "AIE-YAIE-YAIE!" and "WAAAAEEEW!") and where they would be inserted. I also timed the English version, which took ten minutes to say, so all told Ben spent half an hour warning us gents not to pee-pee on the toilet, not to ask him how long to Berlin, and the women where to put their tampons, and on and on. An Italian sitting across from me stared in disbelief, and finally when the diatribe was through he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head at me. I went to sleep, and woke up to polka music blasting through the air of Berlin. Ben could tell I wasn´t one of the passengers laughing with him, or even laughing at him, but now, two days later, I can smile at it, because at least he was trying to make the trip, and maybe his job, memorable and amusing. |
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