My first month in Mexico, full of many an adventure, has drawn to a close. Be those adventures 
transvestite shows, car-park raves or the time I caught fleas from Flacco, I'd change nothing.</p>
From my weeks of observation, I can safely say that Mexico is a quirky place. Take,
for instance, the common kitchen: there will be a gas-cooker and oven, much like one would find 
in any civilised home. However, Mexicans don't tend to use the oven. Everything is fried or stewed
on the hob, while the oven compartment is used to store a ridiculous amount of Tupperware.</p>
If that seems strange, how about the common Mexican habit of using a microwave instead of a kettle?
Yes, that's correct: just a mug of cold water, a dunked herbal teabag and a minute or so of
solid radiation. That's the local way to do it. </p> And what about cutlery? I think it depends on what is washed as to whether one is presented with a knife, fork or spoon. And that goes for cafes and bars, too, not just at home. Madness!</p>
But the one particular quirk I'd like to examine today is the humble Mexican bus system.</p>
There are several breeds of bus in Mexico: some clean, some grubby,some with suspension and some with livestock. The blue and white, local city-runners are the most common way to get around in the city, and are affectionately called the <i>camion</i> or 'truck'. There are thousands of these monsters (impossible to find out exactly how many) and you, too, can be part of the adventure for just under 30 British pennies. Yes, six pesos will take you all around the city and sometimes back again. There is of course, a slight gamble with death, but it's all character building.</p>
First, one must manage to hail the bus. I have been told that not all of Guadalajara city's stops are marked but, truth be told, I am not sure I have ever come across any kind of markings at all.</p>
Statistically, a person dies every single day in Guadalajara from a bus-related incident, and I am sure that a lot of those deaths must be from people trying to stop the damn thing in the first place.<br> They come shooting down the long, straight avenues like The Road Runner. One must stand halfway into the road, facing the oncoming traffic, finger out, six pesos in hand. The aim is to attract the driver's attention without getting hit by him or anyone else.</p>
Once slowed to a stop, the driver will always act as if you have committed a grave injustice. Most likely, you have: the drivers get bored and race each other during the day. The bus will then start to move before you have paid for your ticket, let alone found a seat. </p>On every bus there are between three and six yellow seats which are designated for elderly and disabled passengers. For reasons unknown, this means that a bus will be crammed full of people standing and holding on for dear life, while those four or five seats remain eternally empty. Locals
sitting on the other common-use seats tend to sit on the outside of a pair, unwilling to move along and let anybody sit on the second seat. Friendly bunch!</p> It must be said, however, that most Mexican men are gentlemen, and will offer their seat to any standing lady: young or old, local or pasty-white.</p>
Successfully on the bus, ticket paid, seat or standing spot acquired? Great. Now prepare yourself for the cheapest roller-coaster you will ever experience: complete with free entertainment! Often a musician, disabled or homeless person will hop on the bus free - the driver is almost always a friend or “brother”. These people will stand at the front and recite a carefully rehearsed speech, presumably telling their life story and why they are so different from all the other musicians/homeless people and deserve your money.</p> My Spanish does not extend enough so that I completely understand these stories and songs, but it's easy to judge how good or badthe gossip is depending on whether all or none of the other passengers give money.</p>
Now you have a choice: hop off the bus while we are still in a central district, find a bar or taco stand and see what there is to see, or stay on the bus until the bitter end to see where you end up.</p> I did the latter on Sunday, and ended up in the very back of beyond. After an hour of driving, we finally ran out of road and the bus stopped to cool off before making the return journey. As I stepped off the sticky vehicle, glad for some air, I was amazed to find myself at the foot of a series of hills. Men on horses rode past, staring intently at me (and who can blame them: I looked rather out of place) and villagers came out to sell lemonade to the passengers. It was all pretty surreal, but most definitely impressive.</p> Even if I did give myself a hernia from straining to hold on along the rocky ride, how well does Mexican transport compare against the expensive and infrequent public transport in the UK? 30p well spent, I'd say...