Once I decided to return to the United States (a questionable decision on its own, I am aware), I knew exactly what I wanted to do: take only Greyhound buses from West to East. I figured that this way I would be able to see more of the country, experience first hand its infamous ‘open roads’ (even without having a driver license) and come into contact with different types of people, all the while selfishly relieving myself from having to feel so bad about the size of my ecological footprint while traveling (very, very big). Besides, I had found my previous experiences with longhaul buses to be quite enjoyable and the eight plus hour treks quickly proved to be an opportunity for me to put up my feet, relax, and rewind. Two out of those three things, at least; with the limited leg space they provide in Greyhound buses, there is actually no way for you to physically stretch out beyond the 30 centimeters in front of you. But being short comes in handy sometimes – and so does the fact that you’ll oftentimes have a near empty row to yourself. 

Now, over time my initial plan has slightly changed. For instance, I have had to opt for Flixbuses every now and then as this multi-billion company has bought out the 110 year old Greyhound. Additionally, the bus-bound part of my journey has been far from central to my entire trip. This past month, I have only taken four buses and I have generally spent more time in cities than I have on the road. However, there is still a lot I have learned and seen on the never ending web of American highways – besides just a million gas stations. I have found that small acts of kindness go a long way when there’s nothing ahead of you but asphalt roads and empty landscapes and in the U.S., you can make easy friends with your fellow passengers. 

It’s not that bad, right? 

Despite the fact that my personal experiences have been positive so far, there is a lot to remark about the Greyhound transportation system in general. For starters, it is not always the safest option. When I first outwardly expressed that I was considering taking buses across America, someone immediately told me about a beheading that had happened on one of these long-haul contraptions. Although it initially shocked me (and fair enough because the story is insane), I ultimately decided not to let it get to me too much. My previous experiences on the East and West coast had both turned out well and the craziest things that had happened were: a woman essentially taking most of my snacks (she kept asking for more until I ultimately gave her the entire bag) and the bus once nearly driving away without everyone on board (four people ran after us while holding bags filled with fast-food, one just trailed behind them calmly – they ultimately made it back on but not everyone is that lucky). Besides, if the worst crime to have happened on a Greyhound took place more than 16 years ago and in Canada, then surely things must have changed… right? 

Well… yes, but for the worse. The bus system is in such a state that unlike myself, most other 60 million users do not take it for fun. I must admit, I never before felt as though I had seen the true face of despair until I set foot into the bus station on Buckeye Road in Phoenix. A cloud of heavy cigarette smoke lingered in the air right in front of the entrance – almost indistinguishable from the car fumes exalted by the busy road just feets away. A woman, half naked under her thin blanket, was attempting to catch some of the escaping heat that would exit the building with each opening door. I wondered if she was from here or had simply ended up here over time, as seems to be the case for many unhoused people in the U.S. – their movement continious and never-ending. I didn’t ask, her face turned away from me towards the dark crevice of the corner.

Inside, it didn’t look much better. People were bundled up in duvets trying to get comfortable on rusty metallic benches or even on the floor. Overall, there wasn’t enough seating for everyone, there was very little oversight and information provided, trash riddled the floor leaving sticky marks, and I was hard pressed to find any nutritious food around, apart from the limited options offered in stocked vending machines. I must add, though, that I never felt unsafe around the people I shared this space with. I’ve struck up pleasant conversations with people, shared cigarettes, lighters and phone chargers, watched someone’s bags as they went to the bathroom and smiled at my neighbors and received smiles back. There is a warmth in the people, even in inhospitable places such as underfunded and down-ridden Greyhound stations.

Greyhound, what once was will never be

Over the past couple of years, Greyhound has lost most of its national vehemence. The bus that once sputtered its way across the country, proudly sporting its racing greyhound glistering in the sun, is no more. Whereas they would in the past erect stunning buildings in “art deco” or a “streamline moderne” architecture style to accommodate their weary travelers, they have now opted to close, demolish or sell said-stations instead. In the cities where they have decided to keep their stations, they have been moved to cheaper, less accessible, neighborhoods or to curb-side pick-up and drop-off spots (in Philadelphia for instance, their assigned location is right under a highway). There almost seems to be a persevering notion that those taking the Greyhound bus aren’t worthy of better treatment. After all, they might think, it is predominantly low-income groups, immigrants, or travelers with mobility impairments who depend on it. They pay little (in comparison to more luxurious modes of travel like planes – Greyhounds are still far from cheap!), and so they get even less in return. And worst of all, companies like these continue to get away with it. 

For your standard Greyhound commuter, having to rely on this deeply underfunded public (yet privatized) transportation system is a necessity, not a choice. They might not own a car, be short on money, or have no other way of traveling under the radar otherwise. It is not unlikely that you will be traveling alongside men who have just gotten out of jail and own nothing but the clothes on their back, young adults carrying all their belongings in a single backpack as they upend their lives and move across states, or mothers dragging sleepy and impatient toddlers from bus to bus. The Greyhound is far from luxurious, but not to their fault.  

In fact, I first heard about taking the bus from one side of the U.S. to another from an immigrant who had made the trek himself to find better (and warmer) opportunities on the West Coast. He told me he had done it in one go and that it had taken him around three days and 200 dollars. On his way, his phone had gotten stolen in Texas and he had had to continue his journey with no access to his friends and family, nor to a translation app on which he depended. A few seconds after he told me this, we had to rush back to his motorbike as he had left his new phone in his phone holder, which thankfully was still there. “I should know better, being from Colombia” he jokingly told me, “but thank God for San Francisco”. I think of him often when I take the bus and someone asks me a question, written out and translated on the phone held between us. I think of him when the kind bus driver translates the important bits of information to Spanish, to ensure everyone understands. To be frank, I cannot even begin to imagine how difficult it must be to navigate a system that does so little to accomodate you.

My acquintance sparked within me the idea to follow a similar journey myself, the only difference being that I was not necessarily as dependent on it as others might be. Although I have mostly attempted to take public transport to the Greyhound stations and rely on these structures as much as my fellow travelers, I do technically have access to alternatives like Uber and if push comes to shove even airplanes. I can afford to stock up on filling food beforehand, could purchase goods at our many stops on the way, have a powerbank at my disposal to keep my phone charged (and have a phone in the first place), and my being there is never questioned. Unlike a lot of Americans or immigrants in the U.S., I personally don’t face any structural racism or discrimination when traveling from place to place and I am generally in a privileged position, even on a Greyhound. 

Under the radar, in the bus

I quickly found that my friend was far from the only one taking on a journey like this and I would often be surrounded by individuals speaking little to no English and bearing no official papers. In San Antonio, Texas, there was even an Interfaith Welcome Committee roaming around the Greyhound bus station to accommodate such people and provide refugees with tools needed to further their journey. They gave out food, diapers, comfort, information and, in their specific case, prayer. 

Pressured by ACLU and immigrants rights activists in 2020, Greyhound has denied Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers access to their buses and transfer stations to question individuals for their immigration status. As a result, it has generally become safer for people to take these buses, providing them with more cross-country mobility. I discussed this with someone on the final leg of my 20 plus hour journey across Texas. He told me he had been asked by an ‘illegal alien’ (the words stung me as he uttered them) whether it was safe to be there without papers – which had prompted him to ask the limited staff available, being in a more comfortable position himself. ‘For now’, they told him, ‘he would be fine’. We wondered whether president-elect (these words sting equally as much) Trump would in time pressure companies like Greyhound and Flixbus to regrant ICE with access on these buses, especially in light of his commitment to crack down on immigrants. As of this moment, though, there thankfully still seemed to be a collective commitment to ensure that we could all safely go from point A to B, regardless of who you were or where you’re from. 

Small acts of kindness travel far

After my short interaction with a man from Mexico answering his question on how much longer it would take us to reach San Antonio, Texas, (una hora y trentes minutos – my Spanish was bound to be more atrocious than his English), I got back on the bus to devour my undercooked roadside potato wedges. My fingers were getting oily as I dipped them in the watery ketchup and ‘taco sauce’ and brought them to my mouth. A few moments later, my Mexican bus neighbor, separated by just the alleyway between us, impromptuly came over to offer me a handful of napkins he had picked up – enough for himself, and enough for me. We never spoke much after that, but we sternly nodded each other a goodbye as we reached the transfer station and each embarked in different directions. 

This is just a very small example of the general kindness I have faced taking buses, and I have many more stories including a random book exchange an hour before my bus in Albuquerque, countless well-wishes on further travels, an hour long conversation about hopes and dreams for the future, and my journeys to the Greyhound stations themselves which upon sight of my heavy bags has resulted in people offering me free food or even suggesting housing to bridge the night. I have found that whatever kindness you put out, will ultimately find its way back to you – if not by the tenfold.

To many Americans, the Greyhound is no longer an ounce of the institution it once was: a respectable way to travel between metropolitan areas in the U.S. This, however, has more to do with the company slowly chipping away at itself in search of growing profit margins than it does with the people actually taking the buses. Even when beaten down on their luck, most people have been respectable, kind, honest, giving, patient and understanding. Their tales shape much of the actual realities of American life and in a lot of ways, it is the one I am fortunate to be taking part of. I am often faced with how the United States could be, if only we learned to trust our fellow traveler a little bit more. We’re all in this together, after all.