An Unforgettable Bus Ride

 How I Risked Cutting a Journey Short for the Sake of a Photograph

The divine act behind that photograph

     In 1971, I spent seven months traveling around Latin America, from Mexico

to Argentina and Brazil. At some point, pressed among a crowd of Indians at

the back of a dilapidated bus, my itinerary was taking me from Ayacucho to

Cuzco, in the Peruvian Andes, an endless two-day ride. Holes and stones in the dirt road shook

the bus in a cloud of dust, and a pot flew off the roof.  The driver stopped, and

a passenger ran to pick up the pot.

      I looked at it as God’s mercy. Less than a minute earlier, I had caught sight, sitting along the road by herself, one of the cutest little girls I had ever seen anywhere, and could have cried with frustration for being unable to get a picture of her. After all, I was a photographer. The bus’ central aisle was crowded with Indians sitting on bundles, but I scrambled over them toward the door, just as the passenger was

 returning with the pot.

     “Adonde estas corriendo?” the driver shouted.  “Where are you running?” 

   “To urinate,” I lied, almost unconsciously.

And I ran with a Leica in hand. By then the little girl was already far behind.

     “This is not the moment!” the driver yelled.

     “But what the devil are you doing? Come back!

     “…All right. Stay here and wait for tomorrow’s bus.”

And having said that, he pulled off.

     My luggage and most of my film were on that bus, but I refused to worry

about that just then. First, I had to get that picture. I gave the little girl an avocado pear I was carrying in my camera bag and quickly shot three pictures of her. Then I ran back. The bus was very far now, though not going very fast, and I was a runner. Even so, my heart was in my mouth by the time I got back on board.

     The passengers applauded me and the driver shrank in his seat. I stared at him not knowing how to deal with him. But I decided to leave the matter there, and I returned to my seat. I was more angry with myself than with him, as it had just occurred to me that for a small tip he would have given me all the time I needed. How had I not thought about it? That lesson would serve me well on future occasions.

     My picture of the little girl was soon seen around the world, everywhere melting the hearts of women. To this day they keep ordering prints of it. That journey netted me much more than a best-selling picture. Earlier, passing through Colombia, I had met the girl who would become my wife.

Below are the three pictures I managed to get::

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