The bus thumps across the Bay Bridge, over Treasure Island, past container ships and massive cranes, a yard of cargo boxes, the Horizon and Hapag-Lloyd lines, and under a wren of overpasses. I switch seats because my light is broken, then switch again because the seat cloth is torn. In Oakland, young men wearing baseball caps with flattened brims board. The driver addresses us.

 

“If you have kids, control them. If you have those walkie-talkie phones, try not to use them. It sounds like a police car in here, and that’s not good. If you have beers, don’t drink them…”

My destination is Mexico City, a four-and-a-half-hour plane trip from San Francisco, but a 60-hour journey by bus. I want to see the world’s largest city, but even more appealing is the ride to get there. Buses are… More…