Dan,
During one of my first trips to Bogotá, I caught a man sprinting across a 4-lane Autopista on foot. It was midday and traffic was flowing. I was in the passenger seat as I caught a glimpse of him already between lanes heading toward the Transmilenio platform on the median.
The Autopista moves at 50-60 km/hr. Not the kind of speed that kills the way a Texas freeway would, but fast enough that a body without metal around it risks at least a limb, sometimes life. That man had found a break in the flow. Four lanes of open road, maybe three seconds of it. He took it, hit the median, jumped onto the platform.
Nobody in the car reacted. I was the only one on edge.
There was a perfectly good pedestrian bridge right there connecting the sidewalk to the same platform this man had just chanced his way onto. There was no reason for him to run this gauntlet. The city had already given him a way across.
But the bridge leads to the turnstiles, and the turnstiles come with a fare, and maybe that carried more risk than the sprint itself. Physical barriers, security, four lanes moving at speed — all of it serves as visceral guidance on how the infrastructure is meant to be used, but he read it differently.
I’ve seen it countless of times since. I’m accustomed to catch them before they dart across since I’m the one driving now. But back then, from that passenger seat, I was catching something else notably similar — license plates.
Bogotá restricts driving based on the last digit of your plate, a system called pico y placa. I used to try to guess which numbers were allowed that day by watching the traffic from the window like a code I could crack. I never cracked it though.
Turns out the real puzzle wasn’t which plates the city allowed on the road, it was how many plates a family could afford to stay on it. My suegro has five cars, but not as a collection. Five cars means five different plates that lets his family never have a restricted day. My wife’s mom’s side keeps two for the same reason.
When we decided to get our own car, we chose a hybrid. Not for the gas savings, tax benefits, nor for the environment really. Hybrids are entirely exempt from pico y placa.
So, a man will sprint across an Autopista to avoid a two-dollar fare while my suegro parks five cars to avoid a schedule. And, we bought a hybrid to avoid both. Different stakes, different means, same maña.
There’s a rebellious charm in all of it — a restless reading that runs right through every rule I was raised to respect. And, I’ve caught some of it, I think. My own subtle rebellion wrapped in good intentions and a tax incentive.
I drive the Autopista most days now, in the car I bought to avoid the rules in my own way. And most days, someone on the shoulder is doing the same.
Dan Muirhead spent 15+ years paid to make people pay attention. Now he is more interested in what is worth paying attention to. Based in Bogotá, with roots in Dallas and frequent time in Miami, he writes Bogotá Letters and profiles makers to document how cities are used versus designed, and how objects are made to be lived with. More at danmuirhead.co.