I hopped onto the bus the other day for a short ride across town. I was out of prepaid tickets on my T10 but I had a grubby, crumpled tenner in my wallet and knowing that by law the driver is obliged to give you change for anything up to twenty Euros I assumed I’d be fine. I let everyone else charge ahead of me before ambling on behind to ask the driver for a single ticket within zone one. I offered him my money and watched him scratch at the loose change in his box and smack both his pockets theatrically whilst giving me a shrug. He had no change for me and gestured that I should just walk on past him.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t want to get pinched.”

“You’ll be fine…and if you should get pinched come back and speak to me.”

I nodded my thanks and moved on past his cabin, gently pushing myself into the rest of the crowd. The first person I passed, on my right, was a young man with Down’s Syndrome. He looked me straight in the eyes; a broad grin from ear to ear. I had only just moved past him when he started to shout repeatedly at the top of his lungs what I understood to be “Aquí no se paga! Aquí no se paga! Aquí no se paga!” which might be translated in English as “This guys isn’t paying!”

I grinned sheepishly and felt myself blushing under what I understood to be the gaze of everyone else on the bus. The bus was packed tight with commuters and I couldn’t move forward, away from the lad who was right behind me tearing my eardrums with his repeated chant. Please shut up! was the only thought on my mind as the bus lurched off with the traffic and my eyes drilled the floor.

“Aquí no se paga! Aquí no se paga! Aquí no se paga!”….on and on!

At the following stop a whole load of people fell out through the doors in a hurry and I was able to move forward; on as far as the accordion bit of the articulated bus. The boy was still shouting his repeated refrain at top volume and it sounded all the louder now that half the occupants of the bus had got off. Pleas stop!

No one seemed to be paying attention to me and I glanced back at the boy. He was wearing earphones, I noticed, and moving up and down the aisle, engaging the commuters with his smile and gestures as he rocked back and forth to the rhythm of his repeated chant. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone before unplugging his earphones. The bus was suddenly filled with the tinny sound of the reggeton track he had obviously been listening to. I now understood the chorus: “Aquí no se para!” (It doesn’t stop here), as he danced enthusiastically up and down the bus. Some of us began to chant the chorus with him as he took a young mother and her child for a little spin. We were all clapping when the bus stopped at Paseo de Garcia. He bowed and jumped off.