On the bus in Santiago, I’ve pretty much resigned myself to never having a seat. Crowds often eliminate the option entirely and the surrounding culture of courteousness creates an immense pressure for young men like myself to stand. Santiago’s public transportation system is relatively modern and effective. All fares, for example, are paid by using an electronic card which passengers charge ahead of time. The modernization, completed relatively recently, was needed to accommodate the huge number of people dependent on public transport. When the bus is crowded, which is guaranteed during three-hour chunks of the morning and evening rush hours, simply getting on is a relief. It is impressive how many people can fit into a seemingly full bus but you can never be quite sure when the driver will decide to close the door.

Getting off a crowded bus is also a bit tricky, involving a wriggling movement to the door with lots of body to body contact. It’s not that anyone refuses to help you get through, it’s that sometimes there is just no space. Repeating “permiso” tends to minimize any awkwardness, but it still feels like bodychecking people in slow motion.

More embarrassingly, it is all I can do not to fall into other people when I ride at rush hour. The traffic means lots of jolting stops and starts: motorists tend to use buses like running backs use offensive linemen, following closely behind and then darting out when they see an opening. When this results in a close call, it is usually the bus that has to slam on the brakes.

Disoriented gringo that I am, I tend to have a white-knuckled grasp of the railing when I least need it, and have relaxed or started to reposition myself exactly when another car makes its move, or when we hit a roundabout or sharp corner.

Yesterday morning, I stumbled into and nearly destroyed the model building in the hands of an architecture student who had the misfortune of standing next to me. She had a nose ring, large drawing pads in a tote at her feet, was carefully holding her scale model with both hands. Luckily, my elbow glanced off the top of the building without damage. Even more luckily, I was getting off at the next stop.

But even when it isn’t rush hour, I am at the bottom of an unspoken hierarchy of seating priority. At the top are the very old of both sexes, as well as pregnant women or those riding with small children. This is true in most places, even the United States, but here, the reaction is immediate. When those in this category board a bus, there is a wave of offers to provide a seat. Generally, men in their thirties or early forties are fastest, but others stand as well.

Once, a woman carrying an infant, a toddler and a stroller boarded my bus. Within about ten seconds and with few words spoken, she was not only provided with a row to herself, but someone else in the standing section four rows back was holding the stroller for her.

Women above about forty are next in the pyramid, followed by all women above twenty-four. The reaction is slower and less universal, but there is usually at least one would-be chauvinist (I use the term positively). “I like watching when people give up their seats,” a female Stanford friend told me. “I think it’s cute.” When an older woman boards and no offers are made, you can feel all of the eyes in the bus move to look for the selfish person who should be yielding. Usually it is a student in high school, identifiable by the ubiquitous uniforms, and usually, the power of the stares is enough to provoke a tardy offer. Young men and students are at the bottom of the ranking.

I have, without even being prompted by stares, offered my seat to others on several occasions. There is a certain warm feeling from doing this, and it made me feel more culturally assimilated than I could possibly really be after a few weeks. But bending to peer pressure, I’ve gravitated toward the preemptive approach: standing the whole time. Most guys my age never even bother to sit, presumably because they would need to yield sooner or later, and I want to look as cool as they do. Unfortunately, part of that involves not holding onto anything, and as I’ve mentioned, I’m not quite there yet.

I like the unspoken seating code, but not everything about public transportation is courteous. Another female friend has several times been anonymously pinched in a way that would provoke fights and lawsuits back home.

I am usually the first to offer her a seat.

Michael is in Santiago riding lots of buses. Contact him at wilkerson at stanford.edu.