Paragraph 1: The bus was crowded with tourists, most of whom, like us, were unfamiliar with local customs and probably unsure of which stop to get off at. It was the middle of summer, and we were already hot and tired, even though it was still morning. The bus had no air conditioning and, as there weren't any free seats, we'd been standing for at least twenty minutes as the rusty old vehicle made its way along the winding, bumpy roads. It was an effort for us to keep our balance and not fall down or bump into other passengers as the bus went round sharp bends or swerved to avoid the numerous holes in the road.
Paragraph 2: Because there were so many people around us, it was difficult to see out of the windows, so we weren't quite sure where we were. Thinking, after the bus had crossed a bridge, that we had reached the ancient site that we wanted to visit, we pressed the button by the door to let the driver know that we wanted to get off at the next stop. When the bus stopped and the doors opened, however, we realised that the site was still a long way off, and so we stayed on board. No one got off the bus. The doors closed and the bus set off again.
Paragraph 3: Just before the next stop, another passenger must have pressed the button, because, on reaching the stop, the bus once more came to a noisy halt and the doors opened with a loud rattle. However, once again, no one got off. We had been too busy chatting to see who it was who had pressed the button and, unaware of our predicament, we continued our conversation. However, after a few moments, we realised that the bus hadn't set off again. Sensing that something was wrong, all the passengers turned and looked in the direction of the driver.
Paragraph 4: To our horror, the enormous bus driver had got out of his seat, obviously with some effort, since he was bright red, and was heading straight towards us with a face like thunder. He stopped a few metres from us and started shouting at the top of his deep, booming voice. His voice matched his expression perfectly. Perhaps fortunately, we didn't speak the language, so we understood nothing of what he was yelling. We realised that he was angry with us because the button had been pressed twice, forcing him to stop the bus for no reason since nobody had got off.
Paragraph 5: `Sorry, sorry,' I said, trying to sound as apologetic as possible, and with a pained expression on my face.
Paragraph 6: `We're really sorry,' my friend added, `but we only did it once. It wasn't us the second time. It must have been someone else. We weren't sure where to get off, you see and ....'
Paragraph 7: Her voice gradually trailed off as she saw the blank look on the bus driver's face. There was obviously no reason to continue. He looked even angrier than before – if that was possible. Still fuming, he turned round and got back into his seat. The bus set off again. We thought it wise to move away from the door so that we wouldn't be blamed if someone pressed the button a third time. We were pretty sure that if it happened again, we would be physically thrown off the bus - at best!
Paragraph 8: Eventually, we arrived at our destination, not a moment too soon, we felt, and we got off the bus with a great sense of relief. As the vehicle moved off, we could just make out, through the cloud of dust that it left behind, a group of boys who were standing at the rear window. They were looking at us and laughing. We wondered if we had been the victims of a practical joke.
Paragraph 9:`Oh, well, let's just hope we don't get on the same bus on the way back!' my friend remarked as we headed for the wonders of the ancient ruins which were still some way ahead of us.
