08:05. Already too bright. The bus is due at 08:20 but the stop has no shelter, no seat, no bin, and no sense that anyone planned it for humans. It’s on the corner of a roundabout, the sort of place where you stand back from the kerb and hope the lorry doesn’t take the mirror off your elbow.
A woman with a shopping trolley arrives next. She looks at the sun, looks at the ground, then parks herself in the tiny patch of shade cast by the ticket sign. The shade moves faster than the timetable changes.
This is Stop A, on the route into town. Between 08:05 and 08:25, seven people wait. Two sit on the wall behind, three stand, one scrolls her phone, and one smokes. No bin means the cigarette butt goes straight into the dust. The only sound is tyres on tarmac and a gull shouting at nothing.
At 08:28 the bus finally appears. No shelter to stand under, so everyone edges closer to the road before the doors open. The driver waves like he’s late again. He probably is.
Later I walk to Stop B, the return route. It’s quieter, facing east now, full sun. One bench. Metal, unshaded. I sit for exactly two minutes before it burns through the back of my trousers. By 11:10 three people have arrived. One older man with a walking stick asks if this is the right stop for the hospital. The sign is half-faded; he squints, gives up, and asks again.
I measure shade the lazy way. At 11:15, the shadow from the streetlight pole covers roughly one-eighth of the bench for about five minutes. Then it slides away. That’s the total shelter time for the next hour.
So here’s the fix: a single tensioned shade sail. Four square metres, mounted on the existing lamp post and a second anchor point drilled into the back wall. Cost? Maybe 300 euros installed. Add a small printed timetable with font big enough to read without squinting. Add a bin. That’s all.
It sounds small, but for people waiting fifteen or twenty minutes in full sun, it changes everything. Shade keeps people at the stop, which keeps the bus line visible and alive. Without it, they drift. They call a neighbour, they skip the trip, they stay home.
If you’re mapping access in your town, don’t stop at the building door. Follow the journey right to the point where people wait. Count how long they stand there. Count how long before they move into the road.
The next morning, I pass Stop A again. Someone’s left a garden umbrella wedged between two stones, a bit of DIY shade. It’s flimsy, but it makes the space human for a while.