I’m not sure what I’ve said about the cars in Kyrgyzstan, but they’re all thirty year old Ladas held together with newspaper, string, glue, and spirit. It’s always both exciting and death-defying to travel anywhere in Kyrgyzstan, as the drivers push these cars beyond there limits as they hurtle down one and a half lane roads, narrowly avoiding pedestrians, cows, and horses. My latest move has been to take Marshutkas whenever possible. The Marshutka is a mini-bus ranging in size, shape, and color from a small, low-roofed six-seater (equipped with wooden stools for extra passengers) to a large white vehicle with handlebars on the ceiling so people can stand comfortably.(These are excerpted from longer letters on life in Kyrgyzstan that went in the town newspaper, and all due credit goes to her. I'd be happy to send you some of the other newspaper articles, if you want to know more--email's in the profile.)
I guess comfortable isn’t the best word to associate with a Marshutka, as there is no limit on the number of people you can squash inside, but I have discovered that I much prefer this to the crazed speed and attitude of taxi drivers. Also, the people who ride in taxis are the wealthier citizens, who feel they have a right to annoy us foreigners. I’ve never been harassed in a Marshutka. The mini-buses are always full of ancient white-bearded men in tall felt hats, wrinkled old women in scarves, and women with babies. The boys and girls give up their seats to elders, and everyone is amiable and patient as the bus ambles a long, stopping ever ten minutes for someone to get on or off. It takes longer, but I always feel safer and more at one with the culture when I’m squished in the back of one of these buses. The only problem that could possibly arise is an awkwardly placed pile of beans.
posted by Burhanistan at 10:30 PM on March 29, 2007