A camel gave birth to twins and started WWII??
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Sovhoz 22, Uzbekistan
Transportation Circus
Upon my return to Uzbekistan, some things reminded me almost immediately
of why I had needed a break from this place. Exiting the airport,
me and a couple of other volunteers who happened to be arriving
back from vacations at the same time were at once surrounded by
hordes of taxi drivers yelling in our faces, "TAXI! TAXI!
NEED A TAXI? TAXI! TAXI! NEED A TAXI?" These drivers are
always cigarette-smoking men wearing round, Russian fur hats (drivers
probably make the most money in Uzbekistan), bad teeth and stubbly
faces. They wait in packs outside the airports and train stations
preying on anyone who has just come off the plane or train, especially
the rich-looking Americans toting huge, rich-looking American
suitcases. They grabbed our arms, tried to take our bags and shouted
at us all at once. We shoved by them as usual and claimed back
the personal space we Americans value so much. We negotiated until
we found our desired price-1,500 soum, or $1.50-and were on our
way.
One thing I did not miss about Uzbekistan was the Transportation
Circus. It's especially fun when you have just come from America
with big suitcases and when you have a fairly long journey ahead
of you. Leaving the airport was only the first step in the long
trip home to my village. From the airport, I went to the Peace
Corps office. As it was about 9:30 p.m. and too late to continue
my journey that night, I dropped my bags off at the office and
spent the night at a nearby hotel. The next day I slept in and
spent most of the day, using free internet in the office's volunteer
lounge. That evening I loaded my heavy American luggage into a
train compartment and laid down to sleep through most of the 12-hour,
overnight trip to Bukhara. I arrived at the Bukhara train station,
which is actually located in a town outside of Bukhara because
the government didn't want train tracks running through a historic
city, and from there I had to get to my village. Usually, I would
take one marshrutka into the edge of the city for 300 soum and
a second marshrutka out of the city in a different direction to
my village for another 200 soum. But because I had big suitcases,
I had the fortunate pleasure of dealing with another mob of taxi
drivers.
My village is located about 2 ½ kilometers away from the
main Tashkent-Bukhara road. Only the taxis that run between the
village and the nearest town, Gala Assiya, will drive all the
way into the village. Otherwise, most drivers, uncertain if they
will have a return fare and not wanting to waste their gas, will
stop only at the main road, leaving their passengers to walk the
2 ½ kilometers into the village. This is usually fine with
me if the weather is nice and if I'm not on my way back from America
with a heavy suitcase in tow. But this was not the case.
My goal was to find a driver who would take me all the way into
my village and to my house for no more than 4,000 soum, which
I knew was a bit cheap but not unreasonable. I started the bargaining
at 3,000, which I said truthfully was how much I paid to get to
the train station from my home on my way out a few weeks earlier.
What I didn't say was that I arranged that initial ride with one
of the village's drivers, who doesn't usually make trips that
cost more than 150 soum and wouldn't ever make this much money
in one half hour.
After some hassle, I settled with a driver who said he would
take two other volunteers to Bukhara for 1,000 and then continue
on to my village for 3,000. A very good deal, so I double checked.
Yes, he knew Sovhoz 22. Yes, the one near Gala Assiya. Yes, he
would go into the village. Yes, he would take me to my house.
For 3,000 soum. I triple checked, because I was familiar with
the tricks of the taxi driver. Again, he reassured me, and we
set off.
Once in the car, we were given the same interview we get any
time we travel by any means anywhere. We answered almost robotically
the same questions we have heard a million times before: Where
are you from? Do you speak Uzbek (even though, until this point,
our negotiations have been entirely in Uzbek)? Do you speak Russian?
Why are you in Uzbekistan? Isn't there work in America? How much
money do you make? Is America better or is Uzbekistan better?
America is better, isn't it? How old are you? Are you married?
And if we choose to avoid the marriage conversation and simply
answer 'yes,' the next questions are always: What does your husband
do? How many kids you have?
The expected taxi driver tricks were soon to come. When we got
to the my friend's apartment in the city, the driver claimed he
intended to drop them off at the edge of the city and continue
on his way, instead of coming well into the city and then driving
out again. We all knew, however, that a trip to the edge of the
city was not worth less than 1,000 soum. He wanted more, of course.
We didn't give it to him, of course.
A bit peeved, the driver accepted the agreed upon fare, and we
drove out of the city. About five minutes later, somewhere between
the city and my village, the driver said, with (staged?) surprise,
"Oh, the 22nd Sovhoz? I thought you said a different Sovhoz."
I knew it. And I knew what would be next- a list of reasons why
he needed more money to take me to my house: Gas is expensive.
He wouldn't find a return fare. Sovhoz 22 is really far. No one
would agree to such a cheap price for this distance. "No,"
I said, determined to let him win. "I will pay you 3,000
soum as we agreed upon three times." He tried again: He didn't
realize which Sovhoz we were going to. "You knew," I
reminded him. "I told you three times. You agreed. I will
pay you 3,000."
After some minutes, the driver gave up, but only temporarily.
When we pulled up to my house, he was quick to help me unload
my bags, hoping this would award him more money. I thanked him,
took out 3,000 soum, and tried to hand it to him. He stood in
front of me and again began to argue for more money. "Look,
I brought you all the way into the village to your house."
Which is what we agreed upon three times, I reminded him once
again. Still he refused to take my money and also refused to get
in his car and drive away. A reluctant taxi driver parked outside
of my house. Fortunately, this was not the first time, and I knew
exactly what I was going to do. I placed the money on the hood
of his car, took my bags and entered my house. He probably stood
there for awhile cursing cheap Americans with principles before
driving away. Maybe next time, he'll think twice before agreeing
on a fare three times. Ah, the Transportation Circus!
