People Taking Care of Me

August 3, 2009, Bukhara

This picture is an example of what I was talking about in the blog about people mugging for shots. This guy (in Osh, Kyrgyrstan) saw me with a camera, picked up a bunch of grapes and put on a show. He went to several different booths in the bazaar doing the same for me.

But I wanted to talk about something else I have noticed. These people really want to take care of me. In Urumchi, for some reason my backpack had opened up--somebody could have reached inside and grabbed something. A lady called my attention to it before I could lose anything. I told you already the story about leaving my camera bag/backpack behind, and having one of the taxi drivers chase after me with it. The hotel people take particular care to know where I am going, to write out (in the local language) what I need to do so I only need to point it out to a taxi driver or somebody. But the transportation people are amazing. They want me to get where I am going safely, and take a personal interest in my successful arrival. I told you about the the Tajik lady on the Mashrutnoe who pointed out where my stop was when I first got to Khojand. She was only one of many. After that horrible traffic delay on the way to Ayni, the taxi driver knew that I was being left in a dirt poor town, with no hotels, long after dark. He stopped at a little store, and got some advice, then had to drive back, and go find a guesthouse for me, check it out, and then come out to get me, carried my bag in, and all that---instead of just dropping me at the taxi stand. The bus driver today made sure I got on the right marshrutnoe when he left me, and that he talked to the driver to tell him where I needed to go, explained to me that he had already paid for it (well, he should have paid for it, he was dropping me off 46 kilometers before we had actually gotten to Bukhara, which is where the bus was supposed to go). What's funny about it is that we have these weird negotiating sessions for the taxis, and they sometimes are not really all that friendly. But, once I get into his cab, that guy wants everything to go right for me, and makes sure I know what I am doing, and that I am safely where I am supposed to be. (Well, except for that one Russian driver who fought in Afghanistan and snuck me across the borders around the Uzbek pockets in Tajikistan. He was not a nice guy.)