Everyone else was doing it. It didn't even look that dangerous, anyway. And it's not like I had much choice. Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow. Be a part of the gang. Do as the Romans do. I've done it twice now, even though I said I wouldn't, and hey - I'm still alive.
What is "it"? Why, it's calling a taxi Kazakh-style, better known as hitchhiking. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that EVERYBODY does it. You need to go somewhere? You stand on the side of the street and hold your arm out, much like you would to call a taxi in New York. Eventually a car will pull over. You lean over into the window, kind of like you're going to make a drug deal (or so I've seen). You tell them where you want to go and how much you want to pay. They decide whether or not it sounds like a good deal, and you're either on your way or you go back to waving down cars. Really.
My turn came once yesterday and again today. Yesterday afternoon after my time at the University, I was sent with one of the students to take a taxi back to the hotel. I followed her downstairs and outside to the street, and didn't even really notice that she was hailing a car. She briefly spoke to the man in the car, but then he pulled away. Oh my gosh, I thought, we are doing that taxi thing my airplane seatmate talked about! Yikes! Another car pulled up right away - she talked to him for a minute, he nodded, the she opened the door and motioned for me to get in. Thank God she got in right behind me, because I don't speak a lick of Russian or Kazakh. What if he got lost or something? And let me tell you, by what you would consider "normal" standards of driving it was a wild ride. There was a lot of last minute acceleration and deceleration, and I would say a lot of weaving in and out of different lanes but I suppose you would first have to be driving IN a lane to make that happen. The student next to me didn't seemed phased by any of this, including all the times we could have simply opened the window and touched the driver of the next car, so I relaxed. Hey - when in Astana, do as the Astanans. And he was kind enough to entertain us with some Kazakh techno on the radio mixed in with a little Kazakh rap. Trust me, the language doesn't really change the enjoyment factor of it. We eventually arrived at the hotel and hopped out of the car. The student paid the man and thanked him. I want to say, "Thank you, Mr. Possible Serial Killer, for not driving us to some secluded area and chopping us into bits!", but it seemed like it would be rude. And besides, I was grateful for the ride, and frankly surprised that the student paid for it. A very generous people, these Kazakhs.
My next chance was today. It was actually a very long, very tiring, and a bit frustrating day, so by the time 4:00 or thereafter rolled around I was so physically exhausted I didn't really care I how I was getting back to the hotel. My gracious host, the organ professor, explained that the students would help me get a taxi, but perhaps today I could ride by myself? Of course, I replied. And just like that, I had graduated to riding in a car with strange men by myself. My father would be so proud! Besides, the students had been more than generous today - I met up with them earlier and between the four of them they spoke enough English and a smattering of German to take me out to lunch (where they treated me, even though I strongly objected) and bring me back to the school to practice. So I was on my own, baby.
We went outside and they started doing their thing. It took a little longer today, and the first car that drove up had a couple in it who took a lot of explanations and then decided to drive off. The students were disgusted at their lack of cooperation. They went back to hailing, then I quickly motioned for the one student to get out of the street because, lo and behold, a Jetta was fiercely driving in reverse a little ways past us to back track to our position. The girls talked to the man for a bit, and I was able to recognize the name of the hotel (Oasis, but here said like oh-ah-ziz) and the name of the street it's on (Momyshuly). He nodded in agreement, and the student opened the door for me to get it. For a brief second I thought one of them was going to get in with me but alas, I was into the breach on my own. Oh well. The driver seemed clean, and the car didn't smell weird or anything, and there was no Kazakh techno or rap on the radio. Bonus. One of the students gave him some cash which I had seen her take from the organ professor earlier - a move done clandestinely for my benefit, but I saw it anyway. She explained to me pretty clearly, even though it was in Russian or Kazakh (they are so close, I can't really tell) that she had already paid him and not to worry about it. I thanked them and off we went.
Today's driver was a little more sedate. He asked me (in Russian) if I spoke Russian. I smiled and said no. He smiled back and turned his attention back to the road. He asked me in Kazakh if I was American. I smiled and said yes. He grinned and turned his attention back to the road. It was a lovely drive on a lovely afternoon. In all the rides I had taken to and from the hotel, no one actually had taken the same route as anyone else, so I told myself there was no point getting antsy about the fact that I couldn't tell exactly where we were. I had intermittent signal to the cell phone, and it would occasional pin point our location on the map so I could see that we were at least heading in the right direction. We rode in silence, and I was able to match up the street names written Cyrillic to the names on my little map, so all was cool. I might not always know what the words say or mean, but I can at least do a little matching. All those childhood games with symbols pay off! We get to a point just a little ways down the street from the hotel, and the driver pulls to the side of the road with his hazards on. Hmm, I thought. What's he doing? I realized he doesn't quite seem to know where the hotel is (no one does), so he gets out of the car and starts to signal another car so he can ask for directions. How nice, I thought. I got out of the car and motioned that the hotel was just down the street. He smiled and got back in, and we drove to our destination. When we arrived, he turned around with a huge smile on his face and said something slowly in Russian that sounded very generous and welcoming. I smiled back and said "spaceeba" - thank you, and got out of the car. What a nice Potential Serial Killer he was! And how interesting that I am coming to trust random Kazakhs more than I would trust a random American - how many of you would get into a car with a strange American man who accepted a wad of cash to take you to a place he was vaguely familiar with?
The Kazakhs are very kind, generous people - at least the ones I have met. A little more laid back when it comes to details, but patience is usually paid back with graciousness and generosity in the end. Today's adventuring is over for now. Time to order room service, turn on BBC News and study some scores - CD recording first thing in the morning...
What is "it"? Why, it's calling a taxi Kazakh-style, better known as hitchhiking. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that EVERYBODY does it. You need to go somewhere? You stand on the side of the street and hold your arm out, much like you would to call a taxi in New York. Eventually a car will pull over. You lean over into the window, kind of like you're going to make a drug deal (or so I've seen). You tell them where you want to go and how much you want to pay. They decide whether or not it sounds like a good deal, and you're either on your way or you go back to waving down cars. Really.
My turn came once yesterday and again today. Yesterday afternoon after my time at the University, I was sent with one of the students to take a taxi back to the hotel. I followed her downstairs and outside to the street, and didn't even really notice that she was hailing a car. She briefly spoke to the man in the car, but then he pulled away. Oh my gosh, I thought, we are doing that taxi thing my airplane seatmate talked about! Yikes! Another car pulled up right away - she talked to him for a minute, he nodded, the she opened the door and motioned for me to get in. Thank God she got in right behind me, because I don't speak a lick of Russian or Kazakh. What if he got lost or something? And let me tell you, by what you would consider "normal" standards of driving it was a wild ride. There was a lot of last minute acceleration and deceleration, and I would say a lot of weaving in and out of different lanes but I suppose you would first have to be driving IN a lane to make that happen. The student next to me didn't seemed phased by any of this, including all the times we could have simply opened the window and touched the driver of the next car, so I relaxed. Hey - when in Astana, do as the Astanans. And he was kind enough to entertain us with some Kazakh techno on the radio mixed in with a little Kazakh rap. Trust me, the language doesn't really change the enjoyment factor of it. We eventually arrived at the hotel and hopped out of the car. The student paid the man and thanked him. I want to say, "Thank you, Mr. Possible Serial Killer, for not driving us to some secluded area and chopping us into bits!", but it seemed like it would be rude. And besides, I was grateful for the ride, and frankly surprised that the student paid for it. A very generous people, these Kazakhs.
My next chance was today. It was actually a very long, very tiring, and a bit frustrating day, so by the time 4:00 or thereafter rolled around I was so physically exhausted I didn't really care I how I was getting back to the hotel. My gracious host, the organ professor, explained that the students would help me get a taxi, but perhaps today I could ride by myself? Of course, I replied. And just like that, I had graduated to riding in a car with strange men by myself. My father would be so proud! Besides, the students had been more than generous today - I met up with them earlier and between the four of them they spoke enough English and a smattering of German to take me out to lunch (where they treated me, even though I strongly objected) and bring me back to the school to practice. So I was on my own, baby.
We went outside and they started doing their thing. It took a little longer today, and the first car that drove up had a couple in it who took a lot of explanations and then decided to drive off. The students were disgusted at their lack of cooperation. They went back to hailing, then I quickly motioned for the one student to get out of the street because, lo and behold, a Jetta was fiercely driving in reverse a little ways past us to back track to our position. The girls talked to the man for a bit, and I was able to recognize the name of the hotel (Oasis, but here said like oh-ah-ziz) and the name of the street it's on (Momyshuly). He nodded in agreement, and the student opened the door for me to get it. For a brief second I thought one of them was going to get in with me but alas, I was into the breach on my own. Oh well. The driver seemed clean, and the car didn't smell weird or anything, and there was no Kazakh techno or rap on the radio. Bonus. One of the students gave him some cash which I had seen her take from the organ professor earlier - a move done clandestinely for my benefit, but I saw it anyway. She explained to me pretty clearly, even though it was in Russian or Kazakh (they are so close, I can't really tell) that she had already paid him and not to worry about it. I thanked them and off we went.
Today's driver was a little more sedate. He asked me (in Russian) if I spoke Russian. I smiled and said no. He smiled back and turned his attention back to the road. He asked me in Kazakh if I was American. I smiled and said yes. He grinned and turned his attention back to the road. It was a lovely drive on a lovely afternoon. In all the rides I had taken to and from the hotel, no one actually had taken the same route as anyone else, so I told myself there was no point getting antsy about the fact that I couldn't tell exactly where we were. I had intermittent signal to the cell phone, and it would occasional pin point our location on the map so I could see that we were at least heading in the right direction. We rode in silence, and I was able to match up the street names written Cyrillic to the names on my little map, so all was cool. I might not always know what the words say or mean, but I can at least do a little matching. All those childhood games with symbols pay off! We get to a point just a little ways down the street from the hotel, and the driver pulls to the side of the road with his hazards on. Hmm, I thought. What's he doing? I realized he doesn't quite seem to know where the hotel is (no one does), so he gets out of the car and starts to signal another car so he can ask for directions. How nice, I thought. I got out of the car and motioned that the hotel was just down the street. He smiled and got back in, and we drove to our destination. When we arrived, he turned around with a huge smile on his face and said something slowly in Russian that sounded very generous and welcoming. I smiled back and said "spaceeba" - thank you, and got out of the car. What a nice Potential Serial Killer he was! And how interesting that I am coming to trust random Kazakhs more than I would trust a random American - how many of you would get into a car with a strange American man who accepted a wad of cash to take you to a place he was vaguely familiar with?
The Kazakhs are very kind, generous people - at least the ones I have met. A little more laid back when it comes to details, but patience is usually paid back with graciousness and generosity in the end. Today's adventuring is over for now. Time to order room service, turn on BBC News and study some scores - CD recording first thing in the morning...
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