I approach the bustling aftovosal (bus station) squinty-eyed from the bright sunshine reflecting from the numerous parked cars. I look to my left at my trusty Bishkek taxi driver who smirks and then promptly swings his door open. He knows what is coming. Before I can even get out of the taxi, drivers approach me from all sides. "Taxi, taxi!!!" "Kochkor? Kochkor???" "Cholpon-Ata?!" It's hard to keep a straight face and not look like a surprised tourist... especially with a backpacker's backpack that makes me stick out like a soar thumb. It's overwhelming yet ultimately the typical scene at the aftovosal. The drivers are running around trying to snag riders to fill up their cars so that they can just hit the road already.
They begin to get more aggressive and start grabbing for my pack. I look at the group and simply say "No, Barskoon. I'm going to Barskoon.. Near Karakol. Are any of you going there?" That cleared at least half of them out of the mob. One driver said "Okay" and grabbed my bag and led me to his car. We arrived at his empty car, which right away sent the signal that I could be waiting for a while for other riders. After an hour of waiting and getting moved around 3 times, I finally ended up with a driver who lived in Barskoon. Thank goodness.
I ride off with Jemir Baike, who is telling me that we are picking up the others just outside of town. We arrive at a "neighborhood" on the outskirts of town and pull up to a small concrete house. A very young mother and her 3 children are waiting for us. She explains that they are going to Barskoon to "have a rest" near the lake and will stay with her sister. After Jemir breaks down a bike and some ride-able children's toys, we hit the road for our nearly 5 hour journey. The Eje explains to me how her husband works with volunteers in Bishkek she wishes that a volunteer would live with them because she would like to learn some English. Jemir chimes in and says he has known past volunteers in Barskoon, asking me if I knew the volunteers from 5 and even 10 years ago. Not wanting to disappoint him, I tell him no, that I was only a young teenager when some of them were serving.
Jemir tells me all about his 3 children, all of whom live in Bishkek and either attend university or live and work in the city. He tells me that he comes to Bishkek as often as he can to visit his children. He also tells me that he loves my name- "Amanda. Amaaaaaandaaaaaa. Beautiful name", he says in Kyrgyz. Every chance he gets, he uses my name for the remainder of the taxi ride.
We attempt an ongoing conversation for as long as my Kyrgyz conversational skills would allow before Jemir turns up the music and one of the boys in the backseat sings along with the Kyrgyz song on the radio. After several stops and several miles of travel, Jemir asks me if I'd like to stop for a swim. Thinking he's joking, I laugh at him, only to find that he is indeed serious. In my mind, we were on a schedule- I mean it should only take about 4.5 hours to get to Barskoon, right? Pushing my American "tight schedule" mindset out, I tell him I'd stop but I probably wouldn't get in. The Eje in the backseat wouldn't have it, though, so onward to Barskoon we went.
After arriving in Barskoon, I realized I'd made some new friends on my journey. We all exchanged phone numbers and hugs as we were dropped off. The avenues in which we can meet new people and hear their stories are endless... if we're open to the journey. Here's to many more taxi rides and new friends to come!
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