Getting Around in the City

       Last week's topic was walking in the city, and for the first few days, that was enough. In a city of 900,000, however, walking won't take you too far. To really get around within Bishkek, there are four options: an own car, bus, taxi, or marshrutka. As I have neither means nor need for a car, the first option is out. Buses seem to be unreliable, and run only certain routes; for the large part, then, also out. Taxis are plentiful but expensive, ranging from 100 som (for a few block's trip) to 300 som (to drive across the city). Although that only comes to 2 - 6 CAD, 300 som will buy you supper for a week if you're not too picky, so it's still quite pricey, especially when compared to the final option: marshrutki. 

A marshrutka driving along Sovietskaya. Anyone
wishing to get on needs only to hold out their arm.
Photo credit: Robert Henschel

       The term маршрутка (English: marshrutka; German: Marschrutka) comes from the German word Marschroute (lit. "marching route"), which can translate simply to "route" or, in military terms, "line of approach" (dict.leo.org). Name aside, no one marches. In fact, it's actually quite comfortable: a modified minivan with a dozen or so plushy, high-backed seats. The roof is high enough for passengers up to 6' to travel comfortably standing up, and, as you often do end up standing, that's important. The question of why anyone would be willing to lurch across the city in stop-and-go traffic while standing up is simply answered: money. The fare is virtually unbeatable: for a fixed rate of 10 som (or, between 9 pm and midnight, 12 som) you can get from one end of the city to the other in about 30 minutes. That's 20 cents a ride! By comparison, a cross-city tour in a taxi will cost 30 times that, at 300 som ($6) and take maybe 5 minutes less. The routes the marshrutki take are indicated by signs in the window, listing landmarks the marshrutka will pass by. I, for example, live near the Vefa Centre, a mall on the intersection of Soviestkaya and Gorki. As a result, when I'm trying to get home, I stand along the roadside and wait for a marshrutka with the letters ВЕФА (VEFA) in the window to pass by. As it pulls alongside, I hold out my arm to indicate that I would like to get on, do so when it stops and, if I have the money ready, drop it in the driver's hand on my way in. If not, I sit down (or, if the seats are all full, stand as far back as possible), count out my fare and pass it to the driver by way of the people standing or sitting in front of me. If there is any change to be given, the same people will take it from the driver to pass back to me. When I want to get off, I make my way to the door and, as soon as the marshrutka stops (e.g. at a red light), I jump out and make my way to the sidewalk. As marshrutki tend to drive on the far right of the road anyways, passengers can be picked up and dropped off at almost any point along the route. This gives marshrutki a huge advantage over buses, since they are bound only to route, and not to specific stops.

A close-up of this particular marshrutka's
route. The first stop, ВЕФА (VEFA), is mine.
Photo credit: Robert Henschel

       I deliberately stated that the marshrutki drive on the right of the road (rather than in the right lane) as lanes simply do not exist here. On larger roads, there might be a line dividing opposing traffic, but even that is not a given. Here, there is a road that is, say, 50' wide, and you can drive wherever you want along these 50' as long as there isn't a car (driving or parked) in the way. Practically speaking, this means that what would be a four land road, 2 lanes in each direction, in Canada, will usually be just that here as well. But if someone stops along the side somewhere, whether it's a taxi or marshrutka or someone dropping Grandma off at the market, traffic will shift to get around these obstacles, often at full speed and with only inches to spare, and that four-lane road will briefly become a five-lane one. Twenty feet down the road, a bystander would again only see four lanes. Alternatively, if there is not much opposing traffic, you might, on the same four-lane road, see cars heading in one direction three abreast, trying to pass the slowpoke, while what there is of traffic heading the other direction makes do with the space of only one lane for a bit. What the laws regarding road-space actually are I don't know, but the principle behind the local driving habits is this: the road is there, and if there's no one else currently occupying a given space on it, I might as well be using it.

       One point I already touched on last week concerns marshrutki etiquette. It's also the reason I usually end up standing, in spite of all those nice, comfortably-padded seats: the (extremely strict) seating hierarchy. First come pregnant women and the elderly, then mothers with young children. As soon as they open the door, the front seats are cleared for them, and that in a completely matter-of-fact way. The unemotional, impersonal detachment of normal interpersonal relations remains, no particular eye contact is made. You simply get up and stand, and that's it. Next come the middle-aged. The women are guaranteed a seat (unless, I suppose, the local seniors home, should one exist, were to make an outing) and the men will usually get one, depending on how many younger people there are. Next in rank are young women, whose rank seems to occupy a fuzzy area between that of middle-aged men and young ones. For example, I've seen young women give up their seat to middle-aged men, but never the other way around. On the other hand, young men seem to give up their seats to young ladies and middle-aged men around 80 percent of the time, but no one ever gives up his or her seat to a young man. So I often end up standing. It's a good forearm and shoulder workout.

       While I don't mind standing in and of itself, it makes it impossible to look out the window, and so, especially if you're not familiar with the route, it's easy to miss a stop. I once, as a result of missing stops, ended up in a village (I think it was Novapavlovka) and another time at the Dordoy market, which I hadn't yet gone to since it was too far away. The market was a pleasant surprise, far fewer police than at the Osh market (I´ll cover markets some other time), but the village roads were terrible. If you think that Edmonton's roads are bad, you would have few words to describe these; even weaving around the deepest holes, the van bounced so much that I repeatedly almost bounced out of my seat. They don't believe in gravel roads here; it's either asphalt or dust, and there doesn't seem to be anyone in charge of maintaining the dirt roads. And if no one is specifically put in charge, it won´t happen. But again, that's a topic for itself. That said, the paved roads here are generally in better condition than Edmonton's, but certain side roads have holes 6 or 7 inches deep. Sure, we claim we've got those in Edmonton too, but these holes cover the entire width of the road. So there.