I’ve had plenty of taxi fun while in Bishkek (see this old post, too), but the final ride on the morning I left really takes the cake. It’s a long one, with no photos, so grab a cup of coffee before getting started.
My morning on my last day in Bishkek. It could have been worse, I guess. I didn’t miss my flight.
I woke up at 3:45 to get ready and finish stuffing my suitcase to the brim until about 4:20. At this point, I was to head outside, drop my keys off with the nightwatchman and get in my taxi that should arrive at 4:30am.
I walked outside and was met with dark silence. I rolled my bag across the crevices in the sidewalk outside of the London School with loud thuds; a little bit of anxiety fluttered in the pit of my stomach. I walked around to the little watchman’s booth to find it empty. I headed towards the school building that had all the lights turned off to be met with a locked door. I tried the cafeteria door. I walked up to the second floor of the dorm for a quick peek or sign of life.
I walked to the front of the gated building — no taxi was outside.
Scenarios played out in my head on what I should do at this moment — and it was confusing trying to think at this truly early hour. I ran to all the different areas of the school enclosure several times before giving up and accepting that I would have to simply toss the keys back inside the gates after leaving and get a taxi out on the street.
As I headed back towards my luggage and the front gate, the night watchman exited from the school building.
Relief.
My taxi, unfortunately, didn’t arrive, so he (the night watchman) helped me get one on the street for a reasonable price. And that’s where the fun began.
- – -
He was a short Asian man with shaved graying hair, a black t-shirt, baseball cap and a pair of gray sweatpants. It was, after all, not even 5am, so this sort of uber-relaxed clothing seemed suiting. His car was a gray station-wagon with the occasional race car sticker and memorabilia.
If I had to put an age on this man, I would have initially put him in his 50s, but with the way folks age in this part of the world, he could have easily been in his 40s.
When I sat down in the front seat to the left of the man (he had an Aussie setup with steering wheel on the right) which is so common in countries outside of America, I grabbed for my seat belt to which he immediately shook his hand and told me it wasn’t necessary.
So, it wasn’t necessary because he’s a safe driver and no random accidents happen, ever, or he just doesn’t believe that seat belts save lives. Hmm… yes, the exact kind of person I want driving my taxi.
“Does it work?” I asked.
“Da, da.”
I continued to pull on the seat belt in order to get it closer to latching. Seeing that I wasn’t going to give up, he finally gave in and latched the belt for me. In hopes of not coming off like a jerk, I added that it was normal in America — a habit of sorts… only the word for habit took me about 5 repetitions with no response except for a lost expression until I finally remembered it was priveechka and not priveechna or priveekla.
Oi.
And like clockwork, the normal succession of questions began, one after another, no matter how quiet and uninterested I tried to be at first. This curious Kyrgyz man quickly found out where I was from, where I now live, how old I was, that I wasn’t married, that I didn’t have any children, and that I traveled alone.
“Who did you arrive with in Bishkek?” he asked to my surprise. I was leaving alone, so why did he not think I arrived alone. So I told him I arrived “odna” to which he was absolutely shocked.
“You’re a girl. A young girl. Not married and traveling to Bishkek alone?!”
“True. It’s normal,” I say even though he probably doesn’t get it.
This ride turned into a seriously long affair. The driver started to say things like, “I think you’re great,” “You please me,” and “I like you.” At first, I just took them as simple compliments because maybe he was happy to have a unique car ride with a foreigner. But, then, when he started to say stuff like the following, things got weird:
“So, you’re free.”
Svobodna means “free” in Russian, and I took that to mean I was free in a relationship sense. I already tried to explain that I wasn’t married but had a very important boyfriend, but I had to do it again.
“I’m not married, but I have a very (stressed) important boyfriend. It is like I am married. In the future, we will be married,” I start to explain.
“No, but you aren’t married and you are able to travel alone,” he continued.
Okay, wait, was he asking if I had free time and was able to travel… or was it just about the relationship thing? I was confused. I don’t get why it is either you’re married or you’re single in the Kyrgyz world.
“You’re free.”
“Okay, maybe…” I answered, wanting to see where he was going with this.
“When you speak Russian, I want to kiss you.”
Oh, God. That’s it. Get me out.
I pretended like I didn’t understand the word for kiss in Russian. I tried to shake it off, act uninterested and let it pass like other parts of the conversation would normally. Only, this dude was not letting it go.
“You know, like a husband and wife, a man and a woman, do to each other. Or even friends.”
In the back of my mind, all I could think of was how much longer I might be in the car with this guy, and how it was of course luck of the draw that I ended up in this taxi with a driver that wanted to kiss me this morning. To KISS me. He obviously has not read my blog.
“When I watch television, I see many great, beautiful American girls. You are an American girl – a very, very nice one – and I want to kiss you.”
“No, I don’t do that.” It came out bluntly.
“No?!”
“No, sorry. I will not.”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or just really disappointed. “You’re bad.”
Psh, well, after telling me I was so good the past 20 minutes, all it took was a simple “no” to think the opposite of me. To get my point across, I add, “I have a boyfriend. He is like my husband. We live together in Sydney and love each other. He is my life… life…. boyfriend.” I couldn’t think of the word for “partner” in Russian.
- – -
We drive in silence for a few minutes. The air is foggy and frozen. I can’t help but wonder when I’ll actually arrive at the airport as this car ride was taking bloody ages. The clock read 5:15am.
“Are you a child or a girl?” he asked.
I had no bloody idea what he meant here, but luckily he saw my confusion and went on further.
“A child has no sex. A girl has sex. Are you a girl?”
Huh? Really… did he just ask me what I think he asked me?! Uh… uh… I stuttered as I thought about what he said, and I just couldn’t answer this seemingly obtuse question.
“You know, you with your boyfriend… sex. Sex!”
Hoooollllyyy shyte. I stumbled in my shock. I couldn’t say I was a child… I just couldn’t. I told him that I was a girl — a devushka to match his words.
“Sex, there is?”
“Uh… uh… maybe, yes.” How awkward. Still I wanted to portray the fact that I was in a serious relationship whether we were officially married or not, and I did not want this man to think he had a shot at kissing me because I was TAKEN. When will I learn to just lie about my marriage status?
I felt the weight of what I said collapse on my chest. I watched my driver’s face after I uttered my acknowledgment of my sacrilegious actions. Would he be disgusted with my honesty?
“At what age did you start sex?” he asked without flinching.
“No, no. I do not want to talk about this.” Firmly, these words left my lips, but he continued to press telling me that we are foreigners and we should learn from each other. I cringed. The entire taxi ride situation was uncomfortable at this 5am hour, alone, and he now wanted to talk about my sex life.
“I do not want to talk about this,” I repeated. “It’s not right.”
“No, no, in America, girls have lots of sex, right?”
Oh my effing god. Let me out! I glanced at the clock… 5:25am, and we still weren’t there. He drove slowly, perhaps to prolong the awkwardness (?), and I prayed we would make it there eventually.
I responded vaguely, “It depends on the girl. I do not want to talk about this now.”
More time passed. The electronic clock changed numbers at a rate half of what should be normal, or so it felt. I was beginning to get nervous that I wouldn’t make check-in for the 7am flight on time. Just my luck.
“You are a good girl.” He stated, half laughing, as he grabbed my hand and tried to hold it. I kept my wrists limp in order to not give him the satisfaction of actually holding my hand until he dropped it again and I was able to retreat into my warm coat pockets.
You’re crossing all sorts of boundaries this morning, buddy.
- – -
When the blue lit sign for Manas International Airport displayed in the distance, I did a happy dance on the inside and smiled with joy on the outside. Not only was I happy to be getting out of the car with this weird, toe-stomping Kyrgyz driver, I was just happy to make it before the 6am check-in cut-off point for my flight to Istanbul. Get me out of here.
We jumped out of the car and to the trunk to pick up my overly stuffed bag. I dropped my well-used and worn som into his palm, and that’s when he mentioned the kiss yet again. I thought we had decided I wouldn’t do it. My suitcase was in hand. My bags in the other. I could run for it. He was right up in my face now. “Ok, on the cheek,” as I pressed the side of my face towards his lips — the lips that made a loud kiss noise like on a cartoon (cringe).
And then I ran for the airport entrance. Goodbye for now, Kyrgyzstan.
Awkwaaaard!!! I can’t believe he actually went there.
I felt it was very bold of him, right? ha Every other place I get into a taxi, we never talk… only in K-stan.
This is so incredibly awkward! Ew, ew ew!
Seriously, I’d definitely start lying about my marital status – and maybe purchase a ring for such occasions!
I know, I know… should have learned my lesson from before. He seemed harmless at first but then BAM he busts out what he really wanted to know.
Oh, how awful! This is awkward and wrong on so many levels!
Awk-ward! I had some similar situations in South Korea, and a military friend of mine has some hilarious stories about taxi drivers in Afghanistan showing him porn in the car, but nothing like this.
To be honest, in many areas of Central Asia, I’d just say that I was married. Having long-term boyfriends is uncommon in South Korea too, and I found it much easier to just say that my boyfriend and I were married, rather than trying to explain something that was outside their cultural norms.
I know, it was stupid to say I wasn’t married, but I wasn’t thinking it would go much further than the normal conversations I’ve had in the past. Too much time on the ride to the airport I guess!!! Just silly on my part. At least next time Pat will be with me there
Wow, how awkward!! In this instance, it seems like lying about your marital status may have indeed helped you out! Then again, I suppose he could have still been pervy anyway…
Ha, yeah I know! I always say that I will lie about my marital status, but then I never do. Just habit to say I have a boyfriend since that is what I talk about a lot with my teachers at the language school every day. It was an unthinking response.
Well told. Awkward. And inappropriate. But after living in Uzbekistan for two years and traveling to Kyrgyzstan a couple times, I’m not at all surprised to hear this scenario.
What part of Uzbekistan did you live in?
Wow do I imagine the driver looking like Borat?
Not even quite similar in looks
“To KISS me. He obviously has not read my blog.”
I laughed a lot at this line.
Awkward experience, of course, but a funny story and very well told!
Haha, I always love when my discomfort brings joy to others
Thanks for reading! 
Omg Brooke!!! That is crazy and scary too! What a weirdo but am glad he wasn’t totally off his rocker and kept going to the airport. That is scary for sure!
It’s just frustrating that all the flights tend to leave/arrive at an early hour. You’re forced to have to take a taxi or pay double for a private car from the school. Blehhh.
There was actually one part of this story that I left out (because it took me ages to write!) but there was a car with its blinkers on in our lane of the road, blocking us. We stopped, completely, and the taxi driver got out, along with drivers of cars behind us, to see what was up. A guy was sleeping in his car? Anyways, it took a good few minutes, just sitting there and I was about to go crazy! I stressed to the driver that I needed to be at the airport ASAP and we headed.
So glad you made it through that ok Brooke, you are a freakin trooper!
All I wanted was to make it to the airport, and the entire time I was saying how it was just my luck to end up in such a weird situation. ha.
So did you get his number?
Bahaha… what inquiring minds really want to know.
Haha…amazing experience…Brooke!
It was unique for sure!
For safety reasons, especially in some countries where persuing females agressively is a national sport, you should wear a wedding band during your solo travels….
What a great title!!! LOL. Sex always sells. Travel is also awkward.
it was probably not fun there and then , but it makes for a great story anyhow