After a happy Christmas, I woke up at about 8:30am the day after to return to my site. First, let me note that traveling is almost as much a part of Christmas for me as is opening presents. For the last I don’t really remember how many Christmases, we’ve either had visitors or we’ve had our Christmas morning at home, packed our bags and headed to the airport. So this should have been more comfortable than it was. Instead it was quite the ordeal.
I left the Frances’ house in Kurdamir at 9am with Todd walking me to where the bus would pick me up. En route, we had a nice talk about the ABLE summer camp, and how I could potentially work as the ropes/challenge course leader this coming summer, as well as helping out with site selection. The bus, which went to Shamaxi, but would deposit me in Agsu, was late. We got to Agsu in good time, and I hopped out and positioned myself on the road where a van coming from Baku heading for either Ismayilli, Sheki or Oguz would be driving. And so I waited. Every now and then a van would come by, but were always full.
Eventually (after an hour and a half) a taxi driver approached me as he attempted to fill up his taxi. I eventually agreed (to more than I should have, but he got me just at the right time of frustration), and then we drove in circles around the town circle trying to get someone else in the car. He dropped me off in Shamaxi (where the initial bus was heading, you will note), at a split in the road where I could supposedly pick up a van to Ismayilli. Again, an hour or so passed, filled vans speeding by, the driver waving me off. One car pulled over offering to drive me, but wanted 20 manat for the trip. He stuck around for awhile, obviously hoping that my desperation would make me succumb. HA! As impatient as I can be, my stubborn streak is just as powerful.
Finally, as this is the end of the story, another car pulled over and spoke a couple of us standing around waiting for cars. He told us to hop on in after we told him our destinations, shrugging off my questions about price. This put my hair on edge, of course, and I began preparing my arguments for fees. My best guess from talking to people was that it was 2 or 3 manat a seat in a taxi, so I would argue for 4-6 manat when I got to Ismayilli or throwing money at the guy and running away. When the other passenger got out, he paid 2 manat, further influencing my price evaluation. But the driver needed change for the ten the passenger gave him. Of course this bugged me, and I probably could have said I didn’t have it. People here always claim not to have change, and getting change from even a store is like pulling teeth. So maybe I shouldn’t have given him the change. But I did, 5 manat, which was right where I was expecting to be the uppermost I’d pay. Still, I worried that he’d try and charge more when we got to Ismayilli, but instead, he clasped my hand, told me that Washington was the bomb (“Vashington bomba-dur!”) and I went on my way and he on his. Maybe (quite probably) I got swindled out of a good bit of money, but I’m home again, and may have learned something from the experience.
In Ukraine, they always demanded exact change. They hated making change. I think its a vestige of the Soviet Union where they must've had a ration card for an exact amount of food or had just enough money for what they needed. I wouldn't let it irritate you since its a legacy of dastardly communist rule. I think every country has its cultural quirks like that. For instance, in Korea, you don't tip. Its awesome.
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