Tales of the Marshrutka

As promised, I now bring you two exciting tales from the Marshrutka. For those of you not in the know, Marshrutkas are my primary means of transportation while here in Moldova. Recently the price of a ride on these bad boys went from an affordable 2 lei two an appalling 3 lei. Outrageous price increase aside, they are still my favorite chariot to ride about town.

I'll briefly try to describe these faithful steeds. They are basically vans with seating typically for 11 and a space about five feet, 10 inches high and the size of a twin size bed for standing passengers. I've seen over 30 people on these things. It isn't pretty. It also doesn't smell that great. A picture is worth about 60 words. Here you are.
One last thing and I'll start in on the Tales of the Marshrutka. Some of you know how I enjoy seeing people, especially children, fall. I'm sick. I know. Well, today I hit the jackpot.

As I was walking to the orphanage I noticed two young boys, maybe 8.5 years in age, riding one bike. This had the makings for catastrophe since their collective balance was not much better than that of a toddler. As they turned down a street, a car, yes a car was slowly rolling towards them. It stopped. They did not. In fact, they were completely out of control.

Yes, they crashed into the car. It even made the car crashing noise. They hit the front right bumper and fell to the side. I had about 2 seconds of concern until they started yelling at each other. The people just stayed in the car until the boys didn't get up for close to a minute. Then they got out and assessed the situation. The boys were fine. I was even better. I got to see two kids not only bite it, but bite it because they played a losing game of chicken with a Lada (my favorite Russian car).

Now for Tales of the Marshrutka.

The Marshrutka Tale of the Potato of Providence

It was a day like any other on the 184. I was enjoying a ride home on the marshrutka, getting close to the mustached old lady next to me. How was I supposed to know that blessings from on high were just one more stop away?

The number of passengers had dwindled down to me and my lady friend. You see, the 184 begins and ends very close to the street my place is on. As it ends its journey, the 184 rolls down a large hill. When the driver stopped to let his beloved sojourners off of that crazy ride, a beautiful potato rolled from the back of the machine towards the front.

We all paused, looking at it with eyes of wonder. I reached down and picked up this magical potato. My and the mustached old lady studied the potato. It was so beautiful. I looked her in the eye and asked her if she would like the potato. She declined. Then I looked at the driver, also sporting a flavor savor. He looked right back at me, with a soup catcher under my nose. (I am thinking about how I will change the world through the power of my mustache.)
I asked if he would like the potato. He said no as well.

I placed the potato in my bag.

When I reached home, I set the potato in front of me and pondered. What would I do with this potato? I stood up, cleaned the potato and cut it up into bite-sized pieces. I then began to make a soup. I added the potato, or cartofi for my peeps in Moldova. After the proper amount of cooking, I ate the soup with the potato and it was nothing less than delicious.

The moral of this tale of the marshrutka: my life is sad.

The Marshrutka Tale of the Understanding and Sensitive Marshrutka Passenger

Marshrutka drivers are not necessarily known for their benevolence. It is understandable. They don't make a whole lot of money - that is until they started charging 3 lei - so I can sympathize with their financial stinginess.

I encountered such a man on the 180. I had just climbed the hill up to Doina Street to ride into town. It was hot. I was tired. The marshrutka approached and I used a classic jazz hand to flag him down. Once on board, I was surprised to find that I was the only passenger on board.

I handed him my money and sat behind him. Then he got cut off really badly. A guy turned into the street on our right and just stopped in front of him. There was nowhere we could go.

Needless to say, this made the driver quite angry. At this point, I must bring up the fact that my Romanian is terrible, absolutely terrible, surprisingly and shamefully terrible. I know enough to get by and I can understand it a little when it is being spoken slowly and I know the basic topic of conversation.

I have never heard a person talk so rapidly or with such pure rage. I didn't know what to do. He was yelling these things to me. There was nobody else to talk to. So I employed to simple phrases. The first was "I know" and the second was "I understand."

I simply kept repeating these two things. "I know. I know. I understand. I know." shaking my head which implied that the other driver was an idiot. After a few minutes, the car left and the marshrutka driver's rage went with it. He was still complaining, but was much calmer. I offered two last and comforting 'I know's and then something completely unexpected happened. The driver said "Thank you."

Even more unexpected was what he did next. He turned around and gave me my two lei payment. This ride was on the house. I couldn’t believe it. From then on, we were brothers.

A little later, he picked up a few more passengers, then a few more and a few more until the beast was full. But no matter how full that marshrutka got that day or any day after, it will never be as full as the brotherly love we shared on that gorgeous Moldovan afternoon.

Moral of this tale of the Marshrutka: do what you can with what you got.

This concludes Tales of the Marshrutka. God bless us, everyone.