From: Matthew Weber
To: Friends and Family
Subject: STORY #6
Date: Sunday, January 06, 2002 10:06 AM

Dear folks-

OK here's a quick one.

This weeks subject is driving.

Perhaps I've mentioned the harrowing nature of riding in cars here, if not I will address this now. All roads are two lane roads at best. I say "at best" because you will be hard pressed to find divider lines. All passing is done in the face of oncoming traffic and, for extra dramatic effect, in the face of oncoming traffic that is also attempting to pass in the face of oncoming traffic (AKA You).

If you have ever heard tell about the secular cynical faithlessness of the west and the salt of the earth closeness to God of those in lesser developed countries you need only to ride in a Russian Lada at twilight going 110 kilometers an hour on crap roads while trying to pass a bus in the face of two sets of oncoming headlights to understand how a basic reliance in higher powers is, in part, instilled.

"Seatbelt?" you ask, hand reaching over your shoulder; ahhh no, my wussy western friend. While it is true that a seatbelt law has been passed in Azerbaijan for the sake of you and your yeller blooded brethren, the law mandates only the appearance of the existence of seatbelts where hither to no such appearance had been mandated. The nuance easily missed is that while a handsome strap of nylon now hangs by the door in most any local car, the presence of any sort of buckle to attach that strap to or for that matter any sort of accompanying lap apparatus at all, well, "have some faith" I think, knuckles white. And while draping this sash across your chest may still be psychologically comforting, do not fail to note the certain consternation of your driver who will view your actions (quite correctly) as a clear demonstration of a lack of faith.

Driving rules for first time drivers in Azerbaijan.

The first thing to do is to STOP! With seatbelts that provide all of the security of a lifeguard from Baywatch it is important to pause and reflect on what you are getting yourself into. In an urban setting 80% of the roads are one way and since you are a foreigner that means that there is an 80% chance you are going in the wrong direction. Check to see that you have less than a block to go and proceed. NOTE: if you are driving in reverse, if you are a bus (or if you're following a bus very closely) this rule does not apply.

Potholes, there are many potholes. I will write that again. There are many potholes. Potholes are not to be confused with open manholes which are of equal danger but more uniformly circular. If there is a bag of grain or a pile of sticks in front of a manhole then it is most often, though not always, because someone is in the manhole. Why this is done I am not certain but I can only speculate that it is most likely an upstanding citizen poking around in the sewer for the spare manhole covers which have been systematically misplaced all over the countryside. One cannot help but admire such courageous patriotism as the car you are driving in jerks violently to avoid the fur hat warming the questionable pate that just popped up from the manhole in the middle of a busy street leaving you to claw desperately for the attractive ribbon of nylon by the door.

Now you might read that and begin to apply the adjective "backwards. . ." to this whole country but we can learn much from this culture on this very point. Contemporary urban planners lavish praise on the "speedbump" for slowing hurried drivers down in pedestrian areas. But never have you seen a car slow so quickly as when faced with the "speed-hole" furthermore the type of awareness that is required of a driver when faced with these myriad hazards creates an alertness that would be the envy of every western traffic cop.

In addition to these positive aspects the cumulative effect of these hazards also shapes the unique mindset of Azeri drivers. A good driver in Ganca is not only adept at all manner of split second violently course altering maneuvers, but is also a nonchalant story-teller of the highest order on the subject of the human condition. A good driver in Ganca pulls you in to experience the potential horrors and tragedies of life, and then a split-second later demonstrates the redemptive, thankful component of that difficult truth (complete with accompanying adrenaline rush) which is that although you won't always be, you are for now, free from life's potential horrors and tragedies.

I put it to you that a good driver in Ganca is a sort of artist. They show you the potential for death at every turn, demonstrate to the nervous imagination all conceivable gory sorts of mutilations involving people of all ages, hazards of all kinds, chickens, livestock, sheep, goats, fire, downed powerlines, baby carriages and babooshkas and then prove with consistency that your fellow drivers see you. And not only that other drivers see you, but that they will alter their path just for you and you for them. A good driver proves to you time and again that the child darting in front of the traffic will not be hit by the truck; that the 80 year old popping his head up from the manhole to argue with someone across the street will live to search for the missing manhole covers another day; that cars pointed in the right direction, but driving in reverse down a one way road will get to where they are going, that livestock will be avoided and that Schopenhauer was right in his essay The Foundation of Morality when he said that the separateness of people is only an affect of the temporal forms of time and space and that the true reality is in a thinly veiled togetherness of living things.

The roads in Ganca do not have the strict jay-walking laws of America, or the omni-presence of cross walks or stop-signs, divider lines or road signs. On steep mountain roads there is a near total lack of retaining walls and people will often drive backwards downhill because "it's safer when there is snow". I was in a car full of people from work last week being driven to a meeting when the car in front of us stopped abruptly. Our driver slowed only slightly and drifted the car into the lane reserved for oncoming traffic. Oncoming traffic didn't honk or break but drove around on our left side until we merged again with other cars driving in our direction. I tell this to illustrate that there are dangers here. There is reason to be nervous when driving. But the nervousness that you feel is because in America driving occurs for the most part quite independently of other drivers, while Azeri driving involves the full participation of every human, animal, vegetable or mineral object on the road, in the road, or on the sidewalk. For this reason …when things don't go wrong, when you are at the end, the only nervous jittery nylon-sash-wearing American in the car, it instills a small amount of appreciation for Schopenhauer and a small feeling of togetherness even in a land where you can't speak the language.

My name is Matt. I live in Azerbaijan as the director of a project that creates businesses for refugees in Azerbaijan. Working with communities to decide their needs, developing a business, helping with marketing and distribution. . .that's the basics. Your tax dollars pay for me. What you don't know is that my life is a wacky wacky thing and those moments that I am not acting as an appropriately professional ambassador of American yaddah yaddah I am, well, I am and the rest is. For a small number of small reasons I am grateful about the whole thing.