“Hello! HOW CAN I HELP YOU?”
“I SAY TO YOU - HOW CAN I HELP YOU??”
Pretty much anything written by a travel journalist about Central Asia will, at some point or another, wax lyrical about the friendliness and hospitality of the people here.
This offer of help, however, was particularly interesting. It was made by a rather portly, Turkic looking chap in his early thirties with black hair, hanging out of the passenger of a big Chevrolet 4x4, driving at 60 mph in the outside lane of a very bumpy Soviet-era dual carriageway road, somewhere in East Uzbekistan.
As he shouted through the wind to me I was riding alongside, weight forward in the seat, arms slightly bent, concentrating intensely on the road in front of me, trying to spot where the next pothole might come from, ready to jump up on the footpegs to take to the shock with my legs.
I’m not gonna lie - his offer was appreciated for sure - but his timing was a bit off.
Now I’ve given a bit of thought about how I could write about the locals I’ve met since I crossed into Azerbaijan nearly three weeks ago - it’s hard to do without resorting the usual standard list of slightly pretentious sounding Lonely Planet list of gushing superlatives.
In short - this part of the world really does live up to it’s reputation. You can’t stop by the side of the road to check your gear, adjust the chain or grab a breather, without attracting a gang of inquisitive onlookers asking where you’re from, where you’re going and - when they find out you’re English - whether you support Manchester United.
First it might start out with one kid, then his elder brother might turn up and finally his mate, walking doing the road with a cow, followed by the guy selling melons from a road-side stall 100 yards away.
It seems like every other car is full of waving passengers, with the driver tooting his horn enthusiastically as they whizz by.
Almost of the people I’ve met have been outgoing, friendly and generally pretty happy - noticeably so. A handshake isn’t just a formality; it feels part of a genuine welcome. And unlike a lot of South America, you don’t feel like you're just another rich Westerner, there to be milked for cash by every Tom, Dick and Harry.
But what is interesting is that in coming to this part of the world, I was weary of the bad reputation that the police have. Everything I’d read on the internet and elsewhere warned of corrupt coppers who will threaten to arrest you for the most spurious of traffic offences and aggressively demand a three-digit bribe.
There’s certainly a lot of them - you’re in contact with almost constantly, whether it be at border points, the police checkpoints you hit every 60 miles or so, or just in the street. But never once - even when myself and a couple of lads doing the Mongol Rally had to bribe our way out of being ‘detained’ in Kazakhstan at the end of a big night out (and admittedly we were VERY drunk) - have I felt seriously threatened - despite the AK47s and mismatched camouflaged uniforms (still haven’t worked out why they wear either blue or green uniforms, when the countryside is brown!?).
In fact it’s quite the opposite - I don’t ever recall having a joke with a bobby in the UK in the same way as I’ve had with coppers here.
As for the reputation for bribery, sure it’s justified - but not in the way I expected. With the exception of the Kazakh night out situation every time I’ve been asked for money, a simple inquisitive ‘why?’ and a laugh, is enough for them to laugh back in return and to leave you alone; they know the game, and they’re just playing.
