Any blog about life in the former Soviet Union is incomplete without a post discussing the omnipresent marshrutka, the transportation of choice in most cities of the former USSR. I wrote a little about the shared taxi system of Dushanbe in a post a few years back called Managing Marshrutkas, but now that I spend about an hour every day inside the real deal, I think it’s a subject that bears revisiting.

First of all, what is a marshrutka? A marshrutka is any kind of shared vehicle that is used for public transportation. In Kyrgyzstan, this is usually some version of a Mercedes Sprinter of various vintages. Some I’m pretty sure date back to Gorbachev while others look brand new. Smaller marshrutkas may have seats for as few as 10 or as many as 20 people, and inner city marshrutkas (the kind I take) often have up to 20 people standing in the aisles as well (this is not allowed on the inter-city marshrutkas…not that you’d want to stand for 6 hours to begin with). So we’re basically looking at a vehicle the size of a minibus.

In the city, these minibuses come every 2-15 minutes, depending on the route and the time of day, will stop anywhere on the road (except in the city center where they “only stop at bus stops”) and they drive FAST. Off-peak, there are times when I can get from my house to the center of the city in perhaps 10-15 minutes. At peak, between traffic and the number of people constantly alighting, it can take 30-40 minutes.

The routes they follow were dictated by supply and demand. See, in the Soviet era, there was a saying that “Every car is a taxi.” This adage still holds true in Almaty, Dushanbe, and many other cities (and in rural Kyrgyzstan… hold out your arm and you’ve got a ride!). In cities, enterprising drivers with vans started making routes based on the sheer economics of it, and an entire public transit system formed almost organically in most major cities. The cities came in and subsequently regulated the industry, but the practice of creating and modifying routes regularly based on need was rooted. And every ride is just 10 som (about 15 cents).

Compared to the US, these buses are more cramped and uncomfortable, and certainly the driving is frequently like a bad run around Moo Moo Farm in Mario Kart. As a young man, I’m expected to offer my seat to every woman who is older than me (which is most passengers – men usually drive their own car, but most women ride these minibuses). And most routes stop at sunset, which means a taxi is needed to get home more often than in the US (and many readers know just how much disdain I have for taxis worldwide).

But, it is impossible to not accept the fact that this is pure economics at work, and that this system has got to be one of the most efficient systems of public transportation in the world. Here, I can walk out to the curb, hold out my arm, and be downtown in 15 minutes for 15 cents. In the US, a similar distance commute would take 30-40 minutes on a bus that is only allowed to move at a crawl, and only stop at bus stops, for a fare that’s usually close to $2 depending on the city.

Now, granted, there are not many rules for these minibuses. As often as I have a seat, I also often wind up literally sitting on the dashboard because it’s so crowded. They definitely have let me hop on and off without coming to a complete stop. And there’s not anyone to sue if you crash while the driver manipulates a cell phone while handling fares at 50 kmh (only 50? I’m trying to not scare you).

But, you know what, I’ll accept some terror, discomfort, a lesson in unregulated economics, and a pair of well-defined biceps (from swinging from the bars for an hour a day) for the ability to hold out my arm anywhere in the city and get just about anywhere else quickly for just 15 cents. Step it up, America; the former USSR has you beat on this one.