First, let me start by saying that I’m happy to be alive.
We are a family of five, and though we favor our own ten feet, occasionally we need to traverse greater distances. So, we pile into a taxi—no, really, we pile in. The compact sedans of central Asia do not offer over much hip room. Having the widest hips in my family (not super wide, just wider than my wife and kids) puts me in the front seat the majority of the time.
It also lets me practice saying “Hello” and “thank you” in one or more local languages—and giving lots of thumbs-ups when that fails.
The view is good from up here, but the windshield is ever so close. Ever so close.
It seems to me that Central Asia has a seatbelt problem. That is to say that there appears to be a phobia centered around the life-saving devices. I accept that most taxi drivers don’t seem to care whether or not their passengers buckle in, but in multiple Asian countries, I have been laughed at and even scolded for trying to put on my seatbelt—and that is when they work at all.
So here I am, in the front seat, chatting with my handful of words and plentiful thumbs-ups. And I’m so glad to be alive.