Long Way Round

The driver, Asylbek, has driven this route for fourteen years. He does not need to look at the passengers; he knows them by their cough. The schoolchildren get on at seven and get off at seven forty. The traders with bags get on at the bazaar. The old women get on anywhere and tell Asylbek where they want to get off, which is rarely a stop.

"A bus timetable is a suggestion. The real timetable is the people."

At the last village there is a shop, a mosque, a football field with one goal and a bench where the bus waits fifteen minutes. Asylbek drinks tea from a thermos. A boy runs out with a parcel for his aunt in town; Asylbek takes it without a word.

The view from the last stop.

On the way back the bus fills slowly. By the time we reach the centre it is full and smells of bread and diesel and someone's perfume. Asylbek turns off the engine and says, to nobody: "Another one." Then he goes home.