Gazel-kis, Observed

Like any seasoned khaki-clad traveller, I know that the best description of a new place should be given in motion. Voronezh, being a smaller city of about one million, does not posess the grand peoples' metro, like Moscow or Budapest, and the fossilized remains of its street car system are quickly being swept into the dustbin of Soviet history. The latest and greatest invention to come to town, the Gazelii (Gazelles)a quick and nimble cousin of the marshrutkas, well-known to other visitors of the former CIS states. For those who have yet to make it to the Heartland of the World Island, think of a 15 passenger van, painted school bus yellow, with a lower, meaner prow, resembling the head of a charging ram.

When riding a Gazel, I would recommend the priveleged front seat, next to the driver. First off, facing forward with a view a good view of the windshield is the best way to combat the montion sickness that in the USofA, is usually reserved for amusement park rides. If riding in the back, I recommend an active imagination, to distract from the nausea of the ride. You can pose as Atlas, while standing like a crampt caryatid, supporting the vast weight of the van's roof, or sit, draw the curtains, and play the role of an unfortunate German submariner, with each pothole playing the role of a British depth charge. Sitting in the front, however, provides a more convincing charade of one's imminent demise, as you get to watch as the driver plays chicken with a two-and-a-half ton Soviet Army truck, whose brakes were last serviced when Chernenko was General Secretary.

Yet the true joy of being a co-pilot derives from being a silent spectator, and infrequent participant in the ancient art of Distracted Driving. Gazeli Vodeteli, the drivers that with my neologistic authority I henceforth deem Gazelkis, not only guide their nimble vehicles in and out of traffic, but also act as cashiers, exchanging 10R and 50R notes for the approriate change in coin and kopoeeks. This process is more complicated than it migh sound as it asks the driver to not only keep one hand flying from stick shift to the general vancinity behind the head rest, but also to mentally caluclate the proper change for multiple customers, handed forward collectively, while only resorting to verbal communication with the passagenrs as a means of last resort. Communication, usually in the form of a fluent cursing and expressive gestues, is reserved for chastising other drivers and allerting them to apparant blind-spots in their vision. All of this action occurs under the watchful of Boga Rodina, the Mother of God, swaying gently from the rear view mirror.

Still in my limited experience, I have discerned that not all gazelki are made alike. I have found that the drivers of 77 and 77a have the leathered hands, the look of grim determination reserved for heavy traffic and combat vetrans, and the impressive vulgar vocabulary to navigate the cataracts between the city center and the surrounding suburbs. One driver in particular has discovered the perfect Taylorist organization of his work, he can seamlessly exchange an oversized 100R note and slip past a city bust into oncoming traffic all at once. While the carefully balanced stack of rouble notes on the steering column and change drawer crafted from plastic beer bottles might seem percarious in their positioning at first, its superiority is revealed in teh magician like dexteriety of the gazelkis fingers, which can sort coin by blind touch, revealing in a pass its value, proper place, and year of minting.

Yet the elegant art of Distracted Driving belies the true thrill of the ride, the Chase. The best analogue is found in the natural world, where predator and prey face each other on Nature's highways, with cheetah and the titular gazelle achieve speeds approaching that of the taxis on the city's perimeter roads. As to what drives the Gazelkis of Voronezh, who their predators are, one can only speculate. But they maintain the rich splendor of the natural world. In the seeming cahos of overshot bus stops, darting moves past city buses, one sees the gazelle, leaping past a gaping hippopatomus at the waterhole, moving on to greener pastures. In other words, man finds himself acting out the cahos of the natural world, in the seemingly ordered environment of his urban home.