Rush Hour traffic jam on the road from Bishkek to Naryn

When I commuted from New Jersey to Pennsylvania on Friday afternoons during rush hour, I often found myself trapped in the most horrific traffic jams. Sometimes I would be stuck, not moving an inch, for hours at a time. Despite the fact there was nothing to be done--all of us motorists would be equally stymied--some of my fellow drivers would still honk their horns and yell out their windows or try to sneak their way onto the shoulder, or even drive off of the road in a vain effort to somehow escape our gridlock. The inability to get where one wants to go might be one of the most frustrating feelings known to humans and it is a predicament that I am fairly sure the Gods have designed to test the character and patience of us feeble mortals.

I discovered on my trip yesterday afternoon from Bishkek to Naryn that Kyrgyz drivers must also face Rush Hour traffic jams. This is what a Kyrgyz traffic jam looks like.

I must admit a Kyrgyz traffic jam is somewhat more bucolic and quite a bit more quaint than one a motorist might encounter on Interstate 80 near Parsippany.  Sadly, I was disillusioned to discover that the typical Kyrgyz motorist exhibits the same unbridled rage as the most stressed-out Jersey hedge-fund commuter, as the driver of the car coming toward us was frantically honking his horn, shouting out his window, and shaking his fists in anger at the shepherd who was responsible for this delay. The Gods must be extremely bored, by now, of their tests of motorists, because it takes so very little to unmask our weak, impatient character.

The good thing about Kyrgyz traffic jams is that they end not long after they begin, because sheep are like the Gods in that they too become quickly bored with the predictable nature of humans and soon find their way off the road where they might find a bit of grass to eat. However, this time of year when livestock is quickly being herded off the mountain pastures, down to the valleys, away from the oncoming snows, it's only a matter of time before the next Kyrgyz traffic jam is formed. Sure enough, 20 minutes later another herd of sheep surrounded our vehicle causing me to pause to consider our fate as creatures not allowed to move ahead at the pace we desire, unable to progress according to our will. But soon this second traffic jam also disappeared and it struck me as being a reminder that those impediments that slow our personal journeys are much like sheep in that, most times, impediments can be waited out and endured if we can somehow gather the patience to realize they also usually wander back from where they came.

Traffic jam #2