Living in Tashkent: Car Washes

In all the posts we've lived in, car washing is a serious thing.  I'm not sure if it's because cars are a mark of status, or it it's because we've always lived in dry, dusty places, or the labor is so cheap that everyone can afford to get their car washed, but going around with a dirty car is very low-class.  As an American, it's a little surprising because we don't care that much about the cleanliness of our cars.  Sometimes a really muddy, dirty car is even cool because it means that you've been out doing crazy stuff.  Not so here.  Driving a dirty car is like wearing shoes inside the house.  Both are unbearably filthy and unthinkable. 
In Egypt, everyone would pay their boabs (doormen) to wash their car on a daily basis.  The washes usually involved a semi-clean bucket of water, but it (mostly) got Egypt's all-pervading dust off of your car enough that you could see through the windshield.  We didn't have a car in Egypt, so we didn't have to worry about it.
In Baku, we could theoretically have washed our own car (and we did a few times), but we lived in a neighborhood where everyone got to watch us washing the car and it was kind of awkward.  Also, the only spigot we had was seventy-five feet away and our hose wasn't that long.  Thankfully was a car wash right outside the back gate of our neighborhood.  Every few weeks I would drop the car off, walk home, and come back a few hours later to a washed and vacuumed car.  Cost: $12.
In Dushanbe, we (regrettably) had a guy who came to the house once a week to wash the car.  He would stop by the house asking for money and/or work several times a week, so I finally convinced Brandon to hire him to wash the car - a decision that I still regret.  His outside wash was somewhat okay, but the only thing that he did to the inside of the car was wash off the floor mats so that the car smelled like stale water for the rest of the week.  And he brought 'gifts' to pre-thank us for the extra money that Brandon would give him every week.  Cost: way, way too much money.  I don't want to know, actually.
Here in Tashkent we have a yard and we have long hoses and we don't have anyone asking for 'work,' but our cars are parked in a garage.  We could wash them outside the gate, but I'm lazy and I don't want to bother with it.  And Tashkent has tons of car washes. 
The first time I got the car washed, I made Brandon come with me.  Moving to a new country always involves figuring out new systems that aren't that complicated, but are never quite like the ones in the last place you lived.  We found a likely candidate for a car wash (cars, vacuums, power washers) and drove up.  Pretty soon someone came up and asked us if we wanted the car washed.  Why yes, in fact we did.  Funny you asked.  He ushered us out of the car, took the keys, and pulled it into one of the several bays containing a power washer. 
It's always impressive to see an Uzbek wash a car because they really wash that car.  Everything - the wheels, undercarriage, top, bottom, anything that could possibly get dirty - gets sprayed clean of any speck of dirt before it gets soaped up and then rinsed off.  Then the whole thing gets dried off before any spots think about appearing.  After the outside is clean, then they take it to the vacuum.  The floor mats, seats, rugs, and seats all get vacuumed.  The windows all get washed on the inside.  The inside surfaces get cleaned.  The door frames get wiped off.  When the car it is done, it is clean.  Cost: $5
The only problem with an Uzbek car was is that it always takes at least an hour.  I usually don't have spare hours sitting around, waiting for me to take the car to be washed, so the car doesn't get washed as often as I'd like.  I'd prefer to have it washed every week (and who wouldn't when it costs so little?), but I'm doing pretty well if it gets washed once a month. 
Brandon, on the other hand, hasn't had his car washed in the entire seven months we've owned it.  The windshield wipers need badly replaced (turns out that American Fit wipers don't fit South American Fits.  Who knew?) and the windshield fluid has run out, so I can barely stand getting in Brandon's car without shuddering.  Last week I announced that I was going to go get his car washed, and Brandon positively refused.  "How would I know if someone has been tampering with my car," he reasoned, "if there isn't a protective coating of dirt to show fingerprints?"
A few weeks ago I noticed a new car wash in my neighborhood.  It wasn't just guys with power washers, it was an automatic car wash.  The kind where you pay money, drive your car through, and leave.  I decided to try it out the first chance I could.  Any car wash that took less than an hour was a good thing.
That Saturday I was out running errand and decided to try it out.  I almost lost my nerve as I drove up - did I really want to use my pathetic Russian to try and figure out a new car wash system?  What if it wasn't working? How did I pay? How much was it going to cost? - but then the attendant waved me up and I took the plunge.
I managed to figure out the price - 40,000 soum - and he managed to communicate that I needed to stay in the car and drive it through myself.  I mentally high-fived myself and pulled up.  Then he pulled out the power washer and proceeded to wash the car down before I actually drove into the car wash.  I giggled to myself - just because it's automatic doesn't mean you can't give it a little help - and then carefully drove the car in place underneath the classic roller and waited for the cycle to complete. 
As I pulled out, I saw the vacuums and realized that I hadn't signed up for just a wash  - after all, it's not a car wash without a vacuum, right? - and started figuring out how to tell them that I didn't want a vacuum.  Thankfully (and strangely) I actually know the word for vacuum and was able to let them know I didn't have time for a vacuum.  But of course I had time for the car to be dried because you can't drive away with a wet car, so I patiently waited for the car to be dried off.  As I pulled away, I checked the time: twenty minutes. 
I know that when I eventually return to the land of automation and people-less interactions, I will love being able to get my car washed in less than ten minutes by just pushing a few buttons and talking to nobody in any language, much less one that isn't my native language.  Some people consider this to be cold and isolating, but I'm okay with it after living in countries where everyone wants to help you out with everything. 
But, I will probably miss my Uzbek-clean car.  It certainly won't cost five dollars to pay someone else to do it for me, and it definitely will take more than an hour to do it on my own.  I best enjoy it while I can.