A Drive with Aslan (Not the Lion!)
We covered a lot: walking, high blood pressure, Azerbaijan, Moldova, Ukraine, Türkiye, and (of course) the book!
“Hi, Aslan, is it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, Aslan,” I continue, connecting my seat belt, “do you think we can make it to South Ken by 3:30pm?”
Aslan looks at the time and I watch his brain as he quickly calculates the variables of distance and Sunday afternoon traffic. My brain’s doing the same thing.
“We’ll try,” he says, heading out onto York Road, lickety split.
“You have so got this,” I say.
Thus begins my Uber trip with Aslan. We head from Wandsworth Bridge in West London to Carluccio’s in South Kensington where I am meeting a friend for an early dinner before church. (I did look for a black cab to hail but none showed. Uber does come in handy sometimes.)
Now that we’re friends, I say, “I took a ten-mile walk this morning, Aslan, from Wandsworth Bridge to Tower Bridge! It was amazing!”
(I don’t think Brits speak with as many exclamation points as we Americans do. In fact, I’m certain of it. Often, here in London, I have found it quite expedient to excuse my heightened emotions with, “I’m an American. We can be pretty passionate about things.” The Brits then respond, “Oooohhh,” with sudden understanding.)
“That’s great. That’s a long way. And, it was raining…”
“It was raining. But, still so worth it.”
He shares, “My GP told me my blood pressure is high and that walking would be really good for it.”
I pause in the backseat of Aslan’s car, thinking. “I’m a nurse practitioner and I go on medical missions. I’ve been to Ukraine twice since the war started and am heading back in a couple months. The last trip, last year, we also conducted clinics in Moldova for Ukrainian refugees. When you mentioned your blood pressure, I remember thinking how striking the difference between the blood pressures I saw in Ukraine and those of the Ukrainians who were now in Moldova, no longer living in a war zone. They were largely normal in Moldova and sky-high in Ukraine. Stress can do bad things to our bodies.”
Now he pauses, and I hear a beep. His next customer announced, I guess. He says, thoughtfully, “When I go back home, my blood pressure is normal.”
“Ah, that’s interesting. I imagine living in London driving a car in all of this,” I point to the wall-to-wall people and traffic outside, “can be quite stressful.” He nods, considering, and I ask, “Where is home?”
“Azerbaijan.”
“I had an Azerbaijani patient in Ukraine. I remember him. He had seen war in more than one country. His blood pressure was very high.”
“Yes, I’m from Azerbaijan but my family is Turkish.”
“Oh! I was in Türkiye last year in the earthquake area—Iskerendun on the edge of the earthquake zone and in Antakya [Antioch of ancient times], near where the epicenter was. Antakya was awful. Eighty percent of the buildings have been destroyed or will have to be demolished.”
“Oh, no. That’s terrible.”
“Do you have any family in that area?”
“No, thankfully…”
“Good.”
He asks, “How do you get into Ukraine? Fly into Moldova?”
“Yes, coming from America, we fly into Vienna first, then we go from Vienna to the capital of Moldova, Chișinău [KEESH-no]. And then we drive over the border into Ukraine. Have you been to Moldova?”
“No, I never have.”
“You must visit. Chișinău is beautiful. People are so friendly. There was dancing in the park! The central park is beautiful.”
“I will go. I will visit Moldova and go to the park in Chișinău. I love travelling.” He smiles in the mirror.
“Me, too.”
“In Ukraine, do you go to Kyiv?” he asks.
“No, our base is in Odesa. We go to the frontline from there, to Mykoliav and Kherson, where there’s fighting. In fact, the last time, on our way to a small, isolated village near Kherson, our van was hit by a shockwave from a Russian missile landing nearby. It actually moved our van a few feet. It felt like a big vehicle had crashed into us.”
Aslan’s eyes grow big in the mirror. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Wow…”
“Have you been to Ukraine?” I ask. We cross over Battersea Bridge.
“Oh, yes, I’ve driven all over Ukraine. Before the war, it was such a beautiful country. And the people are so warm and nice.”
“I love the Ukrainian people so much. Have you been to Odesa? On the Black Sea?”
“No, I’ve never driven down there.”
“It is a beautiful city. It’s been rebuilt since WWII and…I hope it’s not destroyed again.”
He hopes with me.
“Aslan, do you know who else shares your name?”
“Well, there have been some English passengers who have told me it is the name of a lion in a book.”
“Yes! Have you read any C.S. Lewis?”
“No,” he looks a little embarrassed. “I haven’t really.”
“Oh! That’s okay! But, your name is very important, SO AUSPICIOUS! You share it with a VERY SPECIAL lion! He is…well, he’s just the whole reason in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe! And Aslan, with a name like Aslan, you MUST read this book!”
Aslan laughs and I see a big smile in the mirror. He reaches for something in the center console and hands me a sticky notepad and a pen. “Here, please write it down for me and I will read it. I promise. I’ll tell my children about it, too.”
“Oh, yes, you must promise to read it! And your kids will love it, too! You all will love the whole Narnia series, but you have to especially read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” I’m a little beside myself at this point and add, “Your name is Aslan!” I look at him in the rearview mirror. “Aslan! Your name is Aslan!”
He’s laughing again as we pull up to Carluccio’s, right on time.
I undo my seat belt and open the door, “I am so happy I met you, Aslan. Thank you.”
He puts his hand on his heart and smiles at me, “I am so happy to have met you, too.” I shut the door, wave, and head to the restaurant.
He waves back and, as he drives away, I can see that he’s still smiling.
Wow! What a great conversation! I admire how easily you can engage with a stranger so quickly and sincerely. I hope he does read the book and his children too.
Me, too, Christy. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is required reading for anyone with the name of Aslan...and for everybody else too. :)