Showing off my (lack of) language skills

After spending my first day or two in Osh catching up on some much-needed sleep and responding to emails from friends and family curious about my whereabouts, I've used my time since wandering aimlessly around the city.  Because I've chosen to walk most places, the extent of my interaction with drivers has been:

"Taxi?"

"Nyet." And then I continue walking.

Now, I think this is a remarkable display of language ability, and I'm very proud of myself.  However, where I truly shine is at restaurants.  As of the time I'm writing this, I have gone to zero restaurants with English menus or English-speaking staff.  How in tarnation do you manage that?, I can hear you say.  Well, there are a couple of different approaches:

1.  I ask the waitress whether she speaks Tajiki.  She stares at me, and then she says something in Kyrgyz.  After this initial interaction, I continue speaking in Tajiki.  I have consistently employed this technique through all my interactions with waitstaff in Kyrgyzstan.

2.  I skim the menu and look for an item I recognize.  Oftentimes, this item is lagman.  Easy!  That's what I order.  Done.

3.  Unless it isn't done.  If there isn't something that I recognize and like (I often recognize things, but—and I apologize for this—shashlik just isn't for me), or if I order it and they don't have it, I try to prompt the waitress to order for me, a target which has me performing Charades at the advanced level.  This has about a fifty percent success rate.

4.  Lastly, I order off the menu.  As mentioned above, I speak Tajiki through all of these exchanges.  As a result, I have learned that "thank you" and "egg" are the same in Kyrgyz and Tajiki.  One day, I ate four eggs over the course of the day.  And I was very thankful.

Some of you may wondering if the people who work at these restaurants think I am just some foreign fool who has come to their country ignorant and unprepared, which I think would probably be a fair stance.  However, that is not the case!  Everyone in Kyrgyzstan has displayed nothing but the greatest hospitality.  I have been greeted enthusiastically everywhere I've gone, and the waitstaff seem to think my wild arm-flapping, shrugging, and "harasho, harasho" are endearing.  On the occasion or two when I've returned to the scene of the crime, I've been remembered and welcomed.  At every restaurant, from small, dingy joints to larger establishments, everyone has been hospitable and accommodating.

Still.  I should probably learn that Russian.