Feature Photo: Robert S. Donovan Photo: The Alieness GiselaGiardino
Taxis: the cause of so much hand-wringing, street side bartering, frantic planning, late night shouting, anxious nail-biting, dread, fear, mystery and intruigue. Yes, taxis. As a traveler you may loathe, love, or fear them, but you probably won’t be able to avoid them.
Experiences with taxis and taxi drivers are some of the most common travel survival stories told – the taxi that took you in circles for hours around Beijing, the taxi that charged you 200 times the price, the taxi driver that told you about the past thirty years of history in Brunei, the taxi driver that took you home to dinner with his family. I’ve heard all of these stories, and more.
So with taxis being such a central travel experience, it’s understandable there’s such a wealth of travel lit surrounding them. First off, there’s taxi gourment, a definitively pro-taxi blog that simultaneously explores the lives of taxi drivers and the food and drink scape of Buenos Aires. Relying on the local knowledge and catering to the distinct personalities of taxi drivers, Layne Mosler travels round the city, using taxis and their drivers as a prism through which to understand the local culture.
On the other hand, there’s I hate taxis, a site that channels traveler’s resentment of taxis into a search for other forms of local transport. I hate taxis is inspired, allowing travelers to choose their destination and then investigate a number of transportation options from the airport to the city center (how many of us have gotten into the airport, thrilled to finally be there, only to be overwhelmed by taxi dread?). It’s not as anti-taxi as the name sounds, and is in fact a great source of info for navigating local taxi prices and policies.
These represent twin poles on the taxi spectrum – one appealing to the stress and fear surrounding taxis, the other to people’s fascination with and weakness for that gamble of personality and adventure inherent in a taxi ride.
So, readers, to kick off this weekend, I ask you to share a taxi story below. You can love ‘em, hate ‘em, or be all tied up in ambiguity about them – but I’ll bet no matter how you feel about taxis, you can trace some of your most memorable travel experiences back to them.
Community Connection
Give your opinion on Mexico’s new girly pink taxis. If you’re constantly paranoid about being ripped off, you might want to have a look at how not to get ripped off by a cabbie. On the other hand, if you’re worried about haggling to the point of exploitation, read When Does Budget Travel Become Exploitation?
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In Detroit, everyone drives, so it can be hard to get a taxi. But the last time my husband and I were home to visit, we decided to be safe and get dropped off at the bar to hang out with friends, figuring we’d just take a cab home so that we could drink without worry.
When I asked the bartender to call us a cab, I had to repeat the question. Twice. He finally understood my strange request, made the call and then informed me I could expect to wait about 45 minutes.
The cab finally arrived and off we went, my husband making small talk with the cabbie about how many fares he usually gets in Detroit (not many, the driver said, lots of time sitting around waiting). I thought the car was swerving a bit as we drove down Lake Shore into Grosse Pointe, but then thought maybe I was just swerving from the beer.
As we pulled onto my in-law’s street, lights started flashing behind us. At this point, we could see my father-in-law’s house so we tossed $20 to the cabbie and started to get out. “Get back in the car!” a cop yelled over his megaphone. He came over and shined a light in the driver’s face and it was then that we noticed his eyes were bright red. The cop said that they received calls reporting a cab driving erratically and could the cabbie please step out for a sobriety test?
We explained that we could walk the rest of the way home. When we reached the house, we looked back to see our driver, spotlight trained on him as he stood in the middle of the street, one arm extended and the other reaching to touch his nose.
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Ha! That sounds pretty much like I remember Detroit. Glad to know things haven’t changed!
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