Taxi Land

Unlike the States, taxi rides here are generally a pleasant and cheap way to get around the city. Whereas in the West, just hoping into the cab will cost you a couple of bucks within a few blocks, there’s a set fee for the city and it’s fairly cheap. That’s the upside. I take the taxi a few days a week to bust it at one of the few gyms in the city and getting there is generally an experience. All the drivers are nice...too nice sometimes, comprende? In their limited English, they use every moment to a.) ask me to marry them (even if they are married, old and have children), b.) offer me a cigarette (ah, gross?) and talk to their family on the phone. Yes, they call their relatives, offer their numbers (sometimes quite forcefully), invite me to their homes for dinner and generally are very excited to see me. They love Americans, no doubt. It’s funny that the aspect that troubles me the most is that they think I smoke because I’m from the States. Just thinking about it gives me the hives. Enough said. Whatever the case, I’m delighted that the drivers go out of their way for people here. When they stop to get a snack and drink (which they do—this a very relaxed work environment), they buy water for me too and offer to share food. Their manners are impeccable. Of course, if taxis are no where to be found, the “others” stop too. I’ve been told that I will be treated like a sister, they’ll take me wherever I need to go…yada, yada. So not going to happen. But you know what? It’s actually possible that these fellows mean just that: generally, this is really a safe place for women and children. There’s strong ethic that runs throughout the community so where I’d snicker in any other place, it’s feasibly a legitimate offer here. Still, I’ll stick to my amorous taxi drivers.