Tonight, we waited for over 20 minutes for a taxi, a relatively abnormal occurrence. Usually, we can call a cab and, within three minutes, usually less, it arrives. Tonight, however, the cab company kept sending cars – we ordered a minibus to fit all six of us – and we kept recalling and recalling until we finally ended up with three cabs (one minibus, two cars) arriving at the same time from two different companies. After standing outside and half arguing, half discussing our decision, we finally took two separate cabs and headed to the colonial zone.
The cab system here is quite interesting. You never know what type of car (or driver, for that matter) will show up. We’ve had some interesting run-ins with drivers – including tossing our money into the cab and running while the driver circled our area looking for us – and some memorable experiences as well. In particular, we have a driver that we always call for airport runs named Aurelio; riding with him is one of the most pleasant taxi experiences I’ve had in this country. His voice has a sort of child’s-show-announcer-guy quality to it and, although my Spanish is rather broken and not that pleasant to listen to, he makes an effort to communicate with me and we manage to have a conversation during the entire drive to the airport. (If you’ve heard my Spanish, your jaw should be dropping because you’re so impressed.)
The most important thing to remember, though, when riding with taxi drivers in the city is this: you will most likely see them again and they will recognize you. Of the many drawbacks of being blonde and American, this one has to be one of the worst. Believe me, we see the aforementioned taxi driver (ahem, the one we ran from) regularly and walk to the other side of the street to avoid him. Thank goodness all Americans look alike from a distance, right?
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