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True Confessions of a Taxi Driver, Asia style
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True Confessions of a Taxi Driver, Asia style Taxi! Taxi!! The humble taxi driver. In most countries in the West, the term “taxi driver” conjures images of new immigrants with little grasp of the English language and even less idea of where he’s going. In Asia, however, taxi drivers are multi skilled. Almost all are far-fetched storytellers, others are therapists, some are pimps and drug dealers, and however very little are any good at what they’re meant to be doing... getting you from point A to point B. My introduction to taxi drivers in Asia occurred during my inaugural trip to Manila. After settling into my 9-month stint in this new country, I quickly established a routine of catching a taxi to and from work everyday. The hotel I called home for the duration of my stay employed black taxis, which, for a semi modest fee would get you to your required destination with little trouble. However, just outside the hotel were “other” taxis, these taxis came in different colours, makes and models. And even with a dodgy meter, these taxis would get you to your destination (sort of), for a fraction of the price of the black cabs. Being the fun seeker that I was, I decided to take the colour cabs. It didn’t take me long (perhaps my third cab ride) to figure these coloured taxi drivers offered more than just a ride. Each journey came with its own form of entertainment; some more entertaining than others. During one of my earliest trips I met Sam (I still remember his name for some reason), the journey started pleasantly enough, a bit a small talk; Where are you from? New Zealand. (with the usual small exchange about how nice NZ is) How long are you in town for? A few months. (doing what etc…) Are you married, ? Yes married, no … Is your wife with you? No, she’s back in NZ and may visit later… Just like that, the pleasantries ended abruptly, Sam asked if I wanted to see the local nightlife. I was still feeling disoriented and didn’t quite get his meaning. My friendly neighbourhood cab driver transformed into Sam the Ho’ Mutha’ f**king . Sam began with offering me exotic and alluring local women. I politely turned him down, reminding him I was married, to which Sam replied, “I know you’re married, but she’s not here is she?”. Sam sensed I obviously wasn’t into women and changed tact, offering . Making it plainly obvious I had taken offence at the suggestion of being lumped in with other pedophile visitors, Sam must have figured he had my number. A boy, did I want to meet a boy… Lucky for Sam, we had arrived at my destination. I paid my fare and bid Sam good riddance… or so I thought. Later that night, in the middle of the night, I was awoken by a call. “Ahhh Mr. ****” came the voice over the phone. “It’s Sam…”. I was half asleep and was more than a little dazed. “Sam who?” I asked. “Sam, your taxi driver from the morning…”. I quickly recovered my wits, figuring Slimy Sam must have bribed a doorman or luggage boy for my hotel room number. My response to Sam was short yet as direct as I could be…”beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…” and the phone stayed off the hook the whole night. Other taxi ride highlights in Manila included the taxi driver who decided to stop at the side of the road to take his morning dump… with the meter still running (To this day I still do not know what he used to wipe his ass). Then there was the driver who kept falling asleep at the wheel. The poor guy had explained he’d been driving 17 hours straight!!!? Me, I was yelling at the top of my lungs each time he dozed off. The most frightening experience by far was on a weekend. Having done a morning of Mall shopping, my wife at (now ex-wife who was visiting) and I caught a cab back to our room. The traffic came to a sudden stand still, as it often does on the heavily congested roads. We were stuck behind a severely overloaded Jeepney. Suddenly the crowd in the Jeepney disbursed. Our taxi driver was not far behind them. A local felon, took it upon himself to rob the Jeepney. He jumped out of the back of the vehicle, waving a gun around, like a wild-west bank robber. The hapless crook happen to make his move outside a local police station, within minutes he was swarmed by a bunch of police officers and within minutes we were on the move again… our driver acting as if nothing had happened. Taxi drivers in China mirror their Filipino brothers, only more reckless (which before traveling to China, I didn’t think possible). You name it, drugs, women, , and boys were on the driver’s menu. But if you happened to be the non-purchasing type, then the drivers had other schemes on the go. Though never experienced personally, I became aware of the classic scam, where an industrious cab driver would pick up a luckless foreigner. A woman (a local “”, in cahoots with the cabby) would ask to share the cab. Pretty soon, the visitor would find himself driven to the local police station, where the young woman would swear out a sexual assault on the clueless passenger, with the driver as witness. More often than not, the<b> police officer </font></b>would be involved. For a modest fee, the visitor would be able to get the complaint dropped… One of the more memorable personal experiences I had in China was with an American , (The same poor guy mentioned in part 1.). This wanted to check out the local bar and nightclub scenes. Inquiring with the hotel staff we discovered where the hottest spot was. Advising the hotel Doorman of our destination, he hailed a cab, and instructed the cabby where to take us. Sitting comfortably in the cab, it didn’t take us long to arrive at our destination… or so we thought. When the cab stopped, we were somewhat bemused at the spot, it didn’t look like the bustling nightspot we were expecting. Actually, it looked more like a place where dark and seedy things materialized. Our fears were soon confirmed, out a red-lit room a hoard of women piled out, surrounding our cab, jabbering in a mutated form of English, that neither my guest nor I could comprehend. It reminded me of a scene from a zombie movie, you know, where the zombies come out of the woodwork and enveloping their victims. Being a seasoned visitor to China, it didn’t take me long to figure that these were ladies of the night and that our cabbie had taken it upon himself to show us his favourite nightspot. Korea and Vietnam had their share of stories, none as interesting as those in China and Manila. Then there was Singapore, where drivers were tamer by far, as far as the drugs and pimping were concerned. There was one interesting incident, while on my way home from work, the taxi I was in, knocks over a pedestrian crossing the road (jay walking, I might add). My driver, promptly rushes to the hit pedestrian, not to check on his health, rather scold him for being hit… |
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