I love taxi drivers.
This occasionally causes some dispute in my household, where my bride loves nothing better than solving the public transportation puzzle. I have no objection to public transport and happily use it when convenient. However, Heidi and I may have different definitions of convenient.
For instance, there was the time we arrived in Hong Kong with 13- and 10-year-old children in tow. We weren’t supposed to be in Hong Kong; we were supposed to be in Shanghai, but a typhoon had blown our journey off course, so we arrived with no pre-arranged place to stay.
After more than 24 hours of travel, one child had already melted into a puddle of tears, a situation remedied by some fries and a Sprite, but we were operating on deeply borrowed time. We arranged a hotel, then Heidi began solving the public transit puzzle to get there. She described to me the two separate trains and one bus required, and turned to decipher the machine for buying the first set of tickets.
At just that moment, our hero entered: Jackie Wan, Taxi Driver. He quoted a price barely more than four sets of tickets across the two trains and a bus. His energy carried our family that last hour to the YMCA on Hong Kong Island, talking away as we sat, exhausted and numb. He was funny, and must have said ten times, “I welcome you to take my taxi any time you’re in Hong Kong.”
How can you not love a taxi driver? In fairness, I’ve had many more ordinary rides than exceptional ones, nondescript, just the business of the destination and fare exchanged with the driver.
Still, there was the guy in Kashgar, way out in Western China, who offered us local fruit and insights into the situation between the Uighurs and the Chinese.
Or the driver in Lisbon who pointed out a great local restaurant just a 90-second walk from the apartment we had rented. (It turned out the restaurant was closed for a private wedding party that night, but as Americans we had arrived so early for dinner that they decided to serve us anyway. We had the place to ourselves, excellent food and service, and they had us out and all trace of our visit erased well before the private party!)
Just a couple weeks ago, I wrote about Richard, our driver who took us to the airport in Bangkok, and along the way shared about his wife’s illness and passing. Wow.
I include Uber drivers (or Grab in Asia) as well. We had an interesting young woman entrepreneur of Indian descent in Singapore who worked in her family company, was starting her own company as well, and drove Grab four hours a day. Under Singapore’s intricate rules that limit the number of cars on the island (and therefore traffic), the easiest and cheapest way for her to have a car was a long-term rental, which she afforded with her four daily hours of driving others to their destinations.
Heidi and I hired an Uber driver outside Seattle when our Amtrak train died. He was a recent immigrant supporting his family and paying for his education by helping us get to the airport on time.
My favorite driver is probably the guy who drove us the night we arrived in Beirut. As Americans who grew up in our generation, we were modestly anxious about arriving in Lebanon. The immigration officer wanted an address where we were staying at our Airbnb, but all we had from our host was a vague description, “It’s near Rafic Hariri’s (previous Prime Minister) former home and next to a restaurant. Everyone knows where that is.”
The immigration officer seemed skeptical. He said it was not enough; we had to have a street address. I showed him the info on my phone, and said it was all I had. I expected we’d be loaded on the next flight back to Istanbul. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he copied our host’s description, word for word, onto our immigration form and stamped our passports. We were in.
In, but anxious. At the front curb of the airport our anxiety rose as “informal” taxis pressed their services on us. We found a marked taxi, much to the dismay of the unmarked ones, and began working our way toward some restaurant near Rafic Hariri’s former home.
We drove back and forth around a Y-intersection, confused. The driver looked over at me and said, “Don’t’ worry. I’ll take care of you.” He meant it, and his statement calmed me. After a few more minutes we figured it out, and the driver never left us until we were safely inside.
Years later I remember and am still grateful.
Convenience, entertainment, fruit, context, restaurant recommendations, safety – taxi drivers can provide it, and I’m grateful for it all.