Taxi!

We took a hotel taxi to the office one morning. We had a day off from the Army, and wanted to see the local digs. Hotel taxi was fine, essentially a scheduled fare from Mirage City to downtown. Once we got close, I could direct the cabbie as to where to stop. Fun traffic as always. Twenty Pound tip. Straight to the door.

Heading back, we were, by necessity, going to take a local taxi. These are called Black and Whites because, regardless of brand or marquee, they’re black and white. As my Arabic is somewhat limited to “yes”, “no”, and “god willing”, we instructed the office boy to hail us a cab, ensure that he knew our destination, and negotiate a fare (“fixed fee”, in consultantese).

So we head to the street in front of the building and Ahmed hails a cab. Cab #1 knows nothing of our destination, or something (I don’t speak the language), and he’s rejected for Cab #2. Cab #2 knows where the Hotel is, but won’t budge on the price, so he is rejected for Cab #3.

[Briefly aside, as Ahmed starts to work on Cab #3, Cab #2 honks loud and long to try to lure him back for another round of negotiations. Unsuccessfully.]

Cab #3, from ten feet away and entirely in a language punctuated by sounds I’ve never learned to make, *appears* to understand the question, appears to recognize the solution, and appears to agree upon the fee. Great! We’ll need all of the next hour to make it back for our next meeting with the client.

The instructions we’re simple enough, and included plenty of hand gestures. So much that I think I figured out the route. Head along the Nile to the u-turn past the blue Eiffel Bridge. Turn around and head south along the right bank to the Ring Road. Get on the Ring Road towards Heliopolis. Turn right into the hotel when the consultant tells you to turn right into the hotel. Simple. Maybe.

First off, I put Zachariah in the front seat. Zach's young and so new to this sort of adventure that he sits up straight enough to brush his head on the liner of the cab and scans the surrounds continuously. This makes me feel like a big shot with security. As well, I’m not so obligated to engage the driver but, when I do, it’s from a position of command. So I’m a doofus. Whatever.

Cab #3 heads off, and makes the u-turn in spectacular fashion, but I start to sense, after a couple of kilometers, that the cabbie is getting uncomfortable with his knowledge of the route. I'm also starting to sense that the cabbie has never traveled beyond the three or four square miles around his birthplace. Soon, I’m also starting to sense that this taxi is incapable of traveling at highway speeds safely. For one, it’s of Pharaohic design. There’s a peculiar smell to the thing. There’s a fur on the dashboard, it well could be goat. There are no working seat belts – or gauges - and, with increasing speed, the rattle in the floor turns to a full chassis shimmy.

He misses the sign to the ring road. I saw it. I think I saw the ramp, too. But he realizes too late, that the monster road we just went under was where he needed to be so he turns down a side road and stops at the first taxi he sees.

Then the Arabic starts and there’s a mess of gestures and the driver appears to gather more information and we’re off and, eventually, we find the Ring Road in the right direction. Hey hey.

Then the real adventure starts, because the full chassis shimmy turns into a gut rattling shake at highway speeds and then I know, with out any doubt, that this cab is not safe at any speed. Onward, then! Gods willing, we’ll live through this day!

A few more kilometers, and the cab begins to slow, and we approach a lone Egyptian standing by the side of the highway in the shade of a nearby billboard. "La, la, la!", I blurt, not needing another passenger, but he stops anyway to ask directions it seems. The Arabic and gesturing begins, and the driver shakes the piece of paper he had received from Ahmed at the stranger. The name of our hotel is written on it, and the stranger has no clue as to where the hotel might be.

Off we clatter, the driver becoming more animated, obviously convinced that we were now halfway down the road to Suez. He tries to pull off of the next exit, but I convince him to continue forward. I have less luck at the next exit, and he pulls off to find the nearest taxi to ask directions. He can’t find one, so we head off down a not quite parallel side street looking for someone who may know something about this god forsaken western hotel that’s obviously past Suez now and likely halfway across the Sinai Peninsula.

There’s a gas station attendant. He doesn’t know. The dude getting gas. He doesn’t know. The security guard at the materials factory. He doesn’t know.

Finally, a taximan, except he doesn’t know.

I know, but the driver not listening to me. Zack knows. I’m sure Zack knows, but Zack’s never been overseas before. He never been in a totally ratty cab before. He’s never been in a situation where all of the players didn’t speak English before. To me, this is another adventure. To Zach, I’m not so sure.

Then we approach four dudes drinking tea in the shade in some apartment development five kilometers off of the highway. They send us back the way we came and towards the Ring Road. I hear them say “Mobil”, so I’m looking for a Mobil station, which I see, but the taximan doesn’t want to believe me when I tell him to take the Ring Road away from the City. He’s pretty sure that the hotel he’s never been to is back on the road we just came from. So I let loose with the grunts and gestures and get him going in the right direction.

And the rest of the way back to the hotel was a struggle between our taximan and Zach, who has now decided that he will point the cab in the correct direction by force of will alone, plus some very powerful gestures.

At one point, we were immediately behind an overloaded gravel truck, which hits a bump and looses a volley of rocks, which impact the tattered old cab, and crack the windshield from top to bottom.

Finally, the hotel, and I double the fare, just because, hoping that he can find his way back to old Cairo.