On Taxies

This week in Barranquilla the Carnival is visiting, in the fair grounds beside the old stadium. Here they call it the cuidad de llero or iron city. There is an odd collection of well painted but skeptical looking rides, including a small roller coaster. Rafa and I talked about going down and walking around a little and perhaps bravely trying out some of the rides but we decided against it. I don’t know why really, the taxi ride we took this afternoon was far more dangerous.
I need you all to learn a very important Spanish phrase before we can go on: no, pronounced with a short O sound. While seemingly simple, this phrase is often difficult to clearly remember when faced with a South American Hard Sell, which is what led to our adventure this afternoon. There were three distinct moments this afternoon when Rafa or I could have saved ourselves from our ride in the cuidad de llero; the first was in response to: “I have a good taxi, the one with the lights at the end, OK?” One’s first thought is: well, at least it has lights that’s better than many, sounds good. But please don’t be fooled by the South American Hard Sell (from now on to be called the SAHS for efficiencies sake). Our second opportunity came a few short seconds later with: “It will cost you eight thousand pesos”. Again, one would logically think that a slightly more expensive taxi (this ride generally costs six or seven thousand) would be more comfortable but once again we were caught in the trap of the SAHS. And our final opportunity came only fifteen seconds later when the taxi came to a screeching hault not twenty meters from where it began and we were asked “I’ll give you the ride in seven thousand and we’ll drop off this girl by the Vivero on our way OK”. In that moment I was nearly able to bring out that oh so important saving phrase “no” but you will forgive me when you notice the lack of any comma in front of the OK or question mark after. One of the other characteristics of the tenacious SAHS is that it often does not leave you any time to refuse. So the girl got in (I was comforted by the fact that she didn’t seem to feel too happy about the arrangement either, Rafa can look pretty scary when he is pissed off) and off we went.
There seems to be a general accepted truth among drivers of public transportation in Barranquilla, that the more cars you can pass in a day the quicker you will get to the end of your shift and be able to go home. I don’t know how this fits into the more generally accepted understanding of space-time continuum but perhaps they know something we don’t. If the pass cars=pass time faster theory is in fact true then Rafa and I defiantly had the uncomfortable experience of having our time continuum sped ahead by at least fifteen minutes. Unfortunately I didn’t have my watch on so I wasn’t able to check. We passed innumerable cars and buses, almost hit a bicycle/ice cream cart so that our driver could talk to a friend riding in the back of a truck and nearly killed at least one dog. At one point I noticed the driver fingering the rosary which was hanging from the rear view mirror. As a good South American Catholic I can only assume he was praying to Mary or Joseph or the Baby Jesus; for our sakes I hope it was all three as our lives were in mortal danger at least three times during the ride. After dropping off the young, and apologetic looking young woman at her house (which was near the Vivero but down a rather unhealthy asphalted side road) we started a series of nauseating detours to get back on our original rout. There was a heavy rain this afternoon in Barranquilla so the already pot filled streets we also covered with garbage, bits of trees which had been washed down the arroyos (flash floods which fill up a series of major streets during the rain) and a small dog fighting a smaller but feisty looking iguana.
After five years here the ride was more exasperating then exciting, although since it has been the inspiration for this page I guess I can’t really complain. I asked Rafa quietly in English if we should just pay the taxi driver six thousand pesos as a protest, he did get four out of the young, apologetic looking woman after all, but Rafa assured me that that would be worse so I grit my teeth and prepared to watch him shell out the money. However Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus must have been paying attention to my silent and I am afraid less than charitable prayers and after being handed a ten thousand peso bill the taxi driver said nine small magical words; “do you have a one to give you four?” He had been struck down by a defender of the rights of those afflicted with the effects of the South American Hard Sell; the lack of appropriate change. And when I was asked “do you have a one to give you four” I was ready with that so important defensive phrase – no! In order to clear my conscious I must admit between us that I did have a thousand peso bill in my purse but I was determined that my protest against the taxi drivers lack of concern over my personal safety and the general well being of the city would be heard! No! Rafa found seven hundred pesos in his pocket and we were given the four thousand in change. I can tell you that a savings of three hundred pesos (the equivalent of about fifteen cents) never felt so justified. I had, in a small way, triumphed over the dreaded SAHS.