Outside the LaGuardia airport terminal there is a line. A long line. Taxi's line up. Passengers line up. A guy who speaks very little English, like everybody else, herds you through the line as one taxi after the other rolls up. You throw your luggage in the trunk, pile in the back seat, and tell the cabbie at least twice, through the little space in the bullet-proof glass between the front and back seat, where you wish to go. Before you can say, "scat," you are off!!
Taxi's in NYC come in a variety of forms. Most are the older, wide-body versions of the Ford sedan that used to be made over at the old Ford plant in Hapeville. Some taxi's however, are the newer, smaller, SUV vehicles.
After waiting in a line of about fifty people, we finally got our taxi. It was a small SUV. The driver was from India. He was a large man, with a long, black beard, and a towel wrapped around his head.
I did not ask him if he had ever ridden or driven a camel.
He was a very talkative guy, however.
Sarah warned us not to talk to the taxi drivers. She cautioned that most of them will not answer you anyway. This guy, though, was very friendly. (As were many folks that we met in NYC - a lot more friendly people than I have met in downtown ATL).
Our driver said he was from India and that he had been in the states for many years. He said his wife and family was back in India. We talked about the long plane ride to visit them. He said that it wasn't so bad for him, because he would just get drunk during the first half of the thirteen hour flight, pass out, and then sleep for the second half. He said he always arrived in India very rested and refreshed.
That was one image I did NOT need in my head as he constantly looked back at us through the bullet-proof glass while he sped through the streets of Queens. And yet, his pattern for flying to India seemed to me to also make sense for how to survive a NYC cab ride. Get drunk during the first half, and sleep during the second.
Naaaaah.
The taxi took one of the many tunnels that go across the water to Manhattan. The tunnels are narrow, tiled, enclosures that are well-lit. Traffic goes very fast. The sound of the car engines is greatly amplified in the narrow tunnels, so that the sound is similar to riding bareback on a 767. Take your earplugs. Or, be prepared. This ain't no stroll down a rural, country road.
Taxi drivers in NYC are, evidently, noted for taking the long way around to any destination, so that the fare will be higher when you finally do arrive. This guy was no exception. I think the cab ride to Sarah's building was somewhere in the $30 range. Which, by the way, was miles better than the $100 round trip cab ride from Jersey that I had to pay back on Labor Day when I moved her up there.
No matter. I was just glad that somebody else was driving.
There was another difference in this ride through a big city in an automobile while seated next to my wife.
Debbie was quiet!!
During the entire taxi ride, not once did Debbie slam on her imaginary brakes, shout "watch out!!!", or lecture the taxi driver about how he could improve his driving. As a result, I was a little jealous of him. I thought that maybe I should grow a long, black beard, wrap a towel around my head, install bullet-proof glass in the interior of our vehicles, and suggest that Debbie ride in the back from now on whenever we go somewhere.
Probably not gonna' happen!
After about half an hour, we finally arrived at Sarah's building. After paying the fare, we piled onto the curb along with the five pieces of luggage we had carried with us. Our driver wished us well, threw his SUV into gear, and quickly disappeared into the night.
He and the thousands of other cabbies in NYC fight a war everyday that no human could wish for. Horns constantly blowing, being just inches away from a collision at every turn, slamming on brakes at every traffic light, and weaving in and out of traffic at neck-brake speeds. These things are all just a daily part of the battle in such a war zone.
Our driver did tell us that driving in NYC was MUCH better than driving on the streets of his native India. He said that, over there, folks just change lanes, make turns, slam on brakes making sudden stops, and do other crazy, high-speed stuff, without ever using a turn signal of any kind.
I fought back a tear. Kind of reminded me of home - driving in downtown ATL.
If you go to NYC, be sure to spend the money and take a taxi at least a few times. You won't feel like you're in America as you fly through the bustling NYC streets with Ali Bah-Bah at the wheel. But, if you're lucky, you will finally get to your destination.
And, in a city of eight million folks, if you can get where you're going in one piece, that's a very good thing indeed.
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