I promise that my Classic Series is approaching an end soon people. Only a few more are worthy of posts I think. It dawned on me as I was going through my old blog posts that I had A LOT to say about Taxis in Panama when I lived there! hahahaha Here are a FEW posts that I found that I had written on the subject - all equally fun reads:
First Entry:
As this blog gets underway you may notice that I have a lot to say about “cultural questionmarks” as I like to call them. Cultural questionmarks are things that I noticed throughout time spent in a place (in this case Panama) that basically makes me go “HUH??“, for lack of a better word or expression…
Right now I want to talk about taxis, taxi drivers and just plain driving in Panama. Driving in Panama is quite an experience. Some believe that if you can survive on the road here you can survive ANYWHERE. After a few mind boggling experiences I can say that I am a believer. I was involved in my first ever serious car accident here (and had I been about 2 feet up farther than I was at the time I would most likely not be here today to write this). It was a crazy scene that gave me more of an adrenaline rush than say sky-diving. I remember someone telling me I was crying. I was so shooken up that I didn’t even realize that I was crying. But here I am and all is well so back to the topic at hand. Taxis here in Panama create for me an emotional roller coaster. Sometimes I love them, most of the time I hate them, but they always seem to have their ups and downs (and I’m sure I will hit on some “Ups” in future blogs to come as I find my taxi stories quite entertaining). One of the downs is that they are downright reckless drivers.
Panamanian culture is like most Latin American cultures when it comes to a sense of time. Where I am from, if you have a meeting at 8AM and someone hasn’t shown up by 7:50AM you panic. Here in Panama an 8AM meeting translates to anything before 8:45AM. People stroll (not walk) and don’t ever seem to be frustrated by tardiness. Ok so that’s great. Less stress is created by less pressure being put on you to be on time. Fabulous. This is very generalized but goes for almost anything here.
So I ask you this one very specific question: Why in the *!$%* is everyone here in such a goddamn rush on the road?!?!
The public transportation here is the worst of them all. Taxis and buses in this country will get a gringa killed quick. There is absolutely no sympathy for anyone trying to cross a street on foot. Its common to see people literally stranded in the middle of one of the busiest streets in the country because they have cars zooming by them on both sides while they stand on the yellow dotted line trying to innocently cross the next lane, and hopefully the next one and the next one, until their toes reach the sidewalk on the other side. And even then they’re still not safe. Cars here (and yes mostly taxis and buses) can be seen creating their own lanes on the sidewalks. Curbs seem to exist only to slow them down slightly but that doesn’t mean that they won’t try to speed up anyway. They are like scavengers searching, thirsting for the smallest space to squeeze through, hoping that if they honk their horns enough times other cars will move (which they DONT by the way, but horns and horn usage is……you guessed it….another topic for another day) and they will reach their destination point a whole half second faster than someone else. But who is that someone else? Who are they racing?? As I just explained above, it is certainly NOT a race against Father Time. I just don’t get it.
Ok so perhaps I am bitter because I am bias because I come from a culture where we quite willingly and happily practice defensive driving and even allow pedestrians the right of way. Perhaps. Or perhaps I just treasure my life and am getting tired of having to silently say my goodbyes everytime that I try to cross a street or get in a cab. Perhaps. All I know is it’s a lose lose situation for me. If I choose to not use a cab and walk, I A.) gross myself out with sweat and ickiness in the process given the heat and humidity and pollution of this fabulous city all mixed in one and B.) Risk being one of those innocent people trying to cross a busy street praying that someone will have compassion and slow down to give me a head start. A sucks and B sucks too so what do i do? I normally just get in a cab, tell him where to take me and duck my head down and close my eyes and hope that I make it there in one piece. So far so good but damn if there haven’t been some close calls.
The next day:
Sorry for the lack of spice here but I haven't really had time to do much of anything today, let alone write about something. Nothing extra exciting has happened to me today anyway to spark conversation SO keeping in sync with yesterday’s theme about taxis in Panama, check out this email that was sent to me today. I just wanted to prove that my rant yesterday was not just something that I pulled out of my ass. Enjoy!
Taxi!
International Living Postcards–your daily escape
http://www.internationalliving.com
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Panama City, Panama
Dear International Living Reader,
“Buenos dias,” I greeted Eric as he walked into our Casco Viejo office this morning looking a little frazzled.
“Yea, yea, right…buenos dias,” he responded. “I barely made it here this morning. My taxi didn’t have any brakes.”
“Oh,” came the collective response from the office staff. Nothing surprising there.
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The taxi Jack and I took to the grocery store Sunday afternoon ran out of gas. Fortunately, we were just across the street from a gas station at the time, and the driver was able to coast into the station to fuel up.
When I relayed our little adventure to a friend here, she replied to say, “Oh, right…that happened to me once, too. We ran out of gas and coasted into a nearby station. Then the taxi driver turned around and asked me if I could pay my fare in advance…so he could use that cash to buy fuel.”
Martina, who works in our Panama City office, tells the best taxi story I’ve heard yet. She and her boyfriend hailed one in Casco Viejo for the 10-minute drive home. Traffic was bad, so the driver took one detour after another, rerouting and rerouting himself farther and farther off course. Finally, when he’d reached a point that was at least 20 minutes’ drive from Martina’s apartment…that is, twice as far from her destination as where the ride had begun…he stopped, in the middle of the road, and told Martina and Grant to get out. He had had enough of the traffic…and the ride was over.
“We had to walk home from there. It took us nearly an hour.”
“You didn’t pay the guy, did you?” I asked.
“That’s the craziest part of the story,” Grant exclaimed. “Martina gave the guy a buck!”
You never know what might happen or where you might end up when you get into a taxi in Panama City. Neither can you be sure what fare you might be charged.
Maria, our nanny, takes Jack on an outing every day…to the pool, to the park, to the movies, all of which are within a few blocks of each other. We cautioned Maria about taxi fares her first day in the city and advised her to ask the charge before climbing in.
“These guys have been quoting me anything from $1.50 to five bucks,” she reported back. “So I’ve stopped asking. Jack and I get in…and I get my money ready during the drive, exact change. When we arrive at our destination, Jack gets out…then I get out…and I reach back through the window to hand the driver $1.50. That’s what the fare should be…and that’s all I’m paying. A couple of times, drivers have called after me…but Jack and I keep walking.”
Kathleen Peddicord
Publisher, International Living
P.S. I almost forgot the most important thing to know about taxis in Panama City: Never order one from your hotel. These “hotel taxis” charge multiples of the street taxis…say as much as $8 for a ride that, in a street taxi, might cost you a buck. If you’re staying at a downtown hotel, ignore their offers to call a taxi for you…and make your way down to the street, where you’ll never have to wait more than a few minutes to hail one on your own.
A few days later:
Sorry for the brain fart folks but this morning’s occurance made me laugh so hard I just had to write about it. I have been living in Panama for well over a year now and this was the first time this has happened to me.
I had some errands to run this morning before heading into work and given the crappy, rainy weather we were having I decided to jump in a cab to do so. As I have mentioned in previous entries, taxis in Panama are always great fun experiences. Seeing as it was early in the morning I wasn’t expecting much and for the most part I was right in my assumption that it would be a chill cab ride.
Then suddenly the driver turns to me and says “you’re not from here are you?”. This is a statement that I hear often enough and so I stopped taking offense to it. I’ve learned that it doesn’t necessarily mean that my Spanish sucks that much to make it so obvious that I am foreign, but just that there is an accent - that I cannot deny. So when he said that I smiled and nodded and told him he was right.
Then the kicker comes. He smiles at me and says “You’re Canadian aren’t you?” Holy jumping beans!! How the hell did he know that? I began looking at myself and my purse and shirt, trying to find where I had left a maple leaf sticker or some sort of indication that I would be Canadian…..nada. How the hell did he know that? I asked him and he said it is because he lived in Canada for a while and therefor knew the accent. But I was speaking Spanish! This blew me away. The first really smart and observant cab driver I think I have ever met in this place….amazing.
From that point this cab driver then proceeded to invite me to have breakfast with him and turned on the flirtatious charm that they are so famous for, which slapped me back into reality and made me realize once again that I was in Panama. It’s all good though. I politely declined his offer and laughed as I got out of the cab and went into my office.
It made me think though. I must have a really ethnically screwed up face. I remember when I was living in Boston for a few months a while back. I used to get stopped on the street all the time by guys who knew that I “Had to be” Puerto Rican. In fact, I used to get the Borriqua comment all the time when I was in the states. In Canada it was the same. People used to always ask me if I had a hispanic background. I was almost convinced that I seemed Spanish until today when I met this cabbie who pegged me as Canadian. I find this interesting. If he had said “American” or made the assumption that I was from the U.S. that is one thing….my accent may have given that away….but No. This dude just jumped on ”Canadian”….representin’! Whaaa!
