Two Worlds of Taxis

In Hong Kong, we have found the taxis to be a safe and predictable mode of transportation. All vehicles are identical Toyota models, painted alike, metered, led by their honking horns, and driven by men whom with we struggle to communicate and whom show little positive emotion. The last is true except for two incidents, the first, a driver who upon our commenting on our hunger and love of chips actually gave Eric’s mother a hand full of his sour cream an onion. The second anomaly was in having a female driver. To this day I think I have only had this one female taxi driver anywhere in the world. Even with the occasional anomaly, HK taxis are a beast of mass transport that tend to belch constant noise and anger in traffic, which HK is not lacking.

Lisbon taxis are as unique as the people that drive them. Many Americans would be surprised to get in the back of a Mercedes or BMW taxi, but that is the standard here. Leather seats and black interior are the norm. Compact, station wagon – you just never know. The horns of the taxi seem more a means of long-distance greeting than confrontation as we see with protracted HK honks in backed up traffic or an unfriendly lane change. I’ve seen more drivers cower in quiet almost Midwestern disgust, internalizing and not daring to touch the horn in similar situations. There are beeps for greetings, salutations, and as the vocal accompaniment to a short wave. On our ride from the airport to the train station, our driver, window down, spent a few minutes in traffic giving directions to another passing driver. On a ride tonight, my driver checked to see if it was “hurry?” I am not sure what he would have done had I said yes as runners in an adjacent park were steadily passing our deadlocked rush hour location. I must admit it is nice to be in place where language is less of a barrier in the taxi. We’ve actually had several nice discussions with our drivers, whether in English in one instance or in butchered Spanish in the other.