Taxi Story – The Korean
Guess where I am from. I never tell anyone. It takes about ten hours to fly from here to my home. Ah, Hong Kong? No, no, that is eight hours. Shanghai? No, that is 9 hours. Korea? Yes, yes, Korea.
Taxi Story – The Ethiopian
(Starting to slip into a US drawl) “Howya doing? Hope Street please.” (this was in Washington DC). Silence “Do you know where that is?” Nods. “Are you able to take me there?” (it is considered a tough part of town) “Mmmmmm.”
Taxi Story – The Iraqi (II)
(Slunk down in his seat, a quiet night on Macquarie Street). Hey, where do you want to go? St Leonards eh? Strange place. You had a long day? 5.30 in the morning start? You are crazy. It is long enough for me starting to drive at 3pm. I finish at 11pm. That is respectable. But…
Taxi Driver – The Pakistani
I jumped a cab in the city yesterday to rush back to a meeting and found myself sitting next to a tall (that was apparent even though he was sitting down) young man in a salwar kameez.
I am the Captain of the Taxi – To the Tune of Amazing Grace
There are moments in life that are just laugh out loud crazy. And in this case slightly alarming. The high speed run from Amman to Queen Alia Airport this afternoon was with a very pleasant and energetic driver who told me he was ten years in the Jordanian Army, retiring as a Captain and for…
Taxi Story – The Jordanian
(In Jordan. To and from Jerash). Hello, my name is Ishmael. You want to go to Jerash? At this time of the day? OK, no problem, no problem. You want to visit craft store for souvenirs? You have enough souvenirs. OK. No problem. Did you know Ismael was related to Ibrahim in the Bible? It…
Taxi Story – The Iranian Sunni
An eclectic series comprising conversations with Taxi drivers, initially composed when Sydney papers were complaining about the service provided by cab drivers. In most cases I am happy to say “forget the service, listen to the story.” In this town, at least, most taxi drivers are foreigners and all seem to have a personal story…
Taxi Story – Mauritius
My family have been here for years. I came here fifteen years ago after all my brothers and sisters pressured me to come and be a family again. But initially I was reluctant to do so since I could not speak English. I could speak six other languages but not English. I was living in…