A Tale of Two Taxis

It was the dustiest of times, it was the foggiest of times......

I can picture the scene at a Cocktail party. 

" Taxi driver from Cairo 2007? I'd really like you to meet taxi driver from Beijing 2017. I just know you're going to hit it off immediately, you two have so much in common. Neither of you were really taxi drivers and just pretended to be, you both dropped me off at the wrong subway station, you both ripped me off and you're both loonies behind the wheel and inadvertently tried to kill me. It's almost spooky! Anyway, must mingle, I'll leave you two to get acquainted. "

Looking back, the similarities between the two experiences were uncanny. Though ten years apart and in two completely different parts of the world, the two stories could pretty much blend into one. 

Another strange coincidence is that both occurred returning from visits to two of the seven " wonders of the world ". ( The Great Wall of China wasn't technically one of the original seven wonders, but was promoted to the Premier league in some bizarre update of them in 2014, based on a new voting system set up by the New7Wonders Foundation. )

So could they have been paranormal experiences? The same phantom vehicle piloted by the same phantom driver? 
At this fictional Cocktail party, did the two of them cackle with laughter once I was out of earshot, their eyes rolling into the back of their heads as their bodies merged into one?

25th October 2017

The Great Wall of China was a load of balls. But let me explain.

Although it is an awe-inspiring sight of ancient engineering and construction as it snakes its way up into the hills, it's only an awe-inspiring sight if you can actually see half of it. And on this particular day, the air was thick and grey and as foggy as fu.....well you get the idea.

There was little chance of getting decent photos, but more importantly it was simply impossible to stand back and appreciate the immense scale of it. At any point whilst walking the Badaling section, we could see about a hundred yards infront of us, and that really mollifies the impact of such a grand structure. 
As the morning wore on, waiting for the murk to clear was like sitting with a long lost drunk Uncle at a wedding reception and waiting for him to say something that made sense. It clearly wasn't going to happen.

The following day was a spare day before flying home. So Alan and I decided to come back again in twenty four hours, abort for now and head back to Badaling train station earlier than planned. 

The station was strangely deserted, and we soon discovered why. The female security officer looked at us oddly as we chucked our rucksacks on the airport-style security conveyor belt. In the Beijing area, it sometimes feels like you face a security check every ten or so steps you take. Just buying a packet of biscuits in Beijing feels like switching from land-side to air-side at Heathrow.
I cannot remember whether we asked the security officer about the next train back to Beijing, or if she felt she needed to point out that it wasn't for at least another two hours and forty-five minutes.

Oh bugger. Didn't think of that. 
We stood dithering over what to do, as the insides of our rucksacks appeared on a black and white screen. There's nothing much to do at Badaling Station to pass the time. No strip shows or public executions to keep you entertained. All you can do is sit on a bench and wait for two long hours to go by. 

A young figure wearing glasses and a baseball cap who had been lurking un-noticed in a corner, suddenly leapt into action and pounced on us. 

" You want taxi? ", he asked.

25th February 2007

" You need taxi? "

The sun was just starting to dip and cast deeper shadows across the vast expanse of the Giza Necropolis. 
Roger was rubbing the side of his leg ruefully. Some local, not too well-off six year old girl had just punched him there, because he wouldn't give her five Egyptian pounds.
I was rubbing my eyes ruefully. Not because the same girl had punched me in the face, but because for so many years I had dreamed of visiting the site of the Pyramids and the Sphinx. Now that I'd finally done it, I felt bereft of not having that particular dream to hang on to any more. There's always a slight sense of anti-climax that goes with seeing one of the World's great sights.

" Yes, we need a taxi. " 

It's funny how on most occasions in life, if you need a taxi, it's you that has to make the first move. In Cairo, you don't even need to have wanted one in the first place, and you still almost get persuaded otherwise and bundled into one. The previous day had been an example of this, nearly ending up in a shop owner's " taxi " when I'd only gone in to purchase a bottle of water.

" Where you need get to? " enquired the man with a wide friendly grin. Tightly curled hair, glasses, and a gingham shirt. Well he looks like a taxi driver I thought.

To this day I have no idea why I thought this, as I have no idea what a taxi driver is supposed to look like. Robert De Niro maybe?
" Giza subway station, " we replied. Now it's worth pointing out that having arrived in the morning via that station, that it is absolutely nowhere near the actual Necropolis, and it's in no way a walkable distance. 
" I take you there, no problem! " he said reassuringly. " My car just down road here. " And he led the way.

***

" My car just down road here, " said baseball capped taxi driver.

" Yeah okay, we just need to get back to Beijing city centre. "

" Wait here, I go get car. " He then engaged in a brief Chinese conversation with the female security officer. We then agreed a price that wasn't cheap, but at the same time didn't seem unreasonable.

Alan would later speculate over a much needed beer that the guy was asking her " How much can I get away with charging these two English muppets? What would a proper taxi driver charge for that journey? Then how much extra can I add on? "
Alan was probably right.
After a short wait, our ride back to the city zipped high speed towards us and screeched to a halt outside the station, and we were on our way. 
" Nice car " we both agreed as we climbed into the back seats. 

***

" Nice car " we both agreed, as we approached our ride back to Giza station.
Once we'd made ourselves comfortable in the back seats, we both agreed that it wasn't such a nice car after all. Infact, the plural " Nice cars " might have been a better description based on the interior, because I had the distinct feeling that the front half and back half had only recently been introduced to each other, and hastily welded together with a quick paint job on the exterior to cover it up.

" Is this the same car we saw from the out.....? "

Roger raised a hand at me to cut me off mid-sentence. 

" Don't say anything, " he instructed. The driver clambered in after us and slammed his door shut, and I was pleasantly surprised that no doors fell off, no windows fell in and no roof collapsed on our heads.

I shrugged and reached back for my seat-belt, fumbling blindly. 
No seat-belts in the rear of the car. Of course not, this is Egypt not England! I cursed myself for being so naive.

" Okay! Here we go! " exclaimed the driver happily, like he was piloting a rocket about to launch from Cape Canaveral. It felt something like a rocket launch as well as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, and immediately tooted his horn angrily at absolutely nothing in his way. 

" This could be interesting, " Roger quipped at me cheerily.

***

" This could be interesting, " I thought to myself as our driver slammed his foot to the accelerator. Clarkson would have had an orgasm at how quickly we went from nought to a hundred.

The area around Badaling being graced beautifully with rugged rocky mountains, it wasn't long before we were plunged straight into a tunnel. Considering the fact that traffic was ploughing through it at high speed, it didn't seem the most brightly lit of tunnels.

Alan leaned forward in the darkness, squinted hopelessly at his map of the Beijing Metro, and advised our young driver of the station he could drop us off at. 
Our driver muttered something in Chinese, along the lines of " I no understand what you are say.... "
Funny, we thought. He spoke reasonable English back at the station when asking if we needed a taxi. Now his grasp of our language seemed to have miraculously deserted him. I would later conclude that he had a far clearer idea of where he was dropping us off, and he did not require our opinion on it.

" Not hanging around is he, " Alan observed with a nervous smile as we impossibly picked up further speed.

***

" Not hanging around is he, " I observed nervously.

We were on a highway to God knows where. Hell? Cairo? An early grave? Possibly all three.
This had been preceeded at the start of the ride by an angrily impatient cruise through the dirty streets of Giza town, the angry impatience being on the part of our driver and every other driver around him. It was clear to us that he was doing about 60 miles per hour less than he would have liked through these busy narrow streets. No sooner would he see the opportunity to put his foot down, then he'd have to slam the brakes again with a curse, to rest roughly a centimetre from the vehicle ahead.

For my part, I was glad to have the slow journey through this town, as it was a chance to take in the sights, sounds and smells of non-touristy Egyptian life. I was delighted to see two camels in amongst the slow-moving traffic. One was trotting happily along infront of us to the absolute indignation of our driver. The other probably wasn't quite as happy.... as it was lying dead in the road with a rotting hole in its stomach. Probably killed by our driver on his way to pick us up. 

Now we were on the " Marriotta Corridor " which I guessed was Cairo's own version of the M25, except that the traffic here was moving approximately 100 miles per hour quicker.
Correction; The traffic here was moving, that's all I need to say. And boy was it moving!
Our driver's cheerful demeanour had returned, now that there was an absence of any more Camels blocking his way. He was like a greyhound that had been sprung from its Stall.

I watched the three Pyramids shrinking away in the distance to my left, and decided to take one last bit of film of them. ' I probably won't see them again ' I thought to myself, ' but then again, the way this nut-job is driving, I may never see anything ever again. '

The driver noticed me filming, the camera shaking around in my hands. "You want me slow down? " he shouted.
I felt like replying with " So I can take this film? Or just slow down in general?! "
Instead I just answered with a polite " No ", not wishing to be a killjoy, just as the guy was clearly starting to enjoy himself. Sure enough, he took that as a green light and accelerated yet further.

" I get you to station quick " he shouted again above the rev of the engine, as the speed dial pushed steadily upwards. Actually, I didn't dare to allow myself a peek at the dial, but I could easily imagine it was doing this.

" We're in no rush " I called back politely. I felt this was a diplomatic way of saying " Please don't get us there quick, just get us there alive. " It was a vain attempt as I knew it would be.

" I get you there twenty minutes " he added proudly, as if his previous record had been twenty-one. 

" It can take thirty if you like, we're cool, " said Roger with his own hopeless effort to calm the Egyptian Speed King.

Roger then turned to me and asked " You got a pen and paper? "

" Why? ". I was gripping the seat beneath me and was pleased to note that it didn't just crumble to dust in my hands.

" I was thinking of writing 'HELP' on it in big letters and sticking it in the window. "

***

" Got a pen and paper? " I asked Alan, as we narrowly avoided our fourth head-on smash of the journey so far. ( Pretty impressive I thought, as we'd only been bombing along for around ten minutes so far. )

" Why? " he replied, checking his pulse and looking pleased that there were still signs of life.

" I thought I would scribble out a quick Will and testament. " 

I'd have hated for my neighbour's cats back home to miss out on my millions, and cats are notoriously bad when it comes to legal processes. Hiring solicitors and filling out Probate forms are generally beyond their capabilities. 

The fourth and most recent of our near misses had been with a truck hurtling towards us, and would have been an especially messy business. I mused over the daft theory of whether any parts of the human body could survive for a limited time after death. I had macabre visions of one of my severed arms being removed from the mangled wreck of metal and flesh, and it being able to politely hand my hastily written Will to someone from the emergency services, before the life finally drained from it. I then wondered if it would still have enough time to flick a quick V-sign at the driver's corpse before being bundled into a black bag.

Age wise, if I had to go by appearances, I'd say our now non-English speaking driver was either in his mid-twenties, or he was fourteen. The latter estimate was probably more accurate. If I was his driving instructor, I'd have pointed out to him that his constant glances in the rear view mirror were all very well and commendable, but meaningless if he didn't occasionally check what was infront of him as well.

Alan finally cracked on near head-on smash number five. We'd once again pulled out into oncoming traffic to overtake a car that was obviously a static obstruction by doing only 75. Our friend behind the wheel was much keener on doing at least 85. Another lorry was rushing mercilessly towards us and engaging our taxi in a game of " Dare ". With roughly ten metres to spare, and with the overtake incomplete, our driver reluctantly slotted back behind the car infront. 

It was at this point that Alan felt a polite word was needed. 
" Fuck sake mate, I think you need to slow down a bit! "

I detected the faintest of smirks directed back at us via the rear view mirror, and once more we began to accelerate into oncoming traffic. 

" My God, " I said quietly, " He's trying to kill us. We.... are going...... to die. "
This was just like Cairo all over again, all those years ago. 

***

" That's it, we are going to die " Roger stated firmly, in a way that suggested he'd made his peace with this inevitable fate.

" Yes, I think so, " I agreed. " Still.... thirty-two's not a bad age for me. Got to be satisfied with that innings really. "

" That's the spirit old boy. Stiff upper lip and all that. Mind you, stiff everything pretty damn soon. Any regrets? "

" Yes, " I replied, " I regret climbing into this car. "

" Apart from that? "

" Yes, I regret that I won't be climbing back out of it. "

The driver was oblivious to the conversation in the seats behind him. He had been distracted from his cheery disposition by noticing another car actually moving quicker than his. This obviously struck him as a serious criminal offence. To Roger and I, it struck us as a technical impossibility.
Nonetheless, he decided that such an instance was unacceptable, and grimly set about catching and passing the vehicle in question. Hunched low over the wheel, he somehow managed to increase our speed even more, a feat which I felt was now in flagrant breach of the laws of physics. 

" Yep, " Roger confirmed, " He's definitely a madman. "

25th October 2017

' He's definitely a madman ' I thought. 

I finally felt assured of this conclusion at a junction that had forced our young Chinese Ayrton Senna to grudgingly slow down. 
Why? Because he blatantly ignored a road sign pointing in one way to Beijing City, and chose the opposite direction. I didn't catch what the sign said that he was following, but I'm guessing it probably said " Absolutely not Beijing City. "

" You definitely said to him Beijing didn't you? " I asked Alan.

" Yes. "

" It isn't possible you said Mongolia by mistake? "

" No. "

Where was he taking us? I was worried but tried not to show it. Was he going to pull a gun on us? As we sped into ever more remote surroundings, I tried to recall any news items in the past of kidnappings or hostage-taking in China. I reassured myself that I couldn't think of any. 
They weren't notorious for it. Such was the strict approach to crime in this country, I was sure the worst crime that could happen to us by the end of the day was to be served Plain Boiled Rice when we had specifically asked for Egg Fried. And even an offence like that probably carried a sentence of two years hard labour.

' Then again, I could be wrong ' I thought, as we eventually screeched to a dusty halt in an almost deserted car park. Nothing more than a large patch of gravel really. We were seemingly in the middle of nowhere, it certainly didn't look much like Beijing to me. 
Either this was the end for both of us, or the driver was just desperate for a quick pee. 

Beyond the gravel patch/car park was a single, small building with a wide entrance which looked brand new. I then spotted an escalator inside it leading downwards underground. And then I finally spotted a sign with a familiar looking symbol and released a long slow sigh of relief.

" It's a Subway station! " I said to Alan. He leaned across to look out the window on my side. 

" That'll do " he said, and we both executed one of the fastest exiting-a-car maneouvres ever witnessed, to ensure the driver didn't have a sudden change of heart and take us on another joy ride. It was so quick in fact, that Guinness Book of Records were on the phone to me the next day. 

It turned out we were at Changping Xishankou station, a terminus at the very Northern end of the Changping Line and Beijing's most Northerly Subway station. And the reason it felt as if it was in the middle of nowhere, is because it was. 

Presumably, the line had only just been extended to this point, in the hope that civilisation might decide to do the same thing some time soon. The Chinese are so efficient with their construction programs, that they'll often build something even before it's needed. Looking back, I wonder who actually got on or got off at this station. Where they had come from or where they were going, I have no idea.

I love Subway systems. They are the lifeline to any disorientated traveller in a strange city. No matter how lost you may be, find a station and from there, you'll find your way back to somewhere familiar.
The fact that our journey from here back in to the city centre would now take well over an hour and appeared to involve at least three line changes, didn't seem to matter when it felt like we'd just cheated death.
With payment settled minus a tip, ( It's just as well they don't expect to be tipped in China because he wasn't bloody getting one ) our driver sped off kicking up a cloud of gravel and dust, presumably in search of his next victims.  

I waved him off cheerfully, muttering " thanks for a wonderful experience " whilst Alan lit a cigarette and took a long draw. 

" He wasn't really a taxi driver at all was he " I observed. 

Through a thick billow of smoke, Alan replied " Is the Pope having an affair with Shirley Bassey? "

Fate had performed some kind of miracle and had decided we'd live to see another day. 

***

" Giza station! " the driver exclaimed as we came to a merciful halt.

Funny I thought. It didn't look like the station we'd emerged from at the beginning of the day when on our way out to the Necropolis. 
The sign outside said " El Monib " Station. I guessed they must have renamed it, rebuilt it and relocated it to some other part of the outskirts of Cairo, and somewhere that was ten times further away from the city centre.

Either that, or this was not " Giza " and was actually " El Monib ". Yes, that seemed far more likely. 

El Monib is the Southern terminus of Line 2. Unlike Changping Xishankou, the terminus I would find myself dumped at ten years later, the area outside of this station was a hive of activity and didn't seem to differ a great deal to what you'd encounter anywhere in the city centre. 

Climbing from the " taxi ", I breathed in the air of freedom and my lungs were instantly engulfed by the sizzling knackered exhaust fumes of battered old 80's style Ladas and Skodas and Volkswagen vans. The locals selling fresh produce laid out on the pavements at the side of the road, eyed us as warily as we eyed them. This was far from touristy Cairo, and neither the locals or ourselves could understand how we'd ended up here. 

Regardless of his deliberate error, the driver still looked delighted with himself. His policy was obviously to completely ignore our requested destination and just drop us off at the nearest Subway station convenient to him.

He looked even more delighted when whilst paying him off, we threw in the monumental added tip of a Fifty Egyptian Pound note, which came about because neither of us had anything smaller. 

In the end, we felt this was fair exchange for him managing not to kill us. Sometimes you just have to count your losses.
As we watched him pocket the Fifty gleefully and depart the scene like a bank robber jumping into the getaway car, I heard a voice from behind me. 

" You look for taxi? " 

A scruffy, down on his luck chap looked at us both hopefully. " My car just down road here, I go get? "

' Right now, my friend, ' I felt like replying, ' I'd be more likely to trust you if you said you were a fully qualified Urologist, and could give me a cheap vasectomy here on the spot using a plastic knife and fork. '