Taxis

Taxis are everywhere in Cairo. They cruise the streets looking for passengers, and most of the time we can walk out the front door and get one within a block or two of our apartment. When we are not looking for a taxi, they’re even more ubiquitous!

Taxis honk all the time. It’s like New York, but not as aggressive. Their honking is more a way of communicating that they’re coming up behind you, or available to take you somewhere, or to tell other drivers what they’re about to do. It is very annoying the first week or so, but we are pretty used to it at this point. There is definitely a code to their honking patterns that I am still trying to figure out. They also do not use blinkers to indicate turns. They use hand signals out the window. Haven’t figured those out, either.

Most of the cabs are pretty old; some are definitely nicer than others. I rode in one that looked like it was held together with rubber bands and chewing gum. Cab décor varies from one to the other. They’re all painted very dark navy on the outside and have an official registration number. Inside it’s a different story! They may have CDs glued onto the back windshield or stuffed animals on the back dash. Many of them have seat covers of some sort; the most interesting so far made me feel like I was sitting on a Muppet. Almost all the cabs have a dashboard cover made of some sort of fabric. (The things they feel the need to cover here…my washing machine also had a vinyl cover decorated with maps of Hawaii. Strange…) None of the taxis have seatbelts, so it’s pretty frightening to ride in them at times. Also there are no lanes on the roads, no stoplights, and no crosswalks in Cairo, so until you get used to the “system,” getting around here is nothing short of terrifying. I do feel, though, that Cairo taxi drivers are skilled drivers, and are aware of their surroundings and able to anticipate what other drivers will do, much more so than those at home.

We’ve had some interesting rides. We’ve had at least two trips where we told the driver the address, and then they took off with us in the car as if they knew where they were going. We found out quickly, though, that they really had no idea. Taxi drivers are embarrassed to admit that they don’t know, though, so they take us anyway in order to save face. Luckily, though, they have no qualms about stopping to ask other drivers or random people on the street for directions. We did actually get out of a cab once when this happened, high-tailed it to the other side of the street, and found a cab driver who did know where to go. (They also have no problem stopping to chew out other drivers! We frequently see two cars going head to head, trying to squeeze through a one-lane space. The drivers stick their heads out the window and jabber at each other until one relents and backs up. They need practice taking turns!)

The person riding in the cab determines the price. We have had to determine appropriate prices for certain distances. The drivers expect us to pay more because we are Westerners, but we’re slowly learning what locals pay, and we try not to pay more than that. When we arrive at our destination, we get out of the cab and hand the driver his fare through the open window. Then we walk away. Sometimes drivers complain about how much we give them, but most of the time we’ve done this routine with confidence, so we haven’t been hassled much.

We have liked a lot of our cab drivers. They generally seem very helpful, and they act appreciative of our attempts to speak Arabic with them. They like it even better when Luke begins counting in Arabic. Their faces light up in big smiles and they count right along with him. They’re always surprised when he continues on past ten.

There is one cab driver I’ve used fairly frequently. His name is Mostafa. The first time he drove me I went to Jason’s school and back. I used him again the next time I went to Jason’s school, and on the way home we had a blowout. I have never been in a car during a blowout. I heard a loud pop, and then Mostafa looked out at his mirrors. The car never swerved or felt any differently, so I thought it was someone else’s tire. Only when we pulled into the tire store did I realize our car had had a blowout. That was back in September, when the weather was easily a hundred degrees. Luke and I sat in the car while the guy changed a tire. Mostafa went inside and bought us some croissants to eat while we were waiting. (Why did they have croissants for sale at a tire store?) We got back home safely, just really sweaty and tired.

Egyptians are very proud of their cars. They wash them every day (or they have them washed). Each morning I walk Luke to school the streets are wet because ba’waabs and older ladies are out washing cars. There’s a taxi driver who lives near Luke’s school, and an old lady washes his car every morning. On the other hand, there is also a car out in front of our apartment that has about a half-inch of sand covering it, but that car seems to be abandoned. It hasn’t moved since we got here.

Traffic is pretty light here during the day, but at night everything comes alive. People emerge from their homes around dinner time, and that’s when they go out and do their shopping and socializing. Malls are open until midnight or later, and restaurants are open late, too. As a result, Luke and I get around pretty easily during the day with the stroller. I’ve learned to cross the street (into oncoming traffic) carefully but confidently. Sometimes I have to head out in front of cars and make them stop so that we can get across. It was so scary the first few weeks, but I’ve learned that the drivers are used to dealing with pedestrians trying to cross, and many of them are sympathetic to our plight and slow down to let us in. Luckily, most of the places we go are in the residential areas, and we don’t have to cross really busy streets.