Post by con's fly is open on Sept 8, 2005 23:00:26 GMT 7
I think you all know my issues with airport taxis. I had another encounter.
Coming to Suzhou proved quite a bother. Dashiqiao ain't exactly a mjor stop on the way, so I couldn't get a train on the day I needed. I had to take the train to Dalian, fly to Hangzhou, then train it to here.
A friend came along to Dalian (I sprang for tix both ways) and saw me off at the airport. The flight itself was likewise a snap (an expensive one). But then I disembarked, realizing I was going to have to hail a cab.
Tension and bile rising in me, I got my bags I made my way out. In the concourse guys in sports shirts rushed me: "Taxi? Taxi!" I muttered "Bu yao" and finally "Get the m'kay away from me" to one persitent jerk, without even glancing at him. Hangzhou also has counters behind which women called out "Taxi?" A counter smacks of legitimacy, but I smelled a rat, and kept walking.
Outside I pulled my bags of to the side, had a smoke and surveyed the situation. I was being eyed by more weasels, but I noticed some railings set up at the curb: folks were wheeling their bags into them, where two guys in uniforms and whistles were lining them up with the queue of waiting taxis. Aha, the clean way.
I hustled on in, ignoring the hucksters who called out to me. As one of the uniformed men got me a cab, I pointed to it and asked the other "duo tian?"
"Meter!" he replied.
In I got. "Huo che zhan" (train station) I said. He nodded, then said "Yi bai yuan".
"Meter" I replied.
"No! Yi Bai!"
"METER!" I bellowed.
"No!"
"Stop the cab!" I yelled, opening the back door while we were moving.
"Okay, okay!" he relented, flicking on the meter I took out a book and began reading, glancing up occasionally.
"Wei, liange huo che zhan" he said, breaking the silence. You can surely see where this is headed: 2 train stations, this could get confusing, laowai won't know if I take the scenic route. I pointed took out a pen and jotted down every street name we came across- he watched every time, nervously, through the rear view mirror.
We got to the train station. The meter read 66 RMB. He let me off in the far left lane, then stood by pointedly inspecting my fifty to see whether it was fugazi while I hauled my own luggage out of the runk, and negotiated 3 lanes of traffic to get to the curb. He tore off the airport sticker that had transferred from my bag to his rear bumper, got into his car and pissed off.
What gets me about this was his petty revenge for having been paid 66Y, a decent chunk of change; his outrage that he had failed to cheat me.
So you see I'm not quite the rube I was. But I hate airport cabbies even more than I did. When I take over this country, every crook who cheats other people will be sentenced to earn 1,000 yuan peddling rickshaw.
Coming to Suzhou proved quite a bother. Dashiqiao ain't exactly a mjor stop on the way, so I couldn't get a train on the day I needed. I had to take the train to Dalian, fly to Hangzhou, then train it to here.
A friend came along to Dalian (I sprang for tix both ways) and saw me off at the airport. The flight itself was likewise a snap (an expensive one). But then I disembarked, realizing I was going to have to hail a cab.
Tension and bile rising in me, I got my bags I made my way out. In the concourse guys in sports shirts rushed me: "Taxi? Taxi!" I muttered "Bu yao" and finally "Get the m'kay away from me" to one persitent jerk, without even glancing at him. Hangzhou also has counters behind which women called out "Taxi?" A counter smacks of legitimacy, but I smelled a rat, and kept walking.
Outside I pulled my bags of to the side, had a smoke and surveyed the situation. I was being eyed by more weasels, but I noticed some railings set up at the curb: folks were wheeling their bags into them, where two guys in uniforms and whistles were lining them up with the queue of waiting taxis. Aha, the clean way.
I hustled on in, ignoring the hucksters who called out to me. As one of the uniformed men got me a cab, I pointed to it and asked the other "duo tian?"
"Meter!" he replied.
In I got. "Huo che zhan" (train station) I said. He nodded, then said "Yi bai yuan".
"Meter" I replied."No! Yi Bai!"
"METER!" I bellowed.
"No!"
"Stop the cab!" I yelled, opening the back door while we were moving.
"Okay, okay!" he relented, flicking on the meter I took out a book and began reading, glancing up occasionally.
"Wei, liange huo che zhan" he said, breaking the silence. You can surely see where this is headed: 2 train stations, this could get confusing, laowai won't know if I take the scenic route. I pointed took out a pen and jotted down every street name we came across- he watched every time, nervously, through the rear view mirror.
We got to the train station. The meter read 66 RMB. He let me off in the far left lane, then stood by pointedly inspecting my fifty to see whether it was fugazi while I hauled my own luggage out of the runk, and negotiated 3 lanes of traffic to get to the curb. He tore off the airport sticker that had transferred from my bag to his rear bumper, got into his car and pissed off.
What gets me about this was his petty revenge for having been paid 66Y, a decent chunk of change; his outrage that he had failed to cheat me.
So you see I'm not quite the rube I was. But I hate airport cabbies even more than I did. When I take over this country, every crook who cheats other people will be sentenced to earn 1,000 yuan peddling rickshaw.
