TUESDAY 05/11/10
There was one matter that I didn’t complete before coming back to Buenos Aires that I greatly regret and will never let happen again. (I have actually added a reminder in my calendar for my return visit so that I don’t forget.) That is reserving a taxi ride from the airport with my usual driver, Señor Jorge. I learned the hard way why it’s best to ride with a trusted driver. I had sent an e-mail to Sr. Jorge the day that I left, but recognized that it was probably too late in the day, and I didn’t have enough credit on my cell phone to call him when I landed. So, I decided to take my chances and catch my own cab, as I was tired and eager to get home. Upon exiting customs and entering the public area of the airport, a security guard was passing out pieces of paper saying “Caution: Do not accept unsolicited rides from anyone.” The best thing to do seemed to go to the taxi stand inside the airport and go with one of their contracted drivers. Their rate was a little higher than I usually pay, and it was prepaid, but I figured that was fine. As the driver and I approached the taxi, I realized it was not a Radio Taxi (the only trusted taxis around the city) and there was no registration number on the inside, but I did have the receipt from the airport with the driver’s information, and this put me at ease.
Not only 50 yards out of the parking spot, the car was stalling and the driver was having issues with the clutch, but there was no turning back. We got onto the highway, and at one point, the traffic slowed down and he put his emergency flashers on. Now, I was starting to get suspicious that he might be in cahoots with the motochorros (thieves on mopeds). I just continued with the thought that whatever happened was pretty much out of my hands, which did not stop my heart from racing and my hands from sweating. All the while that he was driving, he was rummaging around the front seat – taking his sunglasses out of their case, cleaning them with a spare tie, organizing his change, searching through a plastic bag for a box of Kleenex to put on his dashboard…and the rest of the time, just constantly being distracted…it almost seemed like it was the first time that he had been in this car. Once we got onto city streets, he never once made it through a green light…he said that he didn’t like to be rushed…I was just anxious to be home and out of his car. After an hour of this uneasiness, we arrived, and I survived the ride! But never again will I leave the U.S. without arranging a ride with Sr. Jorge first.
There was one matter that I didn’t complete before coming back to Buenos Aires that I greatly regret and will never let happen again. (I have actually added a reminder in my calendar for my return visit so that I don’t forget.) That is reserving a taxi ride from the airport with my usual driver, Señor Jorge. I learned the hard way why it’s best to ride with a trusted driver. I had sent an e-mail to Sr. Jorge the day that I left, but recognized that it was probably too late in the day, and I didn’t have enough credit on my cell phone to call him when I landed. So, I decided to take my chances and catch my own cab, as I was tired and eager to get home. Upon exiting customs and entering the public area of the airport, a security guard was passing out pieces of paper saying “Caution: Do not accept unsolicited rides from anyone.” The best thing to do seemed to go to the taxi stand inside the airport and go with one of their contracted drivers. Their rate was a little higher than I usually pay, and it was prepaid, but I figured that was fine. As the driver and I approached the taxi, I realized it was not a Radio Taxi (the only trusted taxis around the city) and there was no registration number on the inside, but I did have the receipt from the airport with the driver’s information, and this put me at ease.
Not only 50 yards out of the parking spot, the car was stalling and the driver was having issues with the clutch, but there was no turning back. We got onto the highway, and at one point, the traffic slowed down and he put his emergency flashers on. Now, I was starting to get suspicious that he might be in cahoots with the motochorros (thieves on mopeds). I just continued with the thought that whatever happened was pretty much out of my hands, which did not stop my heart from racing and my hands from sweating. All the while that he was driving, he was rummaging around the front seat – taking his sunglasses out of their case, cleaning them with a spare tie, organizing his change, searching through a plastic bag for a box of Kleenex to put on his dashboard…and the rest of the time, just constantly being distracted…it almost seemed like it was the first time that he had been in this car. Once we got onto city streets, he never once made it through a green light…he said that he didn’t like to be rushed…I was just anxious to be home and out of his car. After an hour of this uneasiness, we arrived, and I survived the ride! But never again will I leave the U.S. without arranging a ride with Sr. Jorge first.
OMG!!!!!!! Lauren, this is too scary for a mother to read!!!! Stay safe!
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