…and it wasn’t without adventure. Taxi drivers all over the world offer a bottomless supply of interesting stories. Here’s last night’s.
My taxi driver was an old guy, and I specifically chose him because hiring a taxi at 2am in a foreign country has never been an easy task for any solo traveling female. The price he asked for the ride was exactly what the hostel said it should cost. I told him my hostel’s name and he seemed to know it, which allowed me to feel some relief: in less than 30’ I’d be in my bed. Ha.
As we were leaving the airport there was a bar allowing cars in and out, and my driver followed closely the car in front of us as the bar went up instead of waiting his turn. “They want 5.000 drams for parking” he announced in broken English, and he laughed waving the ticket he should’ve paid. He vaguely reminded me of some drivers from where I grew up…
Then he proceeded with offering me a cigarette which I refused, and he asked if he could smoke, which was fine by me since the windows were down. He started coughing like crazy to the point that I was almost sure I’m not going to make it to my hostel. Once he stopped, he proceeded with his smoking, unscrewing a glass bottle with a fizzy content which spilled all over him. At this point we were moving very slowly and I was thoroughly entertained since there were no other cars on the road.
At some point he parked outside a big hotel and I protested since that’s not where I was going. “They speak English” he said, and I begun feeling he didn’t know where my hostel was. I showed him the phone number of my hostel, but he didn’t have a phone with him. I refused to leave the car and showed him on my maps.me app where we’re going, and he started driving again.
At this point I started being uncomfortable since I realized he didn’t know where we’re going, and I only had a vague idea. We started driving around the location my hostel should be, but we couldn’t locate it. At 2am there were few people to ask, and going to another hostel for directions wasn’t helpful. After spending 15’ walking up and down the block my hostel should be, and after having too many ridiculous ideas crossing my mind, a dark red door opened out of nowhere and I heard my name. The amount of relief I felt was palpable.
Paying my driver was another little adventure on its own, since he started demanding money for the parking he never paid. After the crazy adventure I had just experienced I was not going to let anyone take advantage of me, and I laughed saying no. I did tip him and was grateful for his persistence in finding my hostel, but demanding money when it’s clearly optional has never been something I enjoyed.
(Wait. There is Armenian coffee!)
To make it all better, I had few of those genuine moments with the front desk lady at my hostel, both when I arrived and in the morning (note how I didn’t write when I woke up in the morning – the jet lag is still real). I was offered coffee, a treat and suggestions for food and exploring, all in broken English, gestures and smiles. Traveling has its ways to break you open and get you out of your shell, whether you like it or not. And I’m all about that vulnerable feeling of openness.