Adventures in Taxi Taking

I have always been a rule follower. At age three, I gave my mom a strong talking-to when she reached for her bottle of water in the car. I had watched a commercial warning against the dangers of drinking while driving, and I wouldn't stand for any of that nonsense in my own family. When my sister Anika and I would play make believe games, they were always couched by a set of carefully articulated guidelines (typically, ones that reinforced my role as monarch and hers as beloved servant. Could she ever hope to become Queen herself? Not if she kept on breaking the rules). As I've gotten older, I have come to recognize that not everything can be boiled down to a set of rules and regulations. But goshdarnit, I love a good syllabus, and if I am embarking on a task, I like to know the rules if they're out there.

Since I've arrived in Atlacomulco, I have caught on to a lot of things. Crossing the street is not governed by a belief in pedestrian right of way, banks aren't really open until five, and it is always an acceptable time to eat chilaquiles. It was only recently, though, that I learned just how much I have not caught on to the taxi system here. I was excited to learn that Atlacomulco has taxis, being that I don't have a car this year. I just figured that a taxi is the kind of thing that you hail, ride to your destination, and pay for. Man, a taxi can be so much more.

For one, the cabs here don't only run in the city. This is great for me, because I work in three towns other than Atlacomulco. So, this is becoming a primary mode of transit as I settle into my new home. Even though it seems like the kind of thing that would be a luxury, it's actually super affordable. If you want a private cab to take you anywhere in the city, you'll pay $35 pesos (less than $2 USD). The cabs that I have started taking, though, are colectivos (you ride with other people). You end up paying about the same amount to get half an hour away as you do for a private ride.

Knowing this, I kind of want to never take a private cab again. But the taxis here speak their own language, and it seems like everyone understands it except for me. I have wanted to hop in a colectivo to ride to the superstore across town, but I have no clue which cab to hail.

Even last week, I was naive enough to think it was incredibly kind, but perhaps a bit unnecessary, for a teacher from my furthest school to take a cab to Atlacomulco only to teach me how to take a cab to school. It was absolutely necessary.

For a newbie like me, there's a lot to learn. Luckily, like I said, I love figuring out and following the rules. Here is the guide I have developed thus far to taking a cab in Atlacomulco:

1) Acknowledge that all of the cabs have at least two names on them. The name on the hood is the city that they belong to, and the name on the back is the neighborhood. Some have an additional three letters on the roof (why? Ask me in a month).

2) Disregard those names.

3) Instead, pay attention to the name on one of the 3x7 inch cards stuck to the inside of the windshield.

4) Learn the abbreviations of the names written on the abovementioned cards if you want to hail a cab successfully (also, learn how to read those names before the cab goes sailing by).

5) Some cabs don't have a card at all (what?!). Instead, they have a colored strip across the top of the windshield. This is not decoration. This wordless, colorful strip lets you know where that cab is headed. This color system varies by town.

6) Sometimes, both blue strip and red strip cabs head in the same direction.

7) When you do hail what you hope will be your cab, go ahead and check with the driver just to make sure that the route suggested by the two names, one of the four cards is, and the colored strip, is, in fact, the route he is taking. Sometimes, it's not.

8) Greet the other passengers when you enter with a "Buenos dias" (or "tardes," depending on the hour).

9) Prepare to get cozy. The taxi isn't full until there are two passengers in the front seat and four in the back.

10) Accept the fact that everyone else knows exactly how much to pay, down to the peso, when they exit the cab. You have no idea. You may have an idea, someday.

Additional rules may be needed to secure passage home. For instance, if you're trying to get a taxi to Atlacomulco, ride in the cab of the man yelling "Taco." This is short for "Tlaco," which is short for "Atlaco," which is short for (you guessed it) "Atlacomulco."

Don't be alarmed by what may make have made you worry for your safety in the past (lack of seatbelts, a mysterious yellow tarp covering the floor, garbled conversations over the radio). Even when a fellow passenger tells your driver, "Quick, drive like your girlfriend's mother is chasing you!" you're probably just fine. These drivers are really, really good at their jobs.

Always, be grateful for this efficient, affordable, and readily available form of transportation. All you need to get as far as half an hour away are your legs and a working knowledge of the taxi system. You will miss it when you go back to the U.S.

Finally, even if frustration sinks in after switching cabs twice and struggling to remember which color strip goes with the third cab you must take, remember that the destination is well-worth it. You may have a student waiting for you, with a fresh flower (your favorite), and a carefully rehearsed phrase: "Teacher, a fwower for you."

I'm hoping that I won't have to fall back on that final rule, though, even if the destination is the superstore across town (once I learn how to get there, anyways). I hope that as I live here longer, I'll do a better job of enjoying the ride.