Fear and Loathing in Lima

On my way to the Lima airport today, I had my first case of traveller´s paranoia. I flagged down a taxi on Calle Schell, and negotiated a price to the airport (or, rather, I agreed to pay 10% more than I wanted to). The taxi driver tried to show off his one phrase of English: "Don't worry, be happy!"

For some reason, this made me begin to worry. Would I make my flight? Had I forgotten anything in the hotel? Was I about to be robbed? He asked me if I spoke Spanish, and I told him I spoke only a little. He began rapid firing complex sentences at me, and I had to tell him I didn't understand. He began to repeat himself, at the same pace only yelling now. I became flustered, and couldn't remember how to tell him to speak slowly. He flashed incomprehensible hand gestures at me, and seemed to be telling me to wait, and something about "cinco". Was he telling me to wait while he ran an errand? I didn't have time, and I told him so. He asked me if I wanted to walk?

Suddenly, the taxi driver began honking angrily and got out of the car in the middle of traffic and told me to remain "tranquilo" (quiet). I hadn't been loud, or even the least bit outwardly vocal, so all I could think was that he was going to fetch a thug amigo to rob me. I didn't know what to do, so I held onto my bag and prepared to bolt. The driver went over to another taxicab and spoke to the driver. When he came back, he told me in slow and clear Spanish that the other driver would take me to the airport for the fee I had originally wanted to pay. I thanked him and swapped taxis, but paid him nothing since we had only travelled three blocks.

The new driver drove twice as fast, and did his best to communicate with me. He explained that he needed gas and pulled into a gas station. He looked at me expectantly, and asked for the fare. I gave him half and told him I would give him the rest at the airport.

Suddenly it dawned on me: the first driver had been asking for 5 soles up front to buy a third of a gallon of gas to drive to the airport. In Lima, this is a perfectly reasonable request, where taxi drivers keep as little gas in the tank as possible and carry little change. I felt such a sense of relief that I didn't mind that the driver almost killed two motorcyclists, a bicyclist, and an old woman crossing the street in his rush to get me to the airport, where he dropped me off outside the police gate and told me to walk the rest of the way.

Ah! Dinero para gasolina. Why didn't the other driver just say so?