Taxiing in the UK - United Kingdom
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Stumble It!Taxiing in the UK
United Kingdom
I know that the first thing anyone should tell you to do when you visit any city is to get out and walk the streets and avenues to get a genuine feel for what the city has to offer, right? But I'm not going to say that. Instead, I say don't get out, make sure you get in - a taxi that is. For a true visceral experience and to truly enjoy a London institution, make an effort to take a load off those tired, tourist-worn feet and experience taxiing the way it should be done, by professionals.
Now if you're from the States as I am, the thought of taking a taxicab sends your pulse racing about as much as a trip to the supermarket. But that's because a ride in a cab for us is being cramped sideways in back of smelly car while being ignored by the driver who is on the cell-phone to his girlfriend (this part I imagine because I can't understand what language he speaks) and worrying how far out of the way we're being routed to run up the meter. Let's face it, Jerry Seinfeld was right: The only qualification you need to be a cab driver in the States is to just have a face. This is why I was so taken aback by the experience my wife and I had this summer while traveling through the UK.
Exiting Heathrow Airport, the driver gave us a friendly smile as greeted us with an "allo" and opened the black door for us to step into the back of his regally spacious taxi, offering more leg room than the passenger side of my own sedan. We stretched out in the back seat and I couldn't help thinking that if this car was available for hire when I went to my senior prom, I would gladly have shelled out the bucks.
As soon as we were free of the congestion of Heathrow's traffic, our driver, Terry, as we soon found out, engaged us in conversation. By the time we reached our B&B, we were old friends. He told us that we must try Yorkshire pudding but keep away from any Shepherd's Pie that wasn't homemade, like his wife's. (We were half expecting an invitation.) At the hotel, Terry, not walked, but ran our luggage up to the front door. I wouldn't have been surprised at all if he would have checked us in and carried our bags straight up to our room. After we over-tipped him, he tipped his cap and wished us well. I miss Terry.
Thinking that drivers like Terry were a fluke couldn't be further from the truth. Each excursion proved to be more enchanting than the last. We became acquainted with as many friendly people and learned as much about the history of the city as any other tourist who paid hundreds of dollars more to an agent to travel with a guided group. What was nicer was that the tour guides guided us alone.
One evening, coming back from Soho, we stepped into the taxi at front of the line. (That's how it's done: Taxis line up along the curb and whoever is at the head of the line, he gets the fare, keeping the competition fair.) Recognizing that we weren't locals, our driver asked if we were enjoying our trip and asked what we had visited so far. After we listed the usual London must-sees, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Tower of London, etc., he said he'd point out some landmarks to us to add to our list. He pointed out Hyde Park and a couple of other parks and then proceeded to give us the background on one of his "favorites": The Admiralty Arch. We turned onto a crescent avenue, and he pointed. "That's the arch there...Used to house the 'sea lords'. Cost over a million Pounds Sterling."
Once again, we freely over-tipped.
On a separate afternoon, we went on a hunt for catalogs from some local magic shops to give to my dad, who dabbles in conjuring. When I asked the driver, Wallace, to take me to a shop I had found in the phone book, he asked me if I was in the "Brotherhood of Magicians? I know where they meet every week." After I told him my reason, he answered, "Oh no, Davenport's is where you want to go. If your dad knows anything about magic, he'd have heard of Davenport's." Dad was quite jealous that I had been to Davenport's. And I was jealous of London for having Wallace.
This treatment was the same all over the UK: Bath, The Cotswolds, Edinburgh, and everywhere else we went. Why? Maybe it is the culture. And maybe, as we learned, it is because the drivers are proud professionals who study and train for up to 2 years to drive these taxicabs, not as a job in between jobs, but as a career.
If you travel to London, there is definitely one thing that you must do. Tour the Tower of London? Certainly. See Buckingham Palace? Of course. Let yourself be covered with pigeons in Trafalgar Square? That goes without saying. (Mind the pooh.) But above all, ride the taxis - a tip rarely found in the travel brochures. And if you see Terry or Wallace, tell them I said "allo".
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