Taxi: Gardel

Taxi drivers in Buenos Aires are a truly unique breed. It is often hard to sympathise with them because many feel that they charge extortionate prices and drive recklessly, but that is to ignore the thankless task of driving around the streets of this fair city, often in very similar patterns, over extended periods of times (10-hour shifts are a minimum), the majority earning money for the owners of their cars, rather than for themselves. Their only consistent company is the radio. Some of them react to this lifestyle by becoming withdrawn and dour, unwilling to talk to passengers and insulating themselves from the outside world on which they depend; others, however, take the opposite approach, believing that conversation is not only vital but necessary. For them, it is a means by which to keep sane; personally, I am happy to oblige.

Recently, however, I had two journeys which made me reconsider my willingness to enter into conversation with the drivers of these taxis. The journeys were on the same route, leaving my personal trainer, at the same time of day, within two days of each other. I shall attempt to recreate them as faithfully as possible below:

1. Gardel
Me: [gently shutting taxi passenger door and collapsing into sweaty mess on back seat] What a day.
Driver: Difficult day?
Me: Very.
Driver: Have you just been to the gym?
Me: Yes. It’s what I do to relax. I go to work, get frustrated, go to gym, burn out my aggression and leave calm.
Driver: I see. [Pause] I listen to music.
Me: To calm down?
Driver: Yes. Do you like music?
Me: Yes.
Driver: Do you like tango?
Me: [lies] I love tango.
Driver: Excellent! Who is you favourite singer?
Me: [still lying] Er…Gardel?
Driver: The champ! He’s the best! What’s you favourite of his work?
Me: [scratching around desperately and unable to come up with anything apart from}…er…Por Una Cabeza?
Driver: A great song. Well, sir, it’s your lucky day. [Winds up all windows] You are about to receive a private performance of Por Una Cabeza. Just sit back and enjoy.

[Proceeds to sing at the top of his voice to me via the rearview mirror. A frozen nervous smile steals across my face. The driver expertly navigates his way through traffic lights, avoiding pedestrians, singing all the while. The glass reverberates with the sound. My ears hurt.]

5 minutes pass.
Driver: That was good, no?
Me: [applauding gently] Yes. Very pleasant. I’m sad that it’s over.
Driver: Not to worry – I’ve got another one for you!

[Continues singing Gira Gira, followed by Mi Buenos Aires Querida, until we reach destination. I depart, ears ringing.]

To be continued.