I’ve been on a traveling kick recently that has taken me around the world. Singapore, Tokyo, London, New York, LA, France, and some other places that are even more awesome but I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging. Wait, I live in Hong Kong, of course I want to sound like I’m bragging. But this week my brags extend beyond myself (a self that is both extremely handsome and humble, btw) to the taxi drivers of our fair city. And I will be the first to say it: all things considered, Hong Kong taxi drivers are the best in the world. Yes, you heard me—in the world.
The first advantage: safety. This extends to Hong Kong in general but you always feel safe in a taxi. Last June in Boston I got picked up by a Jamaican who sang a lot of pop songs but just replaced many of the words with references to smoking marijuana. While this may be a funny bar story, it was considerably less so while barreling 80 miles down the highway in rain whilst late for the airport. In Hong Kong, the most unsafe the taxi drivers get are the ones who think they’ll get a tip if they can break the sound barrier, but at least they’re not clearly drugged out while doing it.
The second advantage: availability. Taxi drivers are easy and ubiquitous in Hong Kong. Stand on a corner long enough, run on the street outside the Landmark to cut the queue long enough, and you’ll eventually get a taxi. Even on Friday nights and in rainstorms you can find a taxi if you hope long enough. Contrast this with a place like Singapore and you’ll kiss the red hood of your Hong Kong taxi. In Singapore, free taxis disappear on Friday afternoon and late at night after you leave a club. They’re probably sucked into some sort of taxi vortex where a bunch of Chinese gods you’re supposed to leave oranges for laugh and rub their corpulent bellies looking down on the sad tourist who can’t get to his hotel. “Did you forget me?” they chortle. “We’ll make you rue the day you stopped worshiping the Taxi Gods. Only in our absence will you feel pain. Give me tribute!” I’m sure this is exactly what happens.
Third advantage: price. Hong Kong taxis are CHEAP and, yes, this extends to me thanking the taxi drivers, since they work under these (probably too inexpensive) conditions. London taxis are cool and iconic—a bunch of English guys who know the city super well and are fun and well-educated. But London taxis are also this-price-is-a-joke-right-expensive. After 15 minutes in a cab, I normally get to the point where I consider selling my blood just to pay for the fare. “Could we stop here for a bit, sir? I’m a little short and need to sell off about three quarts.” In Hong Kong, you can leave a club, pass out in a cab, wake up, pass out again, and the fare is like $32. When it costs half a beer to get home, you know you’re doing well.
But the best thing about Hong Kong taxi drivers is the variety you’re going to get from them. Sure, they’re almost all Chinese and sure, they’re almost all male, but besides that, there are a variety of dudes you meet. There’s old-guy-with-good-English; sorry-I-don’t-know-I’m-Kowloon-side-guy; guy-with-seven-cell-phones; the-last-shower-I-took-was-before-the-handover-guy; irrationally-angry-guy; witness-protection-program-guy (complete with beard, long hair, sunglasses and hat); it’s-so-nice-to-meet-you-let-me-practice-my-English-guy; I-don’t-understand-your-horrible-pronunciation-of-Chinese-we’ll-just-drive-around-CWB-aimlessly-guy; I-am-so-angry-you-are-asking-me-to-go-six-blocks-I-will-make-passive-aggressive-clicks-with-my-tongue-for-the-duration-of-this-trip-guy; super-efficient-here’s-the-change-door-open-door-close-get-out-asap-guy; and Lam Sing John, a taxi driver I once met with his own eco-friendly line of cutlery who tried to get me to place an order for a few thousand pieces in my three-minute taxi home one night.
They’re the best.