taxi? taxi!

Taxi?
Taxi? Taxi? Where are you going?
Taxitaxitaxitaxitaxi?

I flew into Lima from Cusco this morning and "taxi" was the greeting I received from the throng of well-wishers at the airport. Well-wishers I call them because they were concerned for my safety. It turned out that they were not offering me a ride at grossly inflated prices, they were offering security services reasonably just prices. Apparently, taking a taxi from the street (of all places!) was dangerous.

One of the airport personnel actually followed me out of the building, into the parking lot, and begged me to take a taxi from the badge-wearing driver fast at his heels. While the airport worker was saying to me, "Please, Miss, take a taxi here. Don't take one from the street," the taxi driver was shouting, "Fifty soles. Thirty. Twenty-five. Twenty-five soles."

I could look on the bright side of things and interpret this scene to mean, "Welcome to Lima. It is very dangerous here." Or, I could be a Schopenhauer and understand it as, "Welcome to Lima. Give me your money."

I thanked them, headed out of the airport, and hopped into a combi. Before I got on the combi, however, another taxi driver warned me that the ride would take at least 2 hours. The combi ride cost s/ 1.50 and lasted 45 minutes, about 5 to 10 minutes longer than a direct taxi, though I had to walk an additional 7 minutes from the bus stop to my apartment.

Lima! Home sweet home. Despite the clammy humidity, grimy streets, and menacing chauffeurs, I am happy to be back, because of the ceviche, because it is by the sea, and because I know how to get home for s/ 1.50 instead of s/ 50.