"A friend of mine has a philosophy about the taxi drivers of İstanbul. He claims that every bad taxi experience he ever had was because the driver was from Rize, a city on Turkey’s Black Sea coast.
If he sees a taxi with a sticker, soccer club pennant, or any other item indicating the driver hails from Rize, he will avoid that yellow vehicle like the plague. As an American expat living in Turkey for the past four years I have also had my share of bad taxi experiences.
Traveling by taxi is still a bit new for me, my home city of Grand Rapids, Michigan, having very few. Like most people I usually wave my hand to catch a taxi from the busy street and jump in the back seat, regardless of car or driver type. İstanbul’s taxis are yellow like those in most other cities, but vary from new and modern cars to cardboard boxes with wheels and an engine. Numerous, convenient and relatively cheap, they are an easy way to get around the city. A taximeter located near the radio let you track the price, but be sure to check and make sure the meter is set to “gündüz†(daytime) rate if you are traveling before midnight. After that time, the “gece†(night) rate increases the fare dramatically.
The drivers vary in quality as well, from polite gentlemen to abrasive lunatics who drive so fast it seems like they professionally raced cars in a previous life. When I first moved here I was prevented from carrying out a conversation with the drivers because of the language barrier. I knew only enough Turkish to make sure I got to my destination. Once I learned more Turkish I didn’t want to converse with them, suspicious of any over friendly overture. Why couldn’t they just take me to the places I wanted to go to without any hassle?
Last October was a bad month for me. It was Ramadan, the month when most Muslims observe a daytime fast. Public transportation is a nightmare during this period. Tempers run high, and at the day’s end every bus, minibus, and dolmuş (shared taxi) is stuffed to capacity. To make matters even worse, near my apartment in Tarabya, a small district on the European side of the Bosporus coast, a new pack of dogs had taken up residence. Normally I prefer to walk as much as possible during Ramadan, due to the lack of space on transport. Now because of the wild dogs, I was having to resort to taking taxis as much as possible.
Ever since my childhood I have been afraid of dogs. In Michigan most dogs I came into contact with were leashed, not roving the streets in feral packs. Each gang has their designated territory, and they know every dog, car and person that resides in that space. Woe betide the stranger or unknown vehicle that enters that district, and it is best to keep a lookout for dogs whenever going to a place the first time. Most of the time they will leave you alone if it seems that you mean no harm, but it’s best to stay on your guard. I don’t trust them and I’m sure they are not fond of me either. In my complex, these dogs had beaten away the old neighborhood dogs, and brought their battles to our doorways.
One chilly autumn night I left the Viktor Levy wine house in Beyoğlu, a Bohemian central district on the European side, and jumped in a taxi to head home. The driver was old and was listening to some mournful Turkish music on the radio. He hummed under his breath as we sped through the dark streets of İstanbul. He asked me where I was from, but stopped his questions when I gave him only short, curt replies. His cab was neither new nor old, and although the interior was faded and worn, it was clean. Plastic flowers in a small vase were attached to the dashboard, and there was a vanilla scented car freshener plugged into the vent. A large, blue and white evil-eye talisman swung from the rearview mirror. Very few other cars were on the road at 11:00 p.m., and we easily zoomed through the European side districts of Şişli, Levent, and Maslak.
As we pulled up in front of my building in Tarabya, I could barely see my door as it was hidden by a writhing, wriggling, canine mass. Barking, growling and fighting, they made access to my apartment impossible. I handed the fare to the driver and my hand shook as I took the change and waited, remaining in the car uncertain of what to do next. After my previous rude behavior towards the driver, I was ashamed to ask for his help. He curiously looked in the mirror to see what was wrong, and why I hadn’t exited the vehicle.
“Ahhhh,†he said, assessing the situation. “Are you afraid of dogs?â€
I nodded like an idiot. He laughed good naturedly and opened the door, motioning for me to wait inside. He then threw himself into the foray and started to dance, while singing a song. As he emphasized a phrase, he kicked a dog out of the path at the same time. Eight pairs of canine eyes watched his movements and hunkered behind the bushes lining the walk. His shoulders shook, his knees jerked and kicked, while his arms moved gracefully. He ended with a clap and a flourish, then shooed the remaining dogs away. Silently they slipped into the night, a force to be reckoned with another time.
Kindly he opened my door, and pronounced the walkway safe. I chuckled nervously and thanked him, surprised by his kindness, then inquired about his unique dog-clearing method. “Well, those were mean dogs,†he explained to me. “They would have understood that I was going to hurt them and attacked me if I came at them aggressively. This dance confused them, and they probably didn’t like my singing. This song and dance are from my home city of Rize,†He said proudly.
“Are the dogs in Rize as big as the ones you just scared away?†I asked him. They seemed as big as horses and I couldn’t imagine any larger.
“Yes,†he laughed, “much bigger!â€
I thanked him again and he got back in the car. As he drove off I felt ashamed at my previous opinion of taxi drivers. Most of the men driving them are good and decent, and probably overworked. It takes immense talent and patience to ferry people around the congested streets of İstanbul. I have had other drivers who also came from Rize, without a negative episode. I now engage the drivers in conversation, and have learned a great deal about different parts of Turkey as well as enjoyed an opportunity to practice my Turkish. Since that experience I have changed my attitude as a passenger, and although I still remain cautious, I have learned to trust and learn from these thousands of chauffeurs in yellow cabs. Now if only an event could change my attitude towards İstanbul’s dogs, my life here would be perfect".
Katherine Belliel, "Leader of the Pack", Today's Zaman, 31.03.2007
|