How a veteran taxi-user lost his way in Tokyo

You should know where you’re going if you want to get there.”

This useful advice will stand you in good stead wherever your travels take you. (Christopher Columbus could have done with it before his fateful voyage.) But in Japan, knowing where you’re going is not enough: you need to have it in writing, in Japanese. I’ve always found myself transported miraculously from place to place in Japan by simply placing pieces of paper with my destination written in Japanese in cabbies’ hands.

But on my last visit to Tokyo, this proven methodology failed me. On my first day, there were no taxis in the hotel driveway. The doorman explained that there were plenty plying on the main road 100 metres away and he could call for one for me. I told him I was a veteran taxi-user in Japan and would manage excellently on my own. Walking jauntily to the main road, I hailed a passing cab, got in and handed over the printed card to the driver with my usual aplomb.

But instead of driving off, he turned around and, pointing to the paper in his hand, said something to me, very politely… but in Japanese. I listened patiently and, when he finished, nodded equally politely and said, “Yes.”

He spoke some more, pointed to something on the paper and asked me something.

“Yes,” I said, nodding some more.

He gesticulated at the paper vigorously. Not to be outdone, I nodded more vigorously.

Finally, he shook his head in disgust, said what sounded suspiciously like “Idiot!” in Japanese, took off and drove me straight back to my hotel. Pressing a button, he opened my door. I took out my wallet but he waved me away, his hands clearly saying, “I don’t need your stupid money. Just get out of my cab!” As soon as I did, he drove away.

“Why did he not take me here?” I asked the doorman, handing him the card.
“He did, Sir. This is the hotel address.”

Oh my God! My assistant had also printed the hotel address so I could return easily in the evening.

“This time,” said the doorman, “let me hail a cab for you, Sir.”

“Yes!” I said even though I was a veteran taxi-user in Japan. “And let me bring the correct address from my room.”

I raced up two flights of stairs to my room and returned just as a cab drove in.

This time when I handed the address to the cabbie, he smiled, entered it into the car’s GPS system and drove off.

Meanwhile, I was perspiring from my recent exertion.

“It’s hot!” I said.

The cabbie looked at me in his rear-view mirror and smiled.

“Very hot!” I said. He smiled some more.

I waved my hands as if I were fanning my face. He waved back to me in the mirror, grinning broadly. Obviously, driving an Indian – that too, such a happy one – was a novel experience for him and he was enjoying it.

I leaned forward and pointed at his dashboard.

“AC! AC!” I said, speaking slowly.

He laughed and shook his head. “No AC. GPS,” he explained, pointing to the screen.

“No, AC! AC!” I said and pointed to the duct below the GPS screen. “Very hot!”
“Hot-oh?!” he said. Aha! I was getting through at last. The Japanese frequently add the ‘oh’ sound to English words.

“Yes! Hot-oh!” I said.

He turned the knob two inches to the right. I leaned back in relief and waited for the icy breeze. It didn’t come. In fact, I was feeling stuffier and had begun to perspire freely.

Then it hit me. Thinking I wanted it hotter, he had turned on the heater!
“No!” I said. “Hot-oh! Hot-oh!” He smiled.

I took off my coat to demonstrate I was feeling hot. But somehow this made him think I now needed even more heat. He turned the knob fully to the right. I felt like pizza in an oven. My shirt was sticking to my body. I could see beads of perspiration on the cabbie’s neck too but he was bearing it stoically.

Finally, I removed my seat belt, leaned over the front seat and turned the air-conditioner knob all the way to the left.

“Now OK-oh!” I said. “Don’t stop-oh. Drive to destination-oh.”

Paddy Rangappa is a freelance writer based in Singapore. Read more on his blog: http://theflip-side.blogspot.com
© Paddy Rangappa