Good Morning Vietnam!

Taxi Tantrum

By noon on Friday February 17, 2006, Jon Fortune and I had finished our first job interview at an English School in District 3. We staggered out into the blazing noon-day sun and hailed a cab. Eager for business from a couple of well-dressed Westerners, the driver patiently waited for us to make our way across the street—quite an experience for visitors to this city. Here the traffic laws are suggestions at best and the only way to cross the street is to take that first step. I paused on the curb for a moment to muster up courage and say a quick prayer before venturing out. "Well, here I go," I thought to myself as I stepped, still praying. Whizzing around us on both sides were bicycles, a handful of cars, and a bizzillion motorbikes some dodging us by less than a meter. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the other side, but it would turn out later that crossing the street was the least of our troubles.

I opened the door of the cab and tried to negotiate a price in Vietnamese, but having only been in the country for a day, the few words I could

Across the street from our house in District 10, Ho Chi Minh City.

mumble were about as intelligible as the speech of a one-year-old. “How much?” we finally asked in English. “Wan hunded tausend dong,” he said, clearly trying to shoot the moon. Since 100,000 VND is equivalent to about $7 USD and was about four to five times the price that we had paid to get there from our home in District 10, we naturally replied, “No way!” Jon and I eventually agreed to go by the meter, understanding that we would have him stop immediately if he pulled any monkey business.

We sped away and for the first five minutes the meter remained unchanged at 14,000 dong. Following the meter with one eye and the road with the other, I started to wonder to myself what this guy might be up to. Every taxi meter I had ever seen till then started climbing right from the get go. “Maybe it's broken,” I thought. “If it is, I wonder what he'll try to charge us.” A few moments later, the meter started to move—and very fast. 15,500, 17,000, 18,500, 20,000! Every few seconds the meter jumped to a new price. I glanced over at Jon only to see his face painted with uncertainty about what to do next. “Pull over,” I said firmly. “The meter is fixed,” Jon gestured with his hand.

When we stopped, the driver shamelessly played dumb, even refusing to perform the standard procedure of stopping the meter. By the time I had stepped onto the curb, the fare had soared to 26,000 dong and we hadn't even left District 3! “Ridiculous!” I muttered to myself angrily, wondering if I even owed two pennies to this swindler. I had been in a similar situation some years before in Peru where a driver threatened to leave my sister and me in the middle of a desert if I didn’t pay for gas and double the fare that we had agreed to. I had slithered my way out of that situation with patience and tact, but I also had spoken the language. This situation was different.

I knew that the best thing to do would be to pay an acceptable fare for Jon and I and walk away quickly without giving him a chance to rant. He might follow us for a couple of blocks, but would probably give up before long. As I started to walk away, I peered into the back of the cab only to see Jon sitting there frozen. “Get out! Let’s go!” I beckoned, not getting a response. Jon paid 24,000 VND, far more than the ride had been worth and no more than the fare would have been if the driver had stopped the meter, but it was to no avail. This guy was bent on getting everything he could. I started to walk around the corner, hoping Jon would follow, but by this time the driver had gotten out of the cab and a crowd started to form.

I wasn’t going to leave my friend alone, so I quickly tried to think of a way to extricate us both from the brewing situation. By now, the driver's

My friend Jon Fortune after a big meal with our host parents Mr. and Mrs. Phong.

hand was firmly latched onto Jon’s satchel and he was sputtering away, presumably about how we were taking advantage of him. It didn’t matter; the crowd wouldn’t understand our rebuttal.

In a quick attempt to end this fiasco, I reached into my pocket for what I thought was a lone 10,000 dong bill. I would give it to him and he’d give me the change, right? So I hoped. But to my dismay, the bill I pulled from my pocket was not the red, wrinkled bill I had thought I was reaching for. Instead, the bill I pulled out was a crisp, green 100,000 DONGER!! Stares from all directions suddenly fixed on my pocket. I realized that I had made a bad mistake. I was now surrounded and the greed of this crowd was tangible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a police officer seated on a motorbike among the crowd, so I calmly tried to demonstrate that I simply wanted change. I really hadn't wanted to involve the police, but this officer appeared to be of a low ranking and I was running out of options. Before I had even finished a sentence, he demanded that I give this driver the money—no change. “No change!” I stammered.

At this point, I concluded that the only way out was to bolt for it. Thankfully, Jon had already rounded the corner, so it was just up to me to make my way out of there. I inched my way back a few feet and began to walk away at a brisk pace. I had almost made it to the corner when I felt a hard yank on my backpack. I turned around to see the driver gripping an open pocket desperately trying to keep me from getting away. “What now,” I thought, wanting to give this guy a good slap on the hand or the face. Reason told me that wasn’t a good idea, so I resorted to a more subtle tactic. Using my nails, I gradually applied pressure to his hand, hoping he might let go. I feared the use of any more force might send this already feisty crowd into an uproar. At last, in one swift jerk, I pulled the bag free from his grip and hurried around the corner and away. “Whew!” I said under my breath. “Thank God.”

Soon I caught up with Jon and we traversed the street together. Every few steps, one of us would look back to make sure the driver hadn’t followed us or dialed a few cronies. We pressed on for a while and didn’t stop to rest until we felt like we had built a safe lead. Minutes later, I stood on a corner and gathered myself slowly, still trying to shake off what had just happened. We had to find out where we were. Wiping the perspiration from my forehead, I lifted my gaze slowly to a tall red building just up the street. It was the school we had just come from. Not only had this guy ripped us off, he had been driving us in circles.

Needless to say, Jon and I have since resorted to taking motorcycle taxis and we’ve also learned how to say some numbers in Vietnamese. We haven’t had any problems since, but it was a good lesson learned. Overall, the people here have been quite nice, however, it will be a long time before I forget what happened that day.

Standing on the corner, I started to take in what all had occured. “This could be a long year here,” I laughed to myself. “Welcome to Vietnam.”