They call me Mr$15. Well, they used to, before they raised the price. HK$15 used to be the price of a taxi ride from Lok Fu to Broadcast Drive. The flagfall has just been raised to HK$16 for the first two kilometers, and there’s a proposal in Legco to lift it to HK$18 – because of the 20% rise in oil prices. I don’t care: even at HK$9 a kilometer taking a taxi in Hong Kong is really cheap (it’s only 57p/km or US$1.15/km). Where in the developed world can you take a two kilometer urban taxi ride for less?
In London, it costs HK$34 just to step into a black cab. After 300 meters, it’s HK$20/km (according to Worldtaximeter.com). In New York, it costs HK$19.50 to step in a yellow cab, and the meter starts ticking straight away at HK$9.67 a click. Same deal in Rome, but it costs HK$60 just to sit down! and HK$12 a click. Horrible!
It’s much cheaper to take a taxi here, so I take a taxi to the MTR and from the MTR back home most days. That’s 440 trips a year, or HK$7,000 (which is basis points of what I earn each year). The cost of the 440 journeys is equal to about 14 full tanks of petrol. Now you might think that taking taxis everywhere is bad for the environment, but Hong Kong taxis run on liquid petroleum gas, so the red/green/blue Toyotas produce much less pollution than petrol vehicles. Because I’m such a regular many of the taxi drivers know me by sight. And that’s were the fun starts.
Many times, I don’t even need to open my mouth to tell the driver where to go. They’re off before I can sit down. If they insist on making me tell them where to go, it’s usually so they can try to impersonate my terrible attempt to say Gong Boar Doe. Some, even if they know where I live, will still make me tell them where to stop, just so they can hear me fumble through in my broken Cantonese lee doe lock, um goy. To which they will reply, in perfect English, “do you wish to alight here?” If the driver doesn’t know me, asking him to stop outside my block can sometimes draw comments such as “wah! gum gwai” (so expensive), or lay door di cheen (you must be rich!).
I’m usually not impressed with the occasional driver that asks if I want to stop at Commercial Radio or RTHK. Most of the time I just ignore them, but if the driver points out that I look like someone that would stop at a radio station, I can’t help but fall for their flattery – at least for a while.
I must admit I haven’t seen one particular taxi driver recently, but I was really curious about him. When I entered his taxi, he realized I was English and asked: “which university is better, Cambridge of Harvard?” To which I replied: they are both very good schools. He then proceeded to explain that he was asking me because his son has been accepted into both, and he is trying to decide which one to attend. Apparently, the lad is some sort of brilliant chemist. Some time later, I met the same driver again, and he informed me that his son had accepted Harvard. I’ve been curious how a taxi driver can afford to send his son to Harvard, but I think I understand why. Many taxi drivers are actually retired blue collar workers, who have been kicked out of the house by the wife.
Unfortunately, there are few rules regarding the regulation of taxi drivers – particularly regarding the use of the taxi’s horn, the ability to know where they are going and their age. So it’s quite common to be driven around by a very aged man, who liberally beeps his horn, doesn’t know where you want to go, and wearing with very thick, very unclean glasses. This can be disconcerting, because Hong Kong drivers are pretty unruly and I often wonder how these old guys manage. This particularly so because giving way is nonexistant and tail-gateing is common practice. The best advice I can give when sitting in the back of a Hong Kong taxi is: buckle up and don’t look ahead.
