Terror on the Highways

I'm now totally convinced that Luc Besson's "Taxi" was created from his personal experience of the cab drivers in France, or at least the Paris region.

Had to take a cab from the airport back home on Monday night, and that's an experience I really would not care to repeat. But I guess it was really just the icing on top of what had been a great day that soured pretty rapidly after we decided to call it a day and set off for home.

That was a really bad night for trains. There was a problem with the train track leading towards Cergy, and it was still not repaired even after two hours of wait, from 8.15 pm to 10.30 pm, so we decided to take the train to the airport - and of course, with our luck, there was yet one more problem with the train track leading to the airport, so we had to disembark halfway and switch to the bus specially chartered for the occasion. But hey, at least we managed to get there!

Figured if we were stuck there for the night, it'd at least be warmer (and safer) than if we had spent the night on a street bench in one of Paris' parks, or sleeping in the doorway of one of the numerous train stations that dot Paris.

Anyway, we arrived at 11-odd, and our bad luck held. The last bus had come and gone half an hour earlier. I had wanted to spend the night at the airport, but Luq was nice enough to suggest putting us up for the night in a hotel there, or taking a cab back, because I had a presentation at 9am the next day (of course, all the materials were locked in my room, so I couldn't even go straight to school), followed by two exams the day after.

We opted for the latter, and that ranks either at the top (or close to) of my 'bad decisions' list. Firstly, it was the most expensive cab ride I've ever taken - at 76 euros for a half-hour journey, it cost more than twice what we're paying for accommodations per night! Secondly, the cab driver had been smoking prior to picking us up, so the distinctly redolent pungency of tabacco fumes pervaded the interior.

And to add to my steadily building headache, the cabby must have been a frustrated race car driver. Yeah, I know it's a hackneyed description we usually give of cab drivers, but this guy drove at an average breakneck speed of 160 km/h - on roads with NOT A SINGLE STREET LAMP in sight. Serious! All we had were his headlights (and those of other cars) to light our way, and that was really inadequate, I felt. I had an eye on the speedometer and a death grip on Luq's hand all through the entire journey, and the faster he sped (on quite a few instances, we touched 180 km/h), the tighter my hold. He wasn't sure of the way, I think, so he called a colleague with one hand pressed to the phone on his ear while negotiating the bends at slightly over 100 km/h several times. He slowed down - to 90 clicks - in the areas with a speed limit of 70 km/h, and once past these zones, shot up to even higher speeds as though to make up for lost time.

Each time we crept up on and sped past a more sensible, sedate driver, I kept a litany of "Please let us get home safely" in my head, and couldn't help reviewing the terms and conditions under which I could collect insurance compensation in the event of an accident. *Sigh* Can honestly say I was on the edge of my seat all throughout, staring at the speedometer with the fascination a snake has for a mouse. Couldn't take my eyes off it, as he kept to this more-or-less constant speed regardless of the drizzle, lack of visibility, other drivers and even the big signboards along the expressway that warned of deer crossing.

Viewed our destination with disbelief. Just couldn't believe we had made it through safely, but being on terra firma again was a huge relief.

NB. And of course, my big presentation was postponed by my lecturer on the very day I was supposed to do it!