First Stop in the New World: Taxi Ride
This is the final in our series of extracts from David Lida’s book “First Stop in the New World,” which has just come out in paperback. The book is divided between long chapters that deal with topics of great importance in Mexico City (crime, inequality, food, sex and even shopping), and shorter chapters that provide vignettes on certain sectors of the city.
Lida is an accomplished author and journalist who has lived in Mexico City for the last 15 years. He has written a number of books, which you can read about here on his website.
The following is a short chapter about a taxi ride.
David Lida. Photographed by Federico Gama
Money
Onions
Calle Balderas was deserted at one in the morning, except for the odd taco eaters at the white-painted puestos, lit by bare bulbs. The taxi driver picked me up and began to hurtle down the street at great speed. I tried to fasten the seatbelt, but it wouldn’t budge from the wall. He began to complain about his fellow drivers:
“You don’t have to worry about the drunks until about three in the morning. These people in front of me may have had a drink or two, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that they’re tired. A lot of people know how to drive, but they don’t really know how to handle a car. They don’t know the difference between driving at night, and driving during the day, driving when it’s dry or driving after it’s rained.”
As he expounded, he tore down Avenida Cuauhtémoc, switching lanes with abandon, missing the cars at his sides by inches. “They don’t know how to stay awake,” he went on. “Me, I’ve been driving for, what?” He looked at his watch. “Forty-nine hours. I’ve only stopped to eat and to bathe, and to drop off my money at home. I don’t like to have a lot of money in the cab.”
I turned to get a good look at him. He appeared to be about 40 years old, with his hair brushed back, a trim moustache and huge bags under his eyes.
“I’m not on drugs, either,” he said with a smile. “The longest I’ve ever driven is eight straight days, from Sunday to Sunday.” I tried once more to maneuver the seatbelt, to no avail. “I have to bathe every twelve hours or so. I have very sensitive skin. If I don’t bathe, the collar of my shirt gives me a rash on my neck. But the real secret to staying awake is eating. I eat a lot.” He was of a normal body type, not at all running to fat. “In the last 24 hours, I’ve stopped to eat six times. You need to eat for energy. Our bodies our like these taxis. If you don’t fill them up, they won’t run.
“You know what the real secret is?” he asked, now with a manic look in his eyes. “Onions. If I eat a lot of onions, I can go on and on. At this hour, I usually get some beef tacos at a stand on Bolívar. They know me, and they always pile on the onions. No cilantro, just some extra cheese and a heap of onions. ” He must have noticed an incredulous expression on my face. “Look, I can’t give you a scientific explanation. I’ve never looked it up, and frankly, I don’t care. Try it and you’ll see for yourself.”
Category: culture
