Taxi Ride in Istanbul

A rant on bad vibes, radio chatter, and yellow cabs

A taxi driver’s chaos in the city of Istanbul. Image made by author using AI.

I hate taxis.

I have always hated taxis.

I am that person who walked forty-five minutes from the airport in the hot summer sun on my first job interview just to avoid cabbie vibes. The decision was irrational; emotional… or perhaps a rational decision to avoid negative emotions. Looking back, I have no regrets.

I dislike buses too. But buses are merely inconvenient. The bus is safe. It’s planned but not reliable. There’s always too many people. Too many smells. Too many vibes.

Metros and trams on the other hand, I like. Predictable. Timed. Regular. Clear. Safe. Wish we had those everywhere.

Taxis though, are an experience. Here’s a personal narration about a recent ride we had.

We step into the taxi. I’m good with energies. I can usually pick a vibe and feel the energy instantly. And it’s (mostly) always the same in the cab.

It begins the moment we tell the driver where we’re going.

Bad energy ensues as soon as the driver hears that the destination is nearby. His face falls and the disappointment is audible. He was hoping for a grand expedition across continents to earn a good day’s wage from a single ride. Instead, he has been assigned the humiliating task of transporting a paying customer back home. Not another neighborhood pick and drop. Poor chap.

A radio device clammers constantly from the front of the vehicle. Full volume always.

Voices shout. The controller verbally dispatches taxis across the city.

Arguing. Bickering. Complaining.

What is this? A special operations command room? Just get me where I want to get. Why do I need to listen to the entire taxi community eat at each others throats?

In the midst of all this chaos, we’ve got a chatty one. “Where are you from? What do you do? How do you like Türkiye?” Just please take me home.

Then comes the driving.

The average Istanbul taxi driver approaches traffic as a philosophical disagreement. Drives like it’s an F1 race. Lanes are suggestions. Speed bumps are optional. Other drivers are fools. Buses are grazing elephants. Pedestrians are the enemy. Everyone must be shouted at through a moving vehicle because watching where you’re going is not what this is about. This is about being the man. The ride almost gets us tragically killed a few times. But, as you can probably tell, I survived to tell the tale.

Every few seconds comes another loud sigh. He’s constantly grimacing. He might start spontaneously smoking at any point.

Another complaint. Another click of the tongue.

The roads are terrible. The municipality is terrible. The weather is terrible. The drivers are terrible. The customers are terrible.

It never seems to occur to him that the one common factor in all these daily conflagrations is sitting behind the steering wheel. You, Mr. Angry Taxi Driver, are the problem.

What fascinates me is that the taxi driver is not really a profession in Istanbul. It epitomizes a certain kind of person. The Istanbul taxi driver is the distilled essence of a wider social attitude.

He is permanently aggrieved. He is always arguing. He is always right. He is always rushing. Somebody else is always responsible for his problems. The taxi simply gives this lovely personality wheels.

Eventually, we arrive.

Cabbie dislikes the parking spot. Cabbie doesn’t have change.

Somehow, we emerge from the ordeal having paid extra for the privilege.

Every time, I leave with the same conclusion. I don’t enjoy paying to spend twenty minutes marinating in somebody else’s bad mood. The bus may be crowded. The sun may be hot. I may have to wait many minutes.

But at least I don’t have a front-row seat in a speeding metal box filled with shouting and misery.

I realize that after years in Istanbul, the problem may not be the taxis. It may be that I have become the sort of person who sees a yellow cab and immediately prepares for a psychological shit-show.

My wife says we should just get bicycles.

**Post Note:* There are some amazing cabbies. Not hating the profession or the professionals. Just hating on many of a certain kind.