If you poke around the internet looking for terms “taxi” and “Mexico City” immediately after the initial comment that the taxi in Mexico City is far cheaper than in other large cities around the world, you will find information (usually bolded, underlined or, if the web designer fell into coma in early 90s, blinking) about what you can get for that money.

While in Zagreb taxi drivers kill time playing chess or cards, and the income is sometimes increased by overcharging unsuspecting client, their Mexican colleagues have much more inventive ways of killing time and making money

It’s fairly simple; you enter the taxi and soon realize that you can’t get out and that you are in for something called “Tour d’ ATM”. Mustached driver with the support of his buddy with teardrops tattooed under the eye whom he just happened to pick up along the way, give you a ride from one ATM machine to another until you are relieved of the financial burden accumulated on the bank account.

As a grand finale, you are taken to one of those parts of town where not even armored vehicle provides sufficient protection and dropped off. If you are female (nice to have but not mandatory) you may be in for hours of sexual ecstasy and if you really have a special day, you may end up as two or more parts of the single naive tourist.

And all that for much lower taxi fare than in other large cities around the world.

Assuming that such stories might be just a bit exaggerated, I asked local colleague what would be easiest way to grab a cab downtown to get back to the hotel if I decided to go there. Without much hesitation he told me to go to the reception of one of the fancy hotels in the city center and ask them to call me a taxi.

Having collected all that useful information, following weekend it was time to go downtown because to fly 10000 km and then be stuck at the edge of town seemed insane, homicidal taxi drivers or not-

I got the taxi from the hotel and the elderly driver, although not speaking a word of English much like me of Spanish, wrote his phone number on the piece of paper gesticulating that I call him when wanting to go back to the hotel. I took the paper knowing that there is no way I will need it on account of all the taxi stands in the center which are apparently, apart from radio taxi, most secure way to get a taxi.

Unfortunately, there’s not much I can say about downtown Mexico City simply because I haven’t seen much of it. Pretty soon after arriving there it started raining, and I mean really raining. True, I anticipated some rain so I had my magical umbrella with me which I bought on the streets of Bucharest years back in a similar situation. I say “magical” because magic is the only way to explain how the umbrella with seemingly all required components in place and no visible holes, could achieve such water permeability as if it wasn’t even there. With such protection and All Stars on my feet, which admittedly were less-than-ideal choice of footwear in that weather, pretty soon I was soaking wet and since rain showed no signs of stopping, some time later I finally decided it might be better idea to get back to the hotel.

While walking around, I kept looking for the taxi stands mentioned earlier but with no luck. That search for the stationary taxi lasted for about an hour but as the time went by I was getting more and more wet and the evening with the closely related darkness was getting near. It didn’t help much that I discovered that the contact between soles of my wet sneakers and metal covers on the street produced virtually no friction. If someone smarter and more entrepreneurial was in my place, I’m sure such discovery would provide enough material for the discovery which would revolutionize mechanics achieving Holy Grail of mechanical engineering – 100% efficiency, i.e. zero loss of energy, i.e. zero friction. Not long after that the Nobel Prize acceptance speech would begin with something like: “While walking one day in Mexico City…”

But, since it was just poor old me, the only interesting thing about this was the laughs people lucky enough to happen to be nearby had watching as I performed most amazing acrobatics desperately trying to stay on my feet. That scene happened no less than three times, each time with me getting closer to falling down.

Since those taxi stands turned out to be non-existent and the only taxi driver I managed to establish some contact with refused to drive out of town, I decided to get something to eat and then ask someone in the restaurant to call me a taxi which is said to be the safest solution.

True, it’s not that I had dinner in the Michelin star awarded restaurant but it was no fast food joint either so I was unpleasantly surprised when after asking lady in the restaurant if she speaks English I received resolute, almost scornful, no.

So much about having taxi called from the restaurant.

In the meantime, the night has fallen and still the only taxis to be seen were the ones driving on the street. Going briefly back to the information about taxis in Mexico City, somewhere in the third paragraph it usually says that it’s really bad idea to hail a cab on the street, especially so at night.

After some more of the miserable walk in the rain I finally saw a parked taxi. It seemed to satisfy all the typical safety requirements; color of the car (red and gold), license plate (white, starting  with the single letter and followed with numbers) and the driver’s photographed taxi license slapped on the windshield, so with the help of piece of paper with the hotel address, some wild gesticulations and the version of Spanglish even I didn’t fully understand, we agreed that he will take me to hotel for the, probably seriously inflated but to me still acceptable, price of some 20 dollars.

About half an hour later he stopped at the gas station where I half expected to be joined by his friend with the tattooed teardrops but luckily nothing like that happened. It was still raining, windows were foggy and there was not much to see anyway, so I relaxed a bit satisfied that most likely no one will turn me into fraction today.

However, after a while through rain and fog I noticed a large FedEx sign passing by and thought it’s funny to see it since there is one just like that close to my hotel, although in the opposite direction, after the hotel when arriving from the center. While still processing that coincidence, I noticed another large sign, IBM this time, which again, is close to my hotel but also after the hotel. At that point Sherlock in me finally woke up realizing that we’ve missed the bloody hotel. Now, it’s worth noting that this is an area at the very edge of town, full of highways and loops so the wrong turn could mean quite a detour around such enormous city.

Initially my wild waving from the back seat had no effect but soon the driver saw that either the guy behind him is having epileptic seizure or there is something wrong with his driving. Since I had no foam on my mouth (yet), it was clear he screwed up which he acknowledged by raising hands, meaning: “Where now?” on the next crossroad. Fearing we could really end up on the unplanned trip to, say, Guadalajara, I had no time to explain to him what’s his and what’s my role in this car, or to comment the fact that he is asking for the direction a guy whose sense (or lack of thereof) can cause a serious case of identity crisis in any GPS navigation device. Lucky thing is that I was being driven around that area to and from the office for the past few days and I had a general idea where we should go but that meant little on the loops where you may easily turn right and end up driving left or other way around.

Having probably used up all my bad luck points for the day, my driving advice took us into the right direction and we’ve happily arrived to the hotel.

That was Saturday. Sunday I spent doing things which at no point left me more than 20 minute walk from the hotel.