Troubles with Taxis and Tipping
Hands down, the Portuguese are the nicest people I have ever met. They are so helpful and just want the tourists to love them and their country...almost to a fault.
On our last night in Porto, we decided to follow the advice given to us the previous evening, by our taxicab driver/Portuguese diction coach, and go to the restaurant he insisted was the best food in Porto. He told us that while we would have to take a cab, it would be worth it, because it was a place frequented by locals. With no other plans, it sounded great. And he was right. The food was incredible. But of course, there was a story....
We got a cab in front of our hotel and it turned out to be the same cab driver we had driven with earlier the day before! (Not the restaurant critic/diction coach-another one) While our first ride together was only about 20 minutes, I felt like we were old friends when we got in the car. During that first ride, we had heard a great deal about her life, including being privy to a stressful phone conversation she had with her teenage daughter (all streaming through the car’s speaker for us to hear) about her daughter, who was in full adolescent whining mode, complaining because she had to take a public bus and it was late and she was going being late for school. Now, I don’t speak Portuguese, but from the sound of the back and forth between mother and daughter, it could have been in English—or between any American mother who has had a teenage daughter. It was living proof that American teenage girls do not have the market cornered on drama.
After sharing this brief but stressful time together, we had a million questions to ask her upon entering her cab. Did the bus ever come? Did your daughter make the bus? Was she late for school? Imagine our surprise when without answering our questions, she turned to us and said, “I’m sorry. Can my father take you?”
The problem was, that there was no one else in the car. I immediately thought she was going to drive us somewhere to pick up her father. That would never be acceptable to us for two reasons. One, it sounded like a scam. Two, and more importantly, we were hungry and didn’t want to miss our reservation.
We must have looked befuddled, because she kept apologizing, asking us if we “think bad of her?” All of a sudden, out of nowhere, this little old man appeared! A rapid conversation took place between them and then all of a sudden, the old man was in the driver’s seat—but not before our initial driver opened the back door to grab my hand and apologize again! We never found out if her daughter’s bus ever came.
All was going smoothly until we thought we had arrived and Bob went to pay the taxi bill. Tipping is optional here in Portugal, and it is customary to round up to the next Euro, if the service is exceptionally good. In these situations, our Catholic guilt launches into overdrive. This is one of the poorest countries in Europe, and we are going to tip this poor old man what turns out to be 13 cents for driving us way across town? It’s not in our religious DNA. Bob tried to give him an extra Euro (which was still a paltry tip!) but he wouldn’t take it! He began arguing with Bob pushing the one Euro back at him saying, “Too much!” After several back and forths, he won and we took the Euro back. (We were starving by now, and it appeared we could be there all night fighting over $1.19)
Unfortunately, it appeared that we were not at the restaurant. We went to what we thought was the restaurant door and had to be buzzed in —never a good sign for an eating establishment. We walked in, only to see a pool, and lots of children running around. What we didn’t see were tables with white table cloths and little candles—another not-so-good sign. We found an adult among the mass of children, who told us that the restaurant was around the corner. After being buzzed out, we saw that the worst businessman in Portugal, our taxi driver, was waiting for us. Apparently, he had realized his mistake and came to get us to take us to the right place. He walked us around the corner, and then thanked us!
On our last night in Porto, we decided to follow the advice given to us the previous evening, by our taxicab driver/Portuguese diction coach, and go to the restaurant he insisted was the best food in Porto. He told us that while we would have to take a cab, it would be worth it, because it was a place frequented by locals. With no other plans, it sounded great. And he was right. The food was incredible. But of course, there was a story....
We got a cab in front of our hotel and it turned out to be the same cab driver we had driven with earlier the day before! (Not the restaurant critic/diction coach-another one) While our first ride together was only about 20 minutes, I felt like we were old friends when we got in the car. During that first ride, we had heard a great deal about her life, including being privy to a stressful phone conversation she had with her teenage daughter (all streaming through the car’s speaker for us to hear) about her daughter, who was in full adolescent whining mode, complaining because she had to take a public bus and it was late and she was going being late for school. Now, I don’t speak Portuguese, but from the sound of the back and forth between mother and daughter, it could have been in English—or between any American mother who has had a teenage daughter. It was living proof that American teenage girls do not have the market cornered on drama.
After sharing this brief but stressful time together, we had a million questions to ask her upon entering her cab. Did the bus ever come? Did your daughter make the bus? Was she late for school? Imagine our surprise when without answering our questions, she turned to us and said, “I’m sorry. Can my father take you?”
The problem was, that there was no one else in the car. I immediately thought she was going to drive us somewhere to pick up her father. That would never be acceptable to us for two reasons. One, it sounded like a scam. Two, and more importantly, we were hungry and didn’t want to miss our reservation.
We must have looked befuddled, because she kept apologizing, asking us if we “think bad of her?” All of a sudden, out of nowhere, this little old man appeared! A rapid conversation took place between them and then all of a sudden, the old man was in the driver’s seat—but not before our initial driver opened the back door to grab my hand and apologize again! We never found out if her daughter’s bus ever came.
All was going smoothly until we thought we had arrived and Bob went to pay the taxi bill. Tipping is optional here in Portugal, and it is customary to round up to the next Euro, if the service is exceptionally good. In these situations, our Catholic guilt launches into overdrive. This is one of the poorest countries in Europe, and we are going to tip this poor old man what turns out to be 13 cents for driving us way across town? It’s not in our religious DNA. Bob tried to give him an extra Euro (which was still a paltry tip!) but he wouldn’t take it! He began arguing with Bob pushing the one Euro back at him saying, “Too much!” After several back and forths, he won and we took the Euro back. (We were starving by now, and it appeared we could be there all night fighting over $1.19)
Unfortunately, it appeared that we were not at the restaurant. We went to what we thought was the restaurant door and had to be buzzed in —never a good sign for an eating establishment. We walked in, only to see a pool, and lots of children running around. What we didn’t see were tables with white table cloths and little candles—another not-so-good sign. We found an adult among the mass of children, who told us that the restaurant was around the corner. After being buzzed out, we saw that the worst businessman in Portugal, our taxi driver, was waiting for us. Apparently, he had realized his mistake and came to get us to take us to the right place. He walked us around the corner, and then thanked us!
Comments
Post a Comment