Colombia, Part 1: Crazy Taxi

Even before our first Colombian taxi had traveled 20 feet, it was obvious that this was not going to be any ordinary cab ride. You see, in Colombia, lane markers are only suggestions; cars frequently go three-wide on two-lane roads. At night, obeying red lights is, at best, optional. Speed limits? None to speak of. Because of the lack of traffic laws, chaos reigns supreme on the roads of Bogota.

Most of the cabs navigating the chaos are slight variations on this common theme: small, ultra-cheap car, constructed entirely of aluminum foil, with never more than a quarter tank of gas, desperately in need of repairs (indicated by sputtering engine), guaranteed to get you to your destination most of the time. Mechanical infirmities generally limited their speed, which was a relief, but it was clear from the sound the doors made when shut that an accident at any speed in one of these tin cans would be our demise. Word to the wise: Colombian cab drivers HATE it when you use any force to shut the door. We learned this quickly – the first night in fact - and soon it became standard practice to verbally warn whoever got in the cab last to be very, very careful not to slam the door.

To give you an idea of how harrowing an experience it is to take cabs in Colombia, I’ll list some of the cab-related incidents that occurred over the course of one week. Bear in mind this list is by no means exhaustive. One of the cabs was so pitiful that it almost stalled whenever we would have to climb a hill, causing other cars to back up behind us as we motored slowly ahead at 1500 rpms. Another blew a tire or lost a rim on the way to the airport. We stalled on the freeway at least once that I recall. We had one driver who, still many blocks from our destination, turned off his car whenever we came to a stop to keep us from running out of gas. Many of our other drivers accelerated full throttle through bumper-to-bumper traffic as if their cars were not about to fall apart, in the process terrorizing Josh and I.

Battling for domination of the roads with the cabs are these gigantic multi-colored buses, called [I need Dan to remind me]. Apparently, some of the buses are for site-seeing/drinking and others are for normal transportation. Unless I missed something, there is no way to tell the difference between the two. These buses stop whenever – and wherever – a rider wants, which means that your cab often has to screech to a halt because a bus has just stopped, without warning, in the middle of the busy road right in front of you. Though it seems self-evident that the cabs cannot possibly out-muscle the buses, our drivers were never willing to back down, even in the face of a collision.

To add to the congestion, some of the poorer people travel on horse-drawn carts. One of these 19th century devices came within inches of colliding with one of our cabs. Yes, that’s right: we were almost in a car crash with a horse in the middle of the busy streets of Bogota.

In all fairness, we only witnessed one actual collision, and it didn't involve our car – a minor one between a cab and a bus in which the cab’s side-view mirror was clipped. But in our travels, we came upon one bus that had obviously been on fire, a Hyundai wagon sans its front bumper being pushed by several laughing drunk people, and one other standard collision between normal cars.

Given the state of traffic in Bogota and the driving style of Colombians, I am truly amazed that more accidents don’t happen. Is this a testament to their driving ability or, was Josh right, and Colombians truly are "the luckiest people on Earth"? It really must be the latter.