CAB DRIVERS

We've traveled quite a bit. In the US and abroad, though at last count we had been in more foreign countries than US states. And we've come across two cab drivers that top all the others.

In the city where Princess Di met her death, we found ourselves racing to the airport at 6 AM at 120 mph. It was worse to read his speedometer in kilometers and see 180. I thought,"I should tell him to slow down."

I thought again,"I don't know French/he doesn't know (much) English."

We raced by the monument of Princess Di. I thought,"Fitting."

"Well, there's no one else on the streets at this time on Sunday morning." And I was right. But the next time, I will say, "Monseuir, please slow down." I'll use gestures, too.

In New York we hailed a taxi, asked the driver if he knew the hotel, he lied and said he did, and off we went. He was real spooky. He nearly killed at least three pedestrians, one literally diving out of the way or he would have been smashed. Then he'd yell at them.

He yelled at me, too, when I didn't know the address of the hotel. I knew it was near Times Square and 42nd St. But remember, he was the one who told me he knew the hotel. I told him to let us out near there and we would find it. But he wouldn't hear of it. Fortunately, this story ended well when providentally we found the Ramada Renaissance.

Those are my two memorable cab rides. Actually there was one more in New Orleans once when I way overpaid the fare. But I'm too embarrassed to tell that one.