A city is defined by its taxi’s. It is the first local contact when you arrive and the last as you depart. In between your daze of day tripping and sight seeing are short hops between cabs. The friendliness or curtness of your cab driver determines the pleasantness of your commute.
In Thailand our cab ride from the airport was a teeth-clenching, death defining trip that had us levitating above the Bangkok roadway.
In Beijing, cab rides are careening affairs that weave through traffic, traverse bicycle lanes and brush pedestrians.
In Shanghai Luc texted me frantic messages stating ‘in case of death the taxi # is ..”.
Hong Kong taxis are wonderfully sane. With characteristic British order, taxi’s sedately lined up in taxi lanes waiting for fares, and nicely marked taxi drop off points are marked at major shopping malls. Except for the fact that they drive on the wrong side of the road and the driver sits on the passenger side, Hong Kong taxis are a dream.