Nothing boils my blood more than reading stories about foreign adventures in taxis. "Oh my god, the taxi drivers are SO CRAZY here. And I don't trust any of them. No one would do this to ME at HOME!"
Ugh, who cares. Guess what: You're an American in a developing country, you have a target on your face and back that says "Take my money." That being said, Indian autorickshaw drivers are a special breed of extortion artist.
A disproportionate amount of my daily energy is spent dealing with these barefoot charlatans, from as soon as they slow their rusted-out plastic "vehicles" to the "curb."
First thing is first: will they run the meter or not? Time of day plays into this decision because:
1) If you get the meter rate, you may also get the extended scenic tour of Bangalore
This is standard procedure for taxis worldwide. If you're not from there, you're screwed. Foreigner tax, vacation tax, pale-face tax, call it what you will, you aren't getting a fair rate. And if you try and show them a mapped route, they'll instantly become illiterate, deaf, dumb, blind, and maybe even incontinent.
2) If you negotiate set price, they'll get you there as fast as they can.
So, I prefer to get them to what I know is fair price, especially at night. Meters run at 1.5x after 9:00 PM, and sometimes all day if they think you're stupid. They will mess with their meter so it runs faster, which has been interesting since I have the SAME COMMUTE EVERY DAY.
3) India is a constant series of wins and losses. Don't lose. Ever.
I have a short fuse for the whole lets-rip-off-the-foreigner game, mostly because I would NEVER do that back home, and I think that stigma is writ large in the US. And only the US. So when someone tries to get one over on me somewhere else, things get ugly.
So far, we've thrown our money at them, yelled at them, been firm with our best Mary Poppins smile, explained our position logically, appealed to their sense of humanity, and reported the fradulent drivers to Bangalore police (it does nothing; there is an alleged 100 rupee fine, which is funny, as that is the exact cost for our morning commute).
I'm still figuring out the best course of action, but I only know this truth for sure so far:
Not like these OG's from Nairobi, anyway (You're welcome Peter and Arielle)
Ugh, who cares. Guess what: You're an American in a developing country, you have a target on your face and back that says "Take my money." That being said, Indian autorickshaw drivers are a special breed of extortion artist.
A disproportionate amount of my daily energy is spent dealing with these barefoot charlatans, from as soon as they slow their rusted-out plastic "vehicles" to the "curb."
I bet he didn't charge those kids double meter...
So, for the weary foreigner, I've compiled a short how-to guide on dealing with these shifty bastards, which I like to call:
HOW TO GET YOURS IN THE DOG-EAT-DOG WORLD OF AUTORICKSHAWS
1) If you get the meter rate, you may also get the extended scenic tour of Bangalore
Behold. Your enemy.
This is standard procedure for taxis worldwide. If you're not from there, you're screwed. Foreigner tax, vacation tax, pale-face tax, call it what you will, you aren't getting a fair rate. And if you try and show them a mapped route, they'll instantly become illiterate, deaf, dumb, blind, and maybe even incontinent.
So, I prefer to get them to what I know is fair price, especially at night. Meters run at 1.5x after 9:00 PM, and sometimes all day if they think you're stupid. They will mess with their meter so it runs faster, which has been interesting since I have the SAME COMMUTE EVERY DAY.
So there's only one thing left to do:
Become Tony Montana. Use your words. Not the gun (or chainsaw).
I have a short fuse for the whole lets-rip-off-the-foreigner game, mostly because I would NEVER do that back home, and I think that stigma is writ large in the US. And only the US. So when someone tries to get one over on me somewhere else, things get ugly.
Or as the Israelis say: אני אפתח לך את התחת
So far, we've thrown our money at them, yelled at them, been firm with our best Mary Poppins smile, explained our position logically, appealed to their sense of humanity, and reported the fradulent drivers to Bangalore police (it does nothing; there is an alleged 100 rupee fine, which is funny, as that is the exact cost for our morning commute).
I'm still figuring out the best course of action, but I only know this truth for sure so far:
When storming away, look both ways before you cross the street. And no, this wasn't the auto that hit me. Everyone died in that auto.
