There was no meter in the taxi, but I knew he couldnt be charging me 34 colones (~ 5 pence) for the 10 minute car journey from my hostal in Central San Jose out to the Ticabus bus terminal. Assuming he was telling me the charge was 34 hundred colones (about GBP 5.00), I passed him a 5000 colones note. It seemed a little expensive for such a short journey, but not overly so in Costa Rica, the Switzerland of Central America.
- 'No.' the taxi driver shook his head. - 'Treinte cuatro. Este es solo cinco.'
The blood started to drain from my face. The taxi driver was trying to charge me 34 thousand colones, about GBP 50, for a 10-minute taxi journey. We looked at each other intently, the dumbfounded extranjero half-expecting Jeremy Beadle to suddenly appear, and for the the taxi driver that was trying to charge him a ludicrous amount of money to start laughing and tell him it was all a joke. But the taxi driver didn't smile.
- 'No tengo mas dinero.' I shook my head firmly. No way was I paying more than GBP 5 for the short journey I had just made.
The taxi driver shook his head back at me. After a few minutes of me explaining that the security guard had told me it would cost no more than 5000 colones for my journey from central San Jose to the Ticabus terminal, the driver made a phonecall to check the cost of the . A revised price of veinte cuatro thousand colones (about GBP 35) was quoted.
- 'No tengo mas dinero.' I shook my head again. I wasn't paying fifty quid for a ten minute taxi journey, and I wasn't paying thirty five either. I suggested we continued our conversation in the bus station terminal, as the employees there would know how much it should cost from such a journey and be able to help us settle our disagreement. The taxi driver suggested I was wasting his valuable time, and I could pay him the rest in dollars. Shaking my head again, I reminded him that I was not American, and informed him that 'No tengo mas dinero' meant I had no other money of any other international currency with which to pay him.
We stared at each other again for a minute or so, neither of us batting an eyelid. Eventually, the driver realised he was not going to sucker me out of any more money, sighed loudly, drove me a couple of blocks away from the bus terminal and let me out his taxi with no change from my 5000 colones.
I couldnt be bothered arguing, as 1) I had a bad hangover, 2) my bus to Panama City was leaving shortly and 3) my rucksack was in the backseat and I was sitting in the frontseat - I didn't want him driving off with my rucksack when I got out the car.
In the end, I caught my bus, inwardly celebrating somewhat of a moral victory. Paying 5000 colones had left a bitter taste in my mouth, but paying 24000 colones would have tasted like the taxi driver had just eaten a large plateful of frijole beans and then curled one off in my mouth.
In the end, I caught my bus, inwardly celebrating somewhat of a moral victory. Paying 5000 colones had left a bitter taste in my mouth, but paying 24000 colones would have tasted like the taxi driver had just eaten a large plateful of frijole beans and then curled one off in my mouth.
Note to self: Never get in a taxi again that doesnt have a running meter.
Footnote: The taxi drivers name was Julio. I might be wrong, but I have a vague recollection that that was also the name of the golden-toothed thief that trying to steal my wallet in Nicaragua.
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