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It had been snowing in Washington, and we two, hastily flown across the Pacific from an Australian misdsummer, were a little out of synch. But if there is one thing Canberra households are not short on, it is cold weather gear, so we had simply dug into the back of the closet and pulled out our warmies.
And we spent a happy, but chilly, Sunday wandering up and down the Mall. Of course we'd seen snow before, but not in the middle of a great city. My wife was particularly impressed by the way that the fountains turned into cascades of ice as the sun sank lower, but I was entranced by the beauty of the clean whiteness, as well as being lifted by some of the glorious art in the ornate halls of the National Gallery of Art.
It was a magic day, but as the evening shadows deepened, we turned for home, or rather, turned to look for a place to hail a cab back to our hotel. Parked cars lined both sides of the street, and finding a clear space where a cab could pull up safely looked to be a challenge. We walked a block or two and found one whole side of the street with no parked cars. Instead, ugly cement barricades lined the curb. A couple of policemen began walking towards us, as I plomped my heavy tote bag down and waved my arm for a cab.
"That the Justice Department," the driver said as we pulled away, "they antsy over Gitmo."
The penny dropped then. The barricades were in place to protect against car bombs, and in the following days I saw more of these temporary security measures in place outside major national landmarks. The police had naturally been interested in my big bulky yellow bag (containing books, camera and a swag of souvenirs and presents for the kids) because of the popular unrest over the detention camp at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba.
We cruised along, and I nudged my wife, as a well-known building came into view, "Look, the White House!"
"Yeah, and they got the wrong president in it," the driver said bitterly.
He was an entertaining fellow, and we talked about Australia. "Summer in January?" he said, looking around at the snow piled up, "Maybe I'll go there, marry one of those native girls."
We wished him well and gave him a sweet tip as he effortlessly found our hotel, saying we hoped to see him again, maybe in Australia, where we assured him that it rarely snowed.
The cab itself looked tired and scruffy. One side of the seat was visibly sagging, and while the vehicle itself wasn't dirty, it had an extremely well-used look. I later learnt that the regulatory regime in Washington made it uneconomic to buy new taxis, and instead the cabs soldiered along until they fell apart.
I was reminded of my scruffy Washington taxi when i picked up Taxi 165, my new cab, for which I will be the night driver.
It gleamed. Inside and out it was spotless. Nearly a quarter of a million kilometres on the odometer, but it looked like a new car. It's the next model along from my first two cabs - a BF Ford Falcon instead of the AU model - and it has a few more bells and whistles, such as power controls for the driver's seat adjustment, a big LCD screen to control the climate, radio and other functions, and lots more storage pockets. This last is important because we cabbies tend to need a lot of cubby holes to stow our bits and pieces.
But above all, it was clean and new. I felt like I was driving a limousine as I collected my first few passengers, and perhaps they wondered why their driver was happily smiling his way through the rush hour.
Canberra isn't Washington, but there's always an interesting mix of passengers to entertain a cabbie. Parliamentary staffers, diplomatic families, lobbyists, senior public servants, academics of all varieties. And tourists, of course. I haven't quite become so enthusiastic with tourists that I'll suggest moving to their country and marrying a native girl, but I try to be as informative and entertaining as possible.
"And the best part," I tell them, "is that when it snows here, it doesn't stick around for more than a few minutes."
And we spent a happy, but chilly, Sunday wandering up and down the Mall. Of course we'd seen snow before, but not in the middle of a great city. My wife was particularly impressed by the way that the fountains turned into cascades of ice as the sun sank lower, but I was entranced by the beauty of the clean whiteness, as well as being lifted by some of the glorious art in the ornate halls of the National Gallery of Art.
It was a magic day, but as the evening shadows deepened, we turned for home, or rather, turned to look for a place to hail a cab back to our hotel. Parked cars lined both sides of the street, and finding a clear space where a cab could pull up safely looked to be a challenge. We walked a block or two and found one whole side of the street with no parked cars. Instead, ugly cement barricades lined the curb. A couple of policemen began walking towards us, as I plomped my heavy tote bag down and waved my arm for a cab.
"That the Justice Department," the driver said as we pulled away, "they antsy over Gitmo."
The penny dropped then. The barricades were in place to protect against car bombs, and in the following days I saw more of these temporary security measures in place outside major national landmarks. The police had naturally been interested in my big bulky yellow bag (containing books, camera and a swag of souvenirs and presents for the kids) because of the popular unrest over the detention camp at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba.
We cruised along, and I nudged my wife, as a well-known building came into view, "Look, the White House!"
"Yeah, and they got the wrong president in it," the driver said bitterly.
He was an entertaining fellow, and we talked about Australia. "Summer in January?" he said, looking around at the snow piled up, "Maybe I'll go there, marry one of those native girls."
We wished him well and gave him a sweet tip as he effortlessly found our hotel, saying we hoped to see him again, maybe in Australia, where we assured him that it rarely snowed.
The cab itself looked tired and scruffy. One side of the seat was visibly sagging, and while the vehicle itself wasn't dirty, it had an extremely well-used look. I later learnt that the regulatory regime in Washington made it uneconomic to buy new taxis, and instead the cabs soldiered along until they fell apart.
I was reminded of my scruffy Washington taxi when i picked up Taxi 165, my new cab, for which I will be the night driver.
It gleamed. Inside and out it was spotless. Nearly a quarter of a million kilometres on the odometer, but it looked like a new car. It's the next model along from my first two cabs - a BF Ford Falcon instead of the AU model - and it has a few more bells and whistles, such as power controls for the driver's seat adjustment, a big LCD screen to control the climate, radio and other functions, and lots more storage pockets. This last is important because we cabbies tend to need a lot of cubby holes to stow our bits and pieces.
But above all, it was clean and new. I felt like I was driving a limousine as I collected my first few passengers, and perhaps they wondered why their driver was happily smiling his way through the rush hour.
Canberra isn't Washington, but there's always an interesting mix of passengers to entertain a cabbie. Parliamentary staffers, diplomatic families, lobbyists, senior public servants, academics of all varieties. And tourists, of course. I haven't quite become so enthusiastic with tourists that I'll suggest moving to their country and marrying a native girl, but I try to be as informative and entertaining as possible.
"And the best part," I tell them, "is that when it snows here, it doesn't stick around for more than a few minutes."
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(Anonymous) 2006-11-29 04:39 am (UTC)(link)I'm looking forward to seeing DC and exploring all the historical places. Though my feet are already wincing at the prospect of the Smithsonian museums!
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I'm looking forward to seeing DC and exploring all the historical places. Though my feet are already wincing at the prospect of the Smithsonian museums!
(let's try this again, this time while logged in)
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Snowing in Washington, was it? That's only two hours from me and, while we've had near-freezing weather, recently, it's been unseasonably warm during the last few days. . . I keep hoping for snow so our niece, Lu, can play in it. She's been here for a flurry (Christmas 2004), but it hardly stuck let alone accumulated, so I'm hoping for a few inches before she has to go back to Australia (Melbourne).
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:-)
Nice cab, and I could probably do my hair while mirroring myself in that bonnet!