We had a tail wind across the Atlantic from Joburg to New York because our direct non-stop SAA flight was an effortless 15 hours and 29 minutes. It was superb. The officials at OR Tambo were efficient and smiling and at JF Kennedy immigration was effortless and charming.
“What a pleasure,” said my spouse who, when experiencing the usual delays of travel, can become somewhat cantankerous.
The gentleman helping with our luggage recommended his cousin, “the best taxi drive in New York with a brand-new car”.
Normally we would never take anything other than a yellow cab or the airport taxi service.
But just then, his cousin appeared.
I asked how much the fare would be to Maplewood, New Jersey where our daughter lives.
“One hundred and twenty dollars,” he said.
OK, $10 more than we’d previously paid.
He ushered us to his automobile, a gleaming new affair of a make we’d not seen before with cream upholstery and in we climbed, ready to sit back and relax for the last hour and a half of our journey.
As our driver requested, we wrote down our daughter’s address. He then set the course on his GPS. The early-morning traffic was heavy, the lanes choked, but all was well as we sat back in our commodious taxi.
We were 15 minutes into our journey when he said: “You go?”
“Maplewood,” I responded. “I wrote down the address.”
“GPS no work,” he announced.
“GPS no work? What do you mean GPS no work?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “English no speak,” he added.
By now, my husband had recovered his usual bonhomie. “What do you mean the GPS no work?” he growled.
“Don’t be belligerent,” I hissed.
“GPS no work,” smiled our driver. “No problem, I find Maplewood.”
“Turn around and go back to the airport immediately,” said my husband.
“We go Maplewood, no problem,” our cabbie replied.
Imprisoned in a grand chariot in rush-hour traffic, there was no alternative.
I will not elaborate but it is sufficient to say that we discovered that Juan, our driver, hailed from the Dominican Republic and had been in “Amereeka” for two months and indeed was quiet due to the fact that his English was limited.
He knew perhaps 20 words.
Hopefully, he asked us if we spoke Spanish and looked extremely sad when we replied in the negative.
By the time we arrived at our daughter’s home five hours later, he and we were sweating although his vehicle was air-conditioned.
Then, as we parted, he uttered his 21st American word. “GPS crap!” he said.
For the journey to Newark Airport where we were catching a plane at 6am to Miami, we hired a cab from the local service. It would have been criminal to drag our daughter or son-in-law to the airport at 4am and besides, it was a short half-hour drive.
Which is how we found ourselves in a taxi with Luis from Puerto Rico who had been in the States for “not long” but he had a GPS “that was working good” and he knew the way to Newark Airport.
So, you might ask, how is it that Luis missed the turn-off to Newark and we found ourselves on the way to Pennsylvania? “No problem, GPS OK,” he smiled when my husband began muttering in an unsubtle way.
Finally, we made Newark with 15 minutes to spare.
“GPS not work good,” said Luis apologetically.
“GPS crap,” I murmured to my spouse.
“GPS and taxi driver crap,” he replied.
For once, I couldn’t disagree.