Word: taxiing
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...fruit balanced on her head. The Palestinians cleaned out every shop on the Egyptian side: By afternoon, there was nothing to buy within a six-mile distance of the border; and even the Sinai town of El-Arish, three hours drive away, had been sucked dry of gasoline. One taxi driver who brought back cartons of cigarettes and gallons of gas to resell for a profit in Gaza said, "This should help feed my family for several months...
Even when streets do have names, few know what they are. My girlfriend recently saw an official map of her hometown?Masaya, Nicaragua?and discovered that the street where she had grown up in fact has a name: Calle Palo Blanco. But if you tell a taxi driver "Calle Palo Blanco," all you will get is a blank stare. So we still give the more common address ("From the San Jeronimo Shell Station, 2 1/2 blocks down"). And off we go without further question...
...Taillevent, Jean-Claude Vrinat was pleasantly old-fashioned. The food, while superb, was not trendy; unlike his peers, Vrinat and his chefs stayed out of the limelight. But the perfectionist Vrinat made the kings, film idols and awestruck tourists who ate there welcome, remembering names and hometowns, even opening taxi doors. Once, after Salvador Dalí had dined with his cat, the tactful and kind Vrinat offered, "Perhaps next time it would be best if your friend didn't come. I had the sense he didn't particularly enjoy himself." Vrinat was 71 and had lung cancer...
Were you stunned by the reception? No. George and I actually thought it was a bit of a scream. We all went to Britain and there was tremendous reaction. I can remember walking across the street and a London taxi stopped and the taxi driver - he was a tough-looking cookie - came out and said "You're Hillary, aren't you?" And I said "Yeah." And he said, "Congratulations. You know you've done a great job for us!" He got back in his cab and drove of. Now, the contrast was when we arrived back here in New Zealand...
...journalists still had parties and friends would pass out in the bushes and lived to tell of it. I enjoyed taking taxis at night. Today taking a public taxi during the day as a western journalist is tantamount to a death wish. Back then there was an overabundance of satellite dishes - these big metal pans - for sale at nearly every shop. Today commerce has slowed to a crawl. The traffic now is a bit more orderly, but the number of horse-drawn carts has increased. Fancy cars are all but absent. And everyone is on edge - get too close...