Rogue cabbies from planet anarchy

Occasionally the Ministry of Health driver will pick me up, but I mostly commute to the lab by taxi. Each way usually only costs a little more than a San Francisco bus ticket (negotiated beforehand, of course) and the ride is anywhere between 15 and 40 minutes, depending on traffic and detours and general Managua mayhem. It’s also affected by how many times the driver stops for $1.50 gas refills. Cabbies are frantic like anywhere, but added obstacles include the million motorcycles, street vendors, dusty soccer games, donkey carts, maniacal smoking buses, and other jittery cabs, which probably take up a 40 % cut of the vehicle pie chart. My travel guide aptly describes cab drivers as “rogue messengers from planet anarchy.” To aid in their maneuvering, most cabs have flashing lights, neon license plates, and siren horns that are all apparently legal. An effective driver will spend more time on the horn than off. Today, while stopped at a traffic light, the guy quickly hopped out, bought some plastic bags of water from a peddler, quickly dumped them into the radiator, gave it a healthy kick, and jumped back in before the light changed. Sometimes they like to talk. A young driver I had in León named Oscar was telling me how he recently graduated from the university – an economics major – and was just scraping by while looking for work. Professionals have a hard time finding jobs in Nicaragua, he said.