So I yelled at an Arab for the first time (Christmas trip 2010 - part 3)
From Hama we took a 2 hour bus ride to Aleppo, costing a mere 150 SYP ($3) each. We arrived the day before Christmas Eve, and our first Aleppo experience was of a taxi driver trying to rip us off. But we showed him. I’ll explain.
He hurried us into his taxi just as we’d disembarked the bus. The ride had been, I repeat, 2 hours long, maybe a 100-mile journey. When I asked in Arabic how much the ride will cost, the man replied in English, “The meter.” Okay, that’s fine: that’s the most fair way, after all. And while we drove for a few minutes across Aleppo — less than 2 miles — the driver helpfully pointed out some of the well-known attractions. But once we arrived at the hotel, the driver demanded 300 SYP — and I blew up.
By now I’ve taken enough cabs in Syria to know that a metered ride of this length should cost no more than 50 SYP, and I’ve become confident enough with my own level of Arabic to stand up for myself when being cheated. I know that in the grand scheme of things, 300 SYP isn’t going to break the bank, and I understand and accept that, as a tourist in a developing country, you should give to the country more than you take. But this does not include getting cheated by men fully aware that you are visitors and fully expecting to get away with it. I’ve been cheated or shortchanged (intentionally or not) too often here in Syria, so this was to be the battled I’d pick to help break the trend, to make it known that cheating foreigners is not acceptable, to break the Syrian stereotype of tourists as people with loads of money to burn. At least that’s how I justified it to myself.
I made sure all our bags were out of the taxi and offered the man 100 SYP. Actually, before that I asked him in Arabic if 50 was okay. To that he scoffed — his jovial attitude underwent a sea change. His face and tone became angry and confrontational as he demanded 300. My jaw dropped. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who, less than 5 minutes ago, was kindly pointing out landmarks and popular attractions. I turned to Jennifer. “Unbelievable,” she said, before turning and walking towards the curb where a hotel employee had already started helping us with our bags.
I turned back to the man and told him to take the 100 SYP, but he wasn’t interested. I mean, he took the money from my hand but continued pressing for the full 300. I pointed out that the ride was 2km at most, that I have a map and know it should not cost so much. He didn’t care, and started yelling. He handed back the 100 SYP bill and threw his hands up in exasperation. Whatever, I thought, you’re not scaring me. In a diplomatic move, I pulled out a 50 SYP bill and told him to take the 150. He motioned again with his armed and refused. He pointed to the meter and yelled some things that I didn’t understand.
Surprisingly, the meter did indeed read 296 SYP, which is an impossible fare. At some point along the ride, I thought, he must have pushed the “ignorant tourist” button on the meter, thus automatically multiplying the actual fare by a factor of six. I said louder, “Tafaddil, tafaddil.” That is, “Take, take.” He realized I wasn’t backing down and began nervously spitting out all the English words he could think of: “ten… hundred…. money… kilometer…” — he pointed to a pair of traffic police at the other end of the street — “police… we go to police!” ”Tamaam,” I replied, yelling, “yalla!” (Fine, let’s go!)
Obviously he wasn’t actually going to bring this petty issue to the traffic police, who are not actual police and have no discernible authority other than their orange wand. This wasn’t their problem anyway. I yelled again, waving the 150 SYP in his face, “Tafaddil!” He finally snatched it and left the scene in a huff.
This small battle was (sort of) won.
