Psycho-freak nutjob assholes. That’s Turkish taxi drivers in a nutshell. You guys want to join the E.U.? Learn to fucking drive.

I flew into Istanbul, Turkey last night. 3 taxi trips. 3 sessions of WTF?

From the airport to the hotel, the driver kept telling me about various sights and points of interest. At least that’s what I think he was doing. It was all in Turkish, which I, as a white, European, female, with wildly flailing hand gestures and constantly repeating “what?” do not understand one bit. For all I know he was pointing out where Salim’s car broke down last week.

Oh, and it was dark, so I could see very little. Nice sightseeing tour.

Meanwhile, he’s alternating between driving at 200 kph and 50 kph, weaving all over the road. Everyone’s honking driving by.

Whee!

Today, after leaving the client meeting, we were headed to a restaurant to get lunch. It was raining. The driver was driving too fast. On a downhill slope. We came around a curve and I watched the slo-mo footage unfold as we slid into the car in front of us. CRASH!! Hard enough to launch me out of my seat and smack my head on the roof of the car.

After the obligatory session of getting out of the car and everyone yelling at each other, we proceeded onwards to the restaurant. BTW, the car we hit—a Toyota—came away with barely a scratch. The taxi—a Renault—had a crumpled hood, creased front bumper, and a smashed headlight. Not saying anything, but keep it in mind next time you go car shopping.

After all that, the asshole had the nerve to still charge us full fare for the ride.

Finally, leaving the restaurant, I gave myself just over 2 hours to get to Ataturk Airport for my 17:30 return flight to London. No problem, right? Wrong.

First, the driver drives way out of the way to go somewhere and … switch drivers. We’re 20 min. into the trip at this point. The guy who takes over is the all time champion of indifferent taxi drivers. He drives into single lane roads of gridlock, turns back to me, and says in broken English, “traffic.” Fucking muppet.

Time ticks on. We’ve been on the road for well over an hour and I still don’t see anything that looks familiar from the trip the night before.

Meanwhile, indifferent taxi driver is driving slowly while being passed by just about every other driver on the road. When he comes to curves in the road, he suddenly will sit upright, grip the steering wheel with both hands, and steer through the curve. Then he resumes his laid back cruising style. Time ticks on.

He’s digging in the glove compartment for a CD, which he puts into the car stereo. Then he uses a remote—a fucking remote!—to change selection on the CD.

Finally, with 20 min. to spare before my gate closes, we arrive at the terminal … but he just keeps going. I tell him to stop. He does not seem to be familiar with the term “stop.” I tell him stop several more times and he keeps saying it back to me but keeps on driving. Finally, I just yell “Stop!” That apparently makes him understand the meaning of stop, because he does. I shove 65 Turkish Lira at him. He’s utterly clueless. Based on our previous conversations, I highly doubt he’ll understand if I tell him that this money is for the fare. I futilely tell him anyway, as if it would somehow make a difference, lay the money on the front seat, and jump out of the car.

Running around to the back of the car, I’m waiting for taxi driver dude to come around and open the trunk so I can get my bag and be on my way. He comes around to the back of the car, strolling, as though there are no concerns. He opens the trunk with the same indifference as his driving. He look stupidly at me and slowly reaches for my bag. Fed up, I finally just physically push him aside, grab my bag and run off to the terminal.

The good news is that I made my flight with a couple minutes to spare.

The taxi guy is probably still waiting in front of the terminal for me to return.