Not what you know, who you know

Because of my frequent travel to Sydney anthe fact that my company is happy to cover travel expenses, when I travel to or from Melbourne Airport I can catch a taxi instead of leaving my car at the airport and having to drive back home.

Now most people would share with me that catching a taxi anywhere in the world is sheer luck (good and bad). Melbourne is no exception. Since 2004, and up until late last year, I had to take my chances with the levels of standard of service quality and cleanliness (of both the car and the driver).

Then one day I hailed a cab from Docklands, going to Collins Street – normally a 10 to 15 minute drive and often accompanied with an upwards flick of the head, followed by a moan or the sound ‘Tsk’.

The taxi looked brand new, the driver well-groomed and polite (extremely) and, astonishingly, there was no unpleasant smell of any kind either. In the space of those 15 minutes we were calling each other in first-name terms, had covered the fact that I travel to Sydney, using Melbourne taxis to and from the airport and that I live 40 kilometres from the airport and via the city. I got out feeling happy and with a glossy business card with his name and mobile phone number – at my request.

The rest is history. I have used Mehmet’s services since then at least twice a month, mainly to and from the airport but also around the CBD too (although somehow he’s keener on the longer fares!). It is also worth mentioning that there’s a little network of friends and family happening, who sometimes step in when Mehmet is not available.

But the ‘value-add’ of Mehmet's service is the conversation over 45 minutes. And last Sunday was the most enjoyable so far. We spoke about memories from our childhood, mine in Greece and his in Turkey. We spoke about our kids, his now married and mine still at primary school, and about the difference in expectations and how much kids these days take for granted. We spoke about food – how could we not! – and found that we shared very similar experiences and memories from local markets as well as from home. But we did not debate who came up with the names – I do believe and admit that the Greeks borrowed quite a few words form the Turks and then “Helenicised” them.

Incidentally, at my work there are two interesting characters; a late-forties Turk and a mid-twenties Australian-born Greek. Both opinionated and both right at any point in time; last week we sat back and listened to their interesting debate about the origins of Baclava as well as the origins of Turkey itself.

Back to my taxi story and as we were talking, I started to feel my age. Not that I have a problem with growing older. I actually felt warm and fuzzy that, out of nowhere, I started to reflect and remember things about my childhood, things that in my normal day to day life only come up when the kids or Lesley ask about my childhood and what Greece is, or was, like. It is amazing but also sad, how many things I had forgotten in the last 15 years. But somehow parenthood and my new relationship have urged me to slowly think back, remember and re-live some of these memories.

So to me Mehmet’s taxi (by the way, a silver service, long-wheelbase Ford Fairmont with leather seats) is not just a clean, civil and safe ride. It is simple but meaningful conversation, making you feel grateful for where you are and what you’ve got. It is a few laughs and a friendly face when you come out of a plane full of strangers and a few days away from home. It is coming home.

If any of you catch cabs long-distance, I recommend Mehmet’s service for its obvious merits: clean, civil and safe. Anything else is a huge bonus.