London Calling

Living without a car has turned us into devotees of the London public transport system.  However, we do find ourselves hopping into a taxi on occasion.  The iconic London Black Cab, descended from the horse-drawn Hackney carriages of the Empire’s heyday, are the publicly sanctioned conveyance of choice in this city.  Black Cab drivers are invariably courteous, entertaining, generous with advice and, above all, knowledgeable about navigating this haphazardly laid out maze of narrow alleys, roundabouts, one-way roads and obscure street names(they don’t call it Piccadilly Circus for nothing).

Unlike New York, North America’s yellow cab capitol and home of the prohibitively priced “medallion” of NYC Taxi and Limousine Commission fame, London has no limit on taxi permits.  Also unlike New York, however, London cabbies have to pass a comprehensive test proving their competence as drivers and knowledge of the city.  ”The Knowledge,” as it is known here, includes a detailed familiarity with the 25,000 streets within a 6 mile radius of Charing Cross Station, general knowledge of major arterial routes into and around London, and the location of a plethora of “squares, clubs, hospitals, hotels, theatres, government and public buildings, railway stations, police stations, courts, diplomatic buildings, important places of worship, cemeteries, crematoria, parks and open spaces, sports and leisure centres, etc, etc…”  You get the picture.

It’s not uncommon to see drivers-in-training navigating city streets on scooters with clip boards to familiarize themselves with the 400 “runs” that comprise the Blue Book of common routes on which the London Carriage Office test is based.  On a recent ride I was informed that it takes a minimum of 2 years to prepare for and pass the test, while some cabbies have taken as many as 17 to get their license, presumably while preoccupied with another career.  As we wound our way from Bloomsbury to Maida Vale in the wee hours, the same driver serenaded me with a medley of Ol’ Blue Eyes hits in a lovely voice, reminiscent of a young Chet Baker.  I’d pay that 10 pounds again.

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