Talking to Strangers
A pair of conversations with a pair of drivers leads to more than a pair of insights
Always talk to cabbies. Always. Even if they’re rideshare drivers. Maybe especially if they’re rideshare drivers.
I’ve always done this, long before rideshare or smart phones existed, long before I was a newspaper reporter — and that goes way back to the 1980s. It just always seemed polite, and, if the drivers want to talk (sometimes they don’t), I’ve rarely not learned something new.
A pair of conversations with Latino drivers in San Diego last week was just the latest confirmation of my lifelong maxim.
First off, both were overjoyed that unlike the vast majority of their passengers, I did not immediately start doom scrolling on my smart phone. “Nobody talks anymore,” said Nasario, who drove me from my friend’s house in Escondido to downtown San Diego. “They just look at their phones.”
That drive took 40 minutes, and San Diego traffic is real, so we had a great chance to talk. Nasario was born in the United States, but his family is from Michoacan, Mexico. He lives inland, in Temecula. His wife is from Sonora.
Sonora! I gushed. I love Sonora! I said I was a chef, and was in the area to learn more about regional Mexican food. Nasario told me about all the wonderful things his wife and his mother make, like pozole blanco and corundas, a sort of tamal wrapped in fresh corn leaves, not husks.
Nasario was in charge of the carne asada, having learned The Way from his wife’s father. Sonorans are widely regarded as the lords of carne asada, although grilled meat is great from Tijuana to Tampico.
After a not uncomfortable pause in our conversation, Nasario asked: “How can I help my wife make albondigas that are not too hard?” Apparently they are little brick balls.
Bolillo soaked in leche, I said. Mash it and mix with the meat and the meatballs will be soft and tender. His eyes lit up. Really? Really. Give it a go.
We talked about carnitas — the pork needs to be cooked in tons of lard in a copper cauldron — and about how Michoacan es el alma de Mexico, the soul of Mexico. This is a common belief among Michoacanos. I learned this in Sacramento.
In the end, we left as friends. I tipped him 30 percent.
The other ride was shorter, but deeper. José picked me up for an intercity San Diego ride. Like Nasario, he had an accent, but it was thicker. He greeted me in English, but as we talked, he faltered: “My English is not so good.”
Switching to Spanish, he opened up. José lives in Tijuana, but drives every day in San Diego. No manches, I said. That’s a terrible drive each day. He said it is, but the money is so much better in the US that it’s worth it.
I told him I was going to be in Tijuana to eat, and he rattled off a dozen places he likes; I was happy that I’d already been to a few, like Tacos el Franc and a place in the Hidalgo Market that sells carnitas tortas (sandwiches). Yes! Research confirmed, I thought.
I had crossed the border three times in three days by then, and even with Global Entry it was a minor stressor. I couldn’t imagine crossing every day in lines that can stretch for hours. José said he did it because he has a daughter, and he wants her to be able to go to a private Catholic school, which offers her a better education. He wants her English to be better than his. I couldn’t blame him.
The ride ended. Lyft asked me if I wanted to tip him $1, $3 or $5. I tipped him $20.
Takeaways? First, I have not regretted one second of the time it took me to learn Spanish. I still have a ways to go before I am fully fluent, but I can easily talk to people like José, or the taqueros at Tacos el Franc. Your world doubles once you understand two languages, and my only regret is that I went so many years speaking only English.
Second, and more importantly, showing kindness to those who are doing you a service goes a long way. Nasario and José are human beings, with lives and wants and needs of their own. These drivers, along with servers and clerks and housekeepers and everyone else who earns a living serving others, deserve, at the very least, our respect.
And guess what? When you do, you get repaid in full, with a pleasant ride, a smile, or in my case, some hot tips on where to get the best carne asada in Tijuana.
I love this and 100% agree! Thank you for sharing.
Quite a few years ago, my then boyfriend and I went to Culebra, Puerto Rico. We had friends who lived there, and friends up here that had gone for years. I started trying to refresh my lousy Spanish. Bob was irritatingly ignorant… “why would you bother ? They should speak English…”
I found this attitude so elitist.
On another trip, to an all inclusive resort in the Dominican, I mentioned to our friends that I wanted to try some local seafood, at a local restaurant. He reluctantly agreed, while a friend questioned why I wanted to do it!