The taxi drivers of Lima are a special breed, and it takes a special kind of attitude to do business with them. If you´re new to Peru, it´s inevitable that your Peruvian friends will take the business of negotiating exclusively upon themselves. Sometimes they even physically push you out of the way in preemptive embarrassment of your imminent bumbling.

It´s a strange dynamic, but in reality, your friends have your best interests at heart. Until you get a feel for the lay of the land, and an inherent understanding of how much certain trips should cost, negotiating with taxis is probably beyond you.

Before I go any further, it´s important to note what the "taxistas" are up against. The reality is that public transportation is cheap in Lima. If you´re willing to ride on combis or buses, you can literally get from one side of the city to the other for less than fifty cents. Nobody is going to pay the typical 30 to 40 dollar an hour American fee for a taxi. So the question arises: how do taxistas make any money?

The answer is that many of the drivers are cutting things pretty fine. Even on 10 Sol trips, they often aren´t making more than a Sol or two of actual profit. Still, you learn pretty quickly that it's your duty as a negotiator here in Peru to fight tooth and nail for every Sol you spend. If you agree to pay 8 Soles for a ride that should have cost you 6, your Peruvian friends will never let you hear the end of it.

"Now every driver is going to want 8!" they scream.
"It´ll be economic chaos!"
"What were you thinking?"

And needless to say, you learn your lesson pretty quickly, although some of us learn it better than others. For example, I had a German friend who consistently negotiated a trip from the Senati in Los Olivos to where Aramburu crossed the Via Expressa, for only 8 Nuevos Soles. Not only that, he always got the guy to take the side streets to the specific block he wanted!

Now, I´ve never gotten to the point of being quite so big a "sinverguenza" as that, but I´ve had my moments. I used to make people gasp at my ability to acquire a taxi from the Ovalo de Miraflores to the airport for 10 Soles. Tourists at the Corner bar who had been in Peru less than a week were always especially incredulous.

"But it cost us 20 American dollars to get here!"
Shrug.
"But the guidebook said it would cost that much!"
Second shrug.

They usually left not believing me. In truth, I´ve gotten to the point where I think 10 Soles is a little light for a trip all the way to the airport, and now I go as high as 15. Still, even with 15, the negotiation can get ugly.

The way it usually goes is that you´re standing out there, arm outstretched, bags packed, obviously in search of a ride to the airport, which in turn implies that you must have a little bit of money (at least enough to afford a reasonable taxi fee). The moment the taxi arrives, it generally plays out the same:

"Airport," you grunt as the driver leans over to roll down the window.

A smart taxista will ask you how much you´ll pay and then add something between two and five Soles (those are good guys to go with by the way). But most of the time they appraise you and try to make a guess as to how much of a raise you're willing to call.

"The airport, yes...yes..." he says, pausing for a moment of fiendish calculating "40 Soles no mas!" The taxista smiles like this is the best price in the world.
"You're crazy I'll pay 15."

Sometimes he´ll just drive away, or you should just walk away at the ridiculous starting price, but if it´s early in the morning and there´s nothing better to do, you might as well have fun with it.

"35?"
"15."
"25?"
"15."
"20?"

At this point it's best to not answer and to just start hoofing it, which will generally provoke the taxista to lean over and open the passenger´s door. This is the negotiating equivalent of him knocking over his king. He's defeated, beaten, potentially angry. He sneers as you slide in beside him. It was a hard bit of business, feelings were broken.

Will there be residual effects?
You slam the door.
"Buenos dias!" he says happily.
"Buenas," you reply. And that´s the magic of the negotiation in Lima. The second the price has been reached and the door has been closed, the slate is wiped clean. All animosity is shrugged away, the two of you are friends. It´s a whole new relationship.

This moment of perfect harmony lasts until you reach the toll booth on the way to the airport and the taxista insists that this fee wasn´t a part of the negotiated price.

Make your own call on whether to pay that one. But a word of advice, if you eventually decide to shovel out the cash, don't tell your Peruvian friends.

The End