Joseph Calleja’s task as Malta’s cultural ambassador is to wow foreigners and make them understand what an amazing country we have. All well and good of course. But let’s face it, for those tourists landing at MIA, unless he’s there on the apron singing O sole mio, not much of his charm will rub off and, instead, the first impression of Malta they’ll get is… the taxi driver.

Taxi drivers are the real ambassadors of a country. In fact I’ll go a step beyond that: a country is what its taxi drivers are. In all the countries I’ve been to, my picture of the place always starts with a taxi chat.

Taxi drivers in Rome talk to me about “la bimba” and tell me “che brava mamma”, then they ask all sorts of questions about my family and tell all about theirs. In London, I always have detailed discussions about the weather, their relatives who were in Malta recently and the prices of houses. In Barcelona I got quizzed about my knowledge of Gaudí and then a whole monologue about the beauty of Catalunya. In Scotland we got whisky, the EU and the politics of Nicola Sturgeon. In Paris I was asked about Maltese wine and how it compares with the French. And so on so forth.

Taxi drivers have interesting insights on the neighbourhood, politics and history, some tell great jokes, some share photos of their family and they all ask questions: a rarity these days in a world where everyone just wants to talk about themselves. I firmly believe that the conversations taxi drivers have with people sitting at the back of their cab are a summary of the spirit of the country.

This week I was in Brussels, the day after those bomb threats. I think there was more security at the airport than travellers: beefy, weapon-equipped, menacing-looking soldiers were marching everywhere. And travellers were all eyeing each other: could that traveller in a hat be a bomber? Could that one over there have a hand grenade in her pocket?

I became edgy: were people looking at me and thinking the same? My mother texted me: pay attention to suspicious people. Argh. Everyone was looking suspicious.

In all the countries I’ve been to, my picture of the place always starts with a taxi chat

I jumped in a taxi. “Boh, c’est bien, you’re not to worry – the airport is the safest place at the moment,” said Imed the driver. “It’s the media which causes the tension. The media love problems – it means money.”

The problem is not in terrorism, he said. “How many people have died because of terrorism in a year in Belgium? Compare that to how many people died because of social issues. Suicides? Poverty? Traffic accidents because of bad road management? But no one talks about that because that’s not exciting. So the media talks about terrorism and the politicians talk about terrorism and the real problems are ignored.”

The conversation moved on to other things and thanks to Imed the city’s ambassador, by the time I got to the centre, I am pretty much relaxed.

Of course all this made me think of Maltese taxi drivers. How much of ambassadors are they? Are they offering insights into the country with their quality conversations?

Some years ago a colleague of mine and I had a newsroom assignment on taxi service and essentially did a Malta by taxi. Paddy, who was British, did all the chatting, while I just sat at the back, pretending I’m Spanish, and took note of any quotes (read, expletives) in Maltese.

The taxi conversations, in between hooting and rather manic driving, centred mostly around how women were hopeless drivers and no-politika-in-this-car and haqqittraffic and pastizzi – all in broken English, at times interspersed by an odd American-accented, surly, “you know woq I mean, sieħbi?”

Hopefully things have since changed, but I’m thinking: how about introducing some positive (we can’t sell anything without the ‘positive’ tagline these days) guidelines of good taxi behaviour?

Would-be cab drivers in the UK’s West Midlands have to hold a 15-minute conversation with an examiner to prove their ability to keep passengers entertained on a journey in order to get their licence. It’s not such a bad idea.

Maybe we could stick a list of possible conversation topics on the inside of the cab door alongside the fare rules. The list could include: how today’s politics are a reflection of our historical past; Cassar de Malte champagne and the development of Maltese wine; get a Maltese chicken to save the species; the benefits of living on an island for the human spirit. It could only result in happier customers, better-entertained drivers, bigger tips, less shocked gasps from the back seats and no more recorded conversations which make it to ‘Only in Malta’.

Back to Brussels. On the way back to the airport I got Imed again. Half way through the trip his mobile started ringing – an Arabic song tune. He then told me that he was going to take a different route to the airport because of traffic. A sweat bead started forming on my brow. But then I got a grip: if I give in to this fear, if I start losing trust in taxi drivers, I might as well give up on humanity.

I was dropped off safely and on time after yet another insightful conversation.

krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti