The Driver Ms. Daisy

BEIJING — Call me sexist, but I always choose female taxi drivers.

I will cross a street, jump a fence or break the taxi line to give a female drive some business. I don't hate male drivers, but it's a rare day I see a woman behind the wheel in Asia, and on those days I want to talk.

I found my latest conversation in front of a noodle stand in Zhongguancun. I tapped on her window and waved; the driver sheepishly stuffed a bun between the seat and the window. All Beijing taxis have a list of regulations that patrons should expect in the cab, no eating is on the list.

I got in and started chowing a bowl of noodles and sesame sauce.

"You can't eat in the cabin," she said.

"I just saw you eat in here. Don't worry I'm a clean person." We both laughed at the joke, and from there the beats of our conversation proceeded regularly.

"When did you start driving?"

"A cab? In 2000."

"Seven years now. Nice. When did get this car?"

"About two years ago."

Beijing's taxi fleet changed from Xiali rust buckets to modern Chinese made cars in preparation for the Olympics. The cars were switched quickly; a few months after their introduction it was hard to find model that dominated the capital's streets for over a decade. I wonder what happened to the old car; had she or the cab company sold it?

"No," she said. "They used it for parts."

Perhaps this green-and-yellow automobile contained an old Xiali carburetor under the hood. Perhaps not.

What I can say is that this driver, Ms. Zhao, brought me to Tsinghua University with a minimum of fuss, in a clean cab with pleasant conversation. As a representative of the small but growing class of female drivers, she did well.