Jules Heartly | August 2024

As I stepped out of Tokyo International Airport, the humid air clung to my skin. I  spotted a cheerful-looking taxi driver waving at me, his bright yellow cab gleaming in the sunlight. “Konnichiwa! Welcome to Tokyo!” he called out in accented English. 

Once settled in the backseat, I  noticed an intriguing collage of colorful banknotes adorning the cab’s ceiling. The driver, introducing himself as Hiroshi, caught my gaze in the rearview mirror and grinned . “Ah, you  noticed my little collection! Every bill is a story, my friend.”

 As Hiroshi navigated through the bustling Tokyo traffic, he began to regale me  with tales of his passengers from around the globe. “See that purple note? That’s from Thailand. I had a lovely couple who taught me about Thai street food.

 Did I  know they have mango sticky rice that’s simply divine?”

 He pointed to a vibrant red bill. “That’s from Canada. A group of students gave me that one. They were here for a robotics competition and didn’t stop talking about the vending machines that sell everything from umbrellas to live crabs!” 

The cab weaved through narrow streets lined with neon signs and towering skyscrapers. Hiroshi continued, “Oh, and that green one there? From Brazil. A soccer player on his way to a friendly match. He tried to teach me Portuguese, but all I remember is ‘obrigado’!” 

As I  passed the iconic Tokyo Tower, Hiroshi shared a story about an Australian surfer who was amazed by Japan’s punctual trains. “He said he’d never seen anything like it. Trains arriving on the dot, can I  believe it?” Hiroshi chuckles.

 The ride was filled with more anecdotes: a Russian ballerina who performed at the Tokyo Opera City Concert Hall, an Italian chef who was obsessed with Japanese knife craftsmanship, and a Kenyan marathon runner who found Tokyo’s maze-like streets both challenging and exciting. 

As I  neared my hotel, Hiroshi showed a crumpled, faded bill. “This one’s special. It’s from Argentina. An old man gave it to me. He was returning to Tokyo after 50 years, retracing the steps of his honeymoon. His eyes were full of memories, I  know? It reminded me why I love this job – every passenger has a unique story.”

 Pulling up to my hotel, Hiroshi turned to me with a warm smile. “And now, my friend, you’re part of my Tokyo story too. I hope I  created wonderful memories here!” As I  exit the cab, I  couldn’t help but feel that my Tokyo adventure had already begun, thanks to Hiroshi and his tapestry of international tales.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And I was right, between the memories of the hike to Mount Fuji and the live stories created when visiting other Japan cities like Osaka,  Kobe, kyoto and Hiroshima the overall stay was a true adventure, one worthy of another blog.

On my way back to the states (a.k.a USA) I spent a few days in San Francisco. When I got off the BART I realized I was a bit away from the hotel I had booked. Jetlagged and all that, I proceeded to order a taxi, but not any car service but the autonomous electric car available via #Waymo, the world’s first autonomous ride-hailing service.

The hiring process (ordering the car service) was quite simple. After downloading the app. entering my basic information and form of payment, I requested the service to my current location.  The wait time provided proved to be accurate: 6 minutes later, a white jaguar with my initials displayed on the car billboard arrived. 

Using my cell phone, I unlocked the car doors and stepped in. A welcome message played an announcement similar to the one made by the pilot of a commercial airplane, advising to put on the seat belt but this one added to call customer service with any questions.  

As I glided into the backseat of the autonomous taxi, a wave of relief washed over me. No awkward small talk, no need to navigate the delicate dance of conversation with a stranger. Just me, the quiet hum of the electric motor, and the streets of San Francisco stretching out before us.

The mechanical chauffeur glided from the curb, and I melted into the seat like ice cream on a sun-soaked sidewalk. No need to worry about tipping, no pressure to be a charming passenger. I could simply be myself, lost in my thoughts as we wove through the city’s iconic streets.

But as we climbed our first steep hill, a pang of disappointment hit me. I spotted a quaint little café tucked away on a corner. My curiosity bubbled up like a geyser, and instinctively opened my mouth to ask about it—only to remember there was no one to ask. As we passed Lombard Street, I yearned to know more about its history. And when we drove by a crowd gathered around a street performer, I wished I could inquire about the city’s busking culture.

I found myself pining for the orchard of local wisdom that often blooms in the presence of a flesh-and-blood driver. There was no friendly lighthouse to illuminate hidden treasures or paint the air with colorful tales. The silence that had initially felt like a cozy cocoon now seemed to amplify the echoes of missed connections.

 There was no friendly voice to point out hidden gems or share quirky anecdotes about the neighborhood. The silence that had initially felt so comfortable now seemed to echo with missed opportunities.

As we approached my destination, I felt like a book with half its pages torn out. The journey had been a masterclass in efficiency, yet as emotionally fulfilling as an empty photo album. I stepped onto the sidewalk, marveling at this chariot of progress.  I’d experienced the forthcoming of hauling, but also I’d perceived the bittersweet sting of nostalgia for personal communication.

I watched the driverless vehicle dissolve back into the river of traffic, realizing I’d glimpsed the skeleton of future transportation, but had also unearthed a newfound appreciation for the irreplaceable flesh of human interaction. Perhaps next time, I mused, I’ll choose a good old-fashioned human pilot—and arm myself with a quiver of questions about this beautiful, enigmatic urban tapestry.

But that was my appreciation as a tourist, what would be the one of a local?  

That evening during the hotel hosted Happy Hour, I asked one of the hotel employees about his experience riding one. Here is his story as he described it:

“As a born-and-raised San Franciscan, I never thought I’d see the day when I’d willingly give up control of my commute. But there I was, sliding into the back of a “Robotaxi” with my best friend Sarah, ready to head across town for dinner.

The moment the door closed, I grasped a sense of liberation. No need to focus on the road, no stress about finding parking in notoriously difficult neighborhoods. Sarah and I immediately dove into an intense conversation about her upcoming job interview, my hands free to gesticulate wildly as I offered advice.

As we wound our way through the familiar streets, I found myself noticing details I’d missed for years. The way the late afternoon sun gilded the Painted Ladies, the new mural blooming on a previously blank wall in the Mission. All because I wasn’t laser-focused on navigating traffic or checking my mirrors.

When Sarah’s phone rang – her potential employer calling to reschedule – I appreciated the privacy of our ride. No awkward pauses in conversation with a driver, no need to censor ourselves. Sarah could speak freely, her voice rising with excitement as she nailed down the new interview time.

As we crossed Market Street, I pulled out my laptop to quickly review a presentation for the following day. Try doing that while driving! The smooth ride and lack of interruptions allowed me to fine-tune my slides with ease.

Arriving at the restaurant, I realized we’d made the trip in record time. No human indecision, no missed turns, just optimal routing through the city I thought I knew like the back of my hand.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I noticed a new appreciation for my hometown. The autonomous ride had transformed a routine trip into an opportunity for productivity, deep conversation, and rediscovery of the city I love. As the taxi silently pulled away, I couldn’t help but think: this is the San Francisco I’ve always dreamed of – innovative, efficient, and full of possibilities.”

After listening to this local tale of his exposure to this new technology driven approach to car service, and remembering Hiroshi’s tales, I concluded stories are always in the making.  How they are shared and to whom makes the difference, and having the alternative to choose is a luxury…

all that said, what are your thoughts on the subject? I would love to hear from you. Write a comment or send me a note.

Thank you for reading my blog. Remember to follow me on Instagram, TikTok and Twitter (X) @jbradiant and to visit my website www.JulesHeartly.com