"Mice Happy Dough! Mice Happy Dough!"

Well that's what it sounded like as the cab driver repeated my friend's instructions to get me to the airport "Mais Rapido" or 'Very Fast' and he screeched off to join the rest of the rush hour traffic. In Portuguese he asked what time my flight was and it was then I made my potentially fatal mistake...

G had told me the flight was 8pm so, considering it was already after 6pm and the airport was miles outside the city, I said it was 7:30p.m.

"AAAAGHHH!" he screamed, waving his hands around (which I felt would have been better served on the steering wheel), "you should have called me at 5" I was beginning to sense that, despite my external calm, there was a great danger that I might not make this flight.

He tore off into traffic, flying around corners, only to get held up moments later by backed up traffic. Upset by the lack of momentum, he added to the Salvadorian reputation for music by doing a solo on the horn. Like a husband that has been sent on the weekly shopping chore, he spied each row of cars to see which line would move quicker. Then he would dart in, by putting his hand out the window but never making eye contact, forcing the other car to stop and he would progress 10 metres before stopping and then exclaim as the line he just left had been given the green light.

I was sure I had seen an episode like this with Mr. Bean...

He seemed to know the backroads which gave me hope but his extensive knowledge bordered on the ridiculous when he sent people diving for cover as he drove through the courtyards of petrol stations...

"BIKE!" I screamed as a kid cycled out in front of us and I had to close my eyes, the memories of the horse getting killed still too fresh in my mind. But when I had opened them again, not noticing any discernible change in velocity, the child was gone and I reassured myself by knowing that if we had hit anything, I would have heard it.

In and out of petrol stations he went, bounding across speed bumps to jump the queue by a paltry three cars, but he was delighted by the service he was giving me as he would turn around to me (still driving at speed) and smile,  the conspiratorial smile of the damned!

"AAAGGGHH," involuntarily left my mouth as another person ran the gauntlet in front of our weapon of mass destruction, a portly woman wearing heels and a pink spandex outfit. For crimes against fashion, I thought that this might have been termed a mercy killing but I was aware that we were still miles from our destination so I egged him on.

"MICE HAPPY DOUGH" and almost immediately regretted saying anything. He began to weave in and out of traffic, discarding with his indicators as they would have flicked over and back faster than the window wipers set to max speed. I stared out in front of us and saw a sea of bobbing red lights, cars in the four lanes, all with their indicators on, trying to edge forward, desperate to keep momentum as if their car would stall if it was kept immobile for 30 seconds.

Police cars were up ahead and this spurred a rant about the injustices of the corrupt police, spitting out the window with venom as we drove past them. I could just imagine my guy getting stopped and having to explain to G by text that I was currently in jail, pending a court appearance in a few days for aiding and abetting in vehicular homicide, with additional charges for spitting on some police officers shoes. It was not a text that I wanted to make...

I tried a change of tact. I asked him his name to get him onside on this mission to get me to my flight on time and more importantly alive. I thought if he got to know my name then he might see me more as a human and less as a warhead. It was me and Casio against the world, one intrepid traveler, one psychotic facilitator. Knowing his name seemed to calm me down a bit, he wasn't some nameless maniac, he was Casio, my new friend, my deliverer....

"AAAAGGGGHHHHYYYY," I screamed, the frankly girly high pitched 'YYY' sound coming from the deep recesses of my primal survival instinct genes. Another person had decided to play Brazilian Roulette and Casio had to take evasive, and then abusive, action...

All of this must have even caught up with Casio as he started to point at his crotch. I would have forgiven him if he told me that he had wet himself (I was a borderline nappies candidate myself) but instead, he violently pulled the car on to an on ramp and got out to relieve himself...

WHAT? We'd just weaved, cajoled and basically bullied our way to here and NOW he'd decided to let all these cars pass us by so he could answer the call of nature? I answered the call of self preservation as I put our hazard lights on as a car nearly tail-ended me at speed as it tried to enter the throng that we were now blocking.

Ayrton Senna was a Brazilian World Champion Formula 1 driver before his untimely death in 1994 in a horrendous crash in San Marino and I wondered what he would make of his countryman's driving skills and now his pit-stop strategy. All I could do was wait and he saw me checking my watch as he got back in, refreshed.

He asked me the time and, to keep in the Formula 1 theme, kept insisting I give him updates, so he could gauge whether or not he was keeping up to championship winning pace. He bolted the car back into the madness, giving derisory laughs as he cut other cars off and shrieked wildly when he cut through an almost imperceptible gap.

Driving a cab in Salvador seemed dependent on you having two independent attributes; an almost supernatural knowledge of spacial awareness and an absolute and healthy disregard for human life. Of course, having a terminal illness and a fully paid up life insurance for your family could also explain Casio's behaviour but besides a hyper active twitch, he didn't seem to be suicidal. Yet.

Mercifully, a sign to the airport finally appeared but he steered our car wildly away from it as I looked back in terror. Now where was he taking me? He could sense my anxiety and tried to appease me by saying something about that sign was just for tourists and that he could get me there quicker. I had no choice but to believe him and braced myself for more time travel inducing speeds.

Finally though, we saw the airport and as he turned the car towards it, he barked at me for the time.

"AHA, 10 minutes early,"  he replied triumphantly, clearly delighted with beating his own target time. I thought this might calm him down but he drove recklessly right up to the departures doors, double parked, told some guy that he would be back in a minute to move his car and leave him out and proceeded to walk me to the door. This was service at its homicidally maniacal best!

After paying him, he waved me goodbye and screeched off to do battle for the return leg. If this was a cartoon I'd say he left a trail of fire in his wake, but this wasn't a cartoon and he did leave a trail of fire in his wake.

I arrived into the airport a little the worse for wear but electrified with adrenalin as those who have looked face in the death will tell you. Nivia was there with G and I was going to relay the incredible journey but I knew we had to book in immediately.

"Oh, we're ok, tell us your story, our flight isn't until 8:30pm, I made a mistake," said G in a nonchalant kind of way that made my eyes expand and mouth open like a trout on display.

I felt nauseous and faint. I had just encouraged a mental asylum escapee to drive at apocalyptic warp speed, nearly killing three pedestrians, not to mention the two of us and all to give me ample time to have something to eat before boarding a hardly arduous two hour flight?

My mind willed me to say, "A mistake?" but my mouth was dry with shock.

As the fear induced beads of sweat chilled on my body, as my jaw clenched and my blood pressure rose, I took a deep breath and with Nobel Peace Prize Winning calm whispered to G ,

"YOU are paying for SUBWAY"