Our first three weeks in Abu Dhabi, we never once rode in the other sort of taxi that plies the crowded roads of this gridlocked town.

The gold taxi. Or”green” taxi, as I’ve been calling them, focusing on the green sign on the roof rather than the gold-colored quarter panels.

We had been told, within minutes of hitting town, that the gold taxis didn’t pick up Westerners.

And so it seemed. We could be standing on the side of the road, waving at the sleeker, newer “silver” taxis … and the gold taxis (older, smaller, and often beat-up) would roll right past.

Meantime, we could see the drivers inside the gold taxis, and some of them look like the guys you see in the background of military footage from Afghanistan or Waziristan or the Swat Valley. The vests,  the baggy pants, the little hats … We weren’t much more interested in them than they were in us, actually.

That changed, today. Well, at least the once.

We had just hit the street, another steamy day, when we saw someone walking towards us, and I thought to myself, “Man, that guy looks a lot like” a guy we work with.

Actually, he looked so much like him … it was him. (One of those “I don’t expect to see him here, so it can’t actually be him”moments.) And once he nodded at us, Leah realized who it was. Yes, a co-worker from The National.

We were all headed to the office, and we decided we ought to share a cab. We mentioned we usually crossed the street because we had better luck on the south side of the street, picking up cabs backed up by the signal and sitting dead in traffic. Or even back in the parking lot behind the bank and the market and various other buildings, where cabs often circulate after dropping off fares to shop.

Our co-worker said, “No, this will work right here.” And he made the short walk to the cab stand where we have almost no luck, on a weekday (and Sunday is a weekday) , and said he never had to wait more than about 10 minutes.

We found that puzzling. What did he know that we didn’t?

Well, he is willing, and able, to take the gold/green taxis. The humbler ones, with the drivers who tend to look right through Westerners. (Our co-worker is from India.)

Within a few minutes, a gold taxi pulled up, a woman got out, and our co-worker climbed into the front seat and we squeezed into the back of what appeared to be a Corolla.  A not-so-new, very cozy Corolla.

Our co-worker said a few words in a language certainly not English, and off we went. I thought I saw our bearded driver look at me with … oh, what? Disdain? Distaste? He didn’t seem happy to see me, that seemed clear.

But the air-conditioning worked, and as long as I kept my knees pulled up, I more or less fit in the backseat, and we got to the office in about the same time it normally takes.

We asked our co-worker what language he had been using to speak to the driver, and he said “Urdu.” Which is the main language of Pakistan.  Our co-worker is from India, and his native tongue is Marathi, which is spoken in his hometown of Goa … but educated Indians  speak Hindi (as well as more than a little English), and Hindi is close enough to Urdu, our co-worker said, for him to speak to the Pakistani driver.

And the reason gold taxis don’t pick up Westerners? Because the cabbies don’t speak enough English to make it worth the hassle? Yes, said our co-worker.

That inability to speak English actually hurts the drivers. By never picking up Westerners, they miss the tipping that is less common among other ethnic groups. They also charge a lower rate, presumably because of their sad little cars as well as they lack of language skills. To wit: For three of us to ride down to The National, it was 4.5 dirhams. About $1.25. In the regular silver taxis (newer cars, with more footroom, drivers with some English), the rate would be more like 7.5 dirhams, or about $2. Still cheap, but significantly more expensive on a percentage basis.

The gold taxis apparently are headed for extinction. The government is forcing them out.  The consensus seems to be that they are dangerous, and their drivers perhaps unsafe, and their business practices, oh, sketchy … with lots of stories circulating of meters not working and bargaining for fares. Things that alarm tourists.

But now we know. We have been inside a gold taxi, and lived to tell the tale.  We may not be back in one anytime soon, though, unless we bump into our co-worker again. Or I learn some Urdu.