Prior to this trip, I'd (legally) driven on the left side of the road once in my life -- in New Zealand -- and about twenty minutes into that escapade, I think my fellow passengers were quite close to just pushing me out the door and taking their chances from there. And I can't blame them. It was bad.
Enter this trip. Danger Doom is booked and I immediately realize that not only will I have to drive, but I'll be doing the lion's share of it. Because compared to John, I'm obviously a lot more experienced with the roads here. For example, I can say with absolute certainty that I've mastered the art of crossing the road here. Look right, then left and then -- if you're really going to follow your Mom's advice to a tee -- look right again. John had not yet mastered this skill. So the onus to drive, at least in the beginning, fell on me. And if I can cross the street with no problems, then driving on the left should be a walk in the park, right? Right???
Enter this trip. Danger Doom is booked and I immediately realize that not only will I have to drive, but I'll be doing the lion's share of it. Because compared to John, I'm obviously a lot more experienced with the roads here. For example, I can say with absolute certainty that I've mastered the art of crossing the road here. Look right, then left and then -- if you're really going to follow your Mom's advice to a tee -- look right again. John had not yet mastered this skill. So the onus to drive, at least in the beginning, fell on me. And if I can cross the street with no problems, then driving on the left should be a walk in the park, right? Right???
So there we are pulling out of the Wicked Campers parking lot, and the mantra is, "Stay to the left, stay to the left, stay to the left." Which I did quite admirably.
First stop is the petrol station around the corner, and we make it there without any incident. But now, how the hell to fill up the tank? There's no place for a credit card, so I ask inside and find out that we fill up first and then pay! Really? You're going to trust me to do that? I mean, I know that we did that in the US in, what, Nineteen Dickity-Two, but we can still do that here? Fantastic!
Naturally, we fill up, have a Zoolander-inspired gas fight and peel out of the station without paying, all the while screaming, "America, fuck yeah!!"
Back on the road, we have verbal directions to the highway north: "Follow signs for the airport and you can't miss it." Easy enough, right? Nope! Ten minutes later and we're in the middle of nowhere. Already lost! Good, good times.
Anyway, thanks to directions from some locals in a nearby meat pie store, we find our way back to the highway and start cruising north. I'm still getting the hang of driving, and since we (Americans, that is) drive on the left side of the car and hence are used to aligning ourselves on the left side of the lane, I find myself drifting into the lane left of me at times. And we're getting stares from people. Uh oh.
I quickly get quite self-conscious and continue the mantra, with a little twist: "Stay to the left but align on the right, stay to the left but align on the right, stay to the left but align on the right." Which of course is far more than I'm able to process. And we're still getting stares! What the HELL!
But then I remind myself that I'm driving a ridiculously painted van. I mean, it's ludicrous! Of course people are going to want to see what sort of loons are driving it! Or at least that's what I tell myself for the rest of the day. And the day after that. And the one after that. And so on and so forth.
Anyway, the driving got easier and by Day #3, John joined in on the act. There were some growing pains there as well, but soon it was smooth sailing. Well, not entirely. For on the roads of Australia, we soon found that our own ineptitude at driving was the least of our worries. And that, my friends, we'll cover next time.
First stop is the petrol station around the corner, and we make it there without any incident. But now, how the hell to fill up the tank? There's no place for a credit card, so I ask inside and find out that we fill up first and then pay! Really? You're going to trust me to do that? I mean, I know that we did that in the US in, what, Nineteen Dickity-Two, but we can still do that here? Fantastic!
Naturally, we fill up, have a Zoolander-inspired gas fight and peel out of the station without paying, all the while screaming, "America, fuck yeah!!"
Back on the road, we have verbal directions to the highway north: "Follow signs for the airport and you can't miss it." Easy enough, right? Nope! Ten minutes later and we're in the middle of nowhere. Already lost! Good, good times.
Anyway, thanks to directions from some locals in a nearby meat pie store, we find our way back to the highway and start cruising north. I'm still getting the hang of driving, and since we (Americans, that is) drive on the left side of the car and hence are used to aligning ourselves on the left side of the lane, I find myself drifting into the lane left of me at times. And we're getting stares from people. Uh oh.
I quickly get quite self-conscious and continue the mantra, with a little twist: "Stay to the left but align on the right, stay to the left but align on the right, stay to the left but align on the right." Which of course is far more than I'm able to process. And we're still getting stares! What the HELL!
But then I remind myself that I'm driving a ridiculously painted van. I mean, it's ludicrous! Of course people are going to want to see what sort of loons are driving it! Or at least that's what I tell myself for the rest of the day. And the day after that. And the one after that. And so on and so forth.
Anyway, the driving got easier and by Day #3, John joined in on the act. There were some growing pains there as well, but soon it was smooth sailing. Well, not entirely. For on the roads of Australia, we soon found that our own ineptitude at driving was the least of our worries. And that, my friends, we'll cover next time.
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