Sink or Swim

 Having been without WIFI for almost a week, this post is late.  I hope you enjoy anyway.

  I have a vague memory of my father throwing me out of a rowboat in an effort to help me learn to swim.  I have no idea if this actually happened or it is a figment of my imagination.  Either way, it is a good lead-in to my thoughts for today: I just experienced driving in the United Kingdom…as the driver.

    We left Korçë about 9:00 A.M. yesterday morning.  The preferred means of travel over long distances in Albania is via fugon (foo-gone[like in bone]).  A fugon is a van dedicated to carrying people for hire from one town to another.  Our fugon was an eight passenger Ford Galaxy.  My recollection of a Ford Galaxy is a large sedan with bench seats and a huge trunk.  This model is a minivan.  With the rear seats in place there is room for only one large suitcase and several smaller items in the back.  So, three suitcases were tied on the luggage rack, the driver, my daughter and son-in-law, my two granddaughters, my wife and I climbed into seven of the seats and we were off to Tirana to catch a plane to London at 2:30 P.M.  The road to Tirana winds through many villages, a few small cities and over a couple of mountains.  It is never more than two lanes wide, and it’s often something of a gamble trying to figure out what vehicle is going to occupy a specific lane at any particular time.  The speed limit changes often, usually with no advance notice.  After three and a half hours of this winding, speed-up-slow-down, dodge the oncoming traffic ride, we entered the capital city of Tirana.  You have not experienced rush hour traffic until you have been on the streets of Tirana during the non-peak hours.  At about 1:15 P.M. we pulled into the Rine Airport flight departure lane.  After unloading our luggage and paying the driver about 7,000 leke ($70), we checked in, only to discover our flight was delayed by about 40 minutes; time enough for a cup of coffee and watching the 3-year-old run around.

    The flight to London-Gatwick was uneventful, landing us in England at about 5:15 P.M., local time (6:15 P.M. Albania time).  We walked quite a way to the immigration non-line, breezed through that process, and collected our luggage.  We picked up all but our red suitcase immediately.  That one seemed to be missing.  Then a man brought it back, after mistaking it for his own and almost leaving the airport with it.  Customs was a walk-through and we were out to the main lobby, the far end of which housed the Alamo Car Rental office.  We filled out the necessary paper work, then decided to sit down and eat dinner at an airport restaurant, since the little ones were quite hungry.   After a nice meal and a short discussion about what a biscuit is or isn’t and why the British don’t seem to know how to make one, we were off to pick up our rental cars.

    Remember the lead-in story about being thrown in the water and told to swim?  I have finally arrived at the application.  You see, we had been up for about 14 hours, spent 4 of those in a fugon, 3 more on an airplane, and the rest making sure a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old stayed out of trouble.   I was about to get behind the wheel of a VW I had never heard of (a Polo), located on the right hand side of the vehicle, with a 5-speed stick shift on the left, and drive out onto busy Gatwick roads, staying in the left lane, after dark, and possibly in the rain.  I very much felt like somebody had just thrown me out of the boat and told me to swim.  As it turned out, it wasn’t raining.  That came today.

    I had mentally prepared myself for that moment, pretending I was driving on the left side while travelling around Amador County, reminding myself that if I had been in England I would have turned into that other lane.  My amazing discovery was that staying in the left lane was the least of my concerns.  I kept looking to the right to utilize the rear view mirror that was to my left.  I kept running up on the curb on the left side and nearly hitting several vehicles, apparently compensating for my fear of driving on the right hand side.  I kept grinding the gears because I subconsciously rebelled against pulling the stick to each subsequent gear instead of pushing it over.  There are so many little habits that need to be retrained, and that takes conscious, deliberate thinking.  I have never been a great multi-tasker.  Then there were the roundabouts, but I’ll save that for another post.

    At the end of the day, we had made it from Gatwick to Penrith, safely and with our sanity in tack.  There were a few glitches concerning the proper way to interpret motorway signage, costing us quite a bit of time and petrol, but again, I will save that for another post.  I would have to conclude that I learned how to swim yesterday and today, evidenced by the fact that I am sitting here writing this without a scratch or bruise.  When I get really good at this, I believe I may swim back and tip over that boat.

POSTSCRIPT: Today I apparently ran a red light.  At least, that’s what the officer told me after he instructed me to get out of the car and take a seat in the back of his van.  I just don’t remember that light.  He let me go without incident, after informing me he knew that where I came from we can turn on some red lights, though he doesn’t really understand how that works.