Learner's permit.
I think I’ve said once or twice that driving in Santo Domingo is unlike anything I’ve seen before. And that was even before I put my life in Fate’s hands and got behind the wheel.
{See related post: Neither nor.}
I’m proud to say that I’m inching my way up to double digit driving trips and that I’ve even been brave enough to buckle Nicolas up in the backseat for two of them: once the just under 5km to the embassy via back roads for our flu shots and once on a Sunday afternoon (when traffic is much, much more reasonable) to the swimming pool that’s only a few minutes further down the road.
I’m also proud to say that I’ve mastered the art of the horn. A short * beep * to say “hey, get moving!” or “watch out!” and a long lay-it-on to say “what you just did was incredibly stupid/dangerous and I don’t appreciate your [lack of] driving skills.”
But I’m most proud to say that I’m starting to drive like a motorcyclist. That is, I’m driving more defensively (and perhaps even a bit on the offense) than I’ve ever driven before. Because that’s what it takes. I’m sure that when Joe first suggested I get my motorcycle endorsement, he didn’t figure I’d be using those skills and that knowledge to drive our car. But I’ve been thanking my lucky stars that he did.
One never knows what they’re going to encounter on the roads here. A sow crossing the street with her babies just outside our residencial? Yup. Small pickups filled to the brim with limes or plantains and non-functioning brake lights? Oh definitely. And moto-taxis loaded three up (sometimes with very, very small children) or an Army motorcycle with the passenger holding his shotgun? You bet.
Then there’s the roads themselves. It no longer shocks me that the autopista has stretches without lane markers and that some days that means three lanes of traffic and others it means five. Or that I have to make a very sudden stop to inch my way over a dip in the road in our not low- but certainly not high-clearance 15-year-old sedan. (Who would have thought that my previous life experience of driving lowered Porsches would have prepared me for driving here?!)
And the hills… I don’t know why I didn’t think it’d be hilly here before we moved. I mean, I’ve lived on an island before. But I didn’t think about it until we got here and only then did I realize that I was going to have to remember how to properly do a hill start without burning out the clutch or rolling back into the car behind me. (Although I do wish other drivers would give me just a bit more space. I suppose I should be glad that our European-style trailer hitch buys me a few inches of wiggle room.) Let’s just say that I pray every time I leave my house that I won’t be stuck in stop-and-go traffic going up the hills that take us out of our neighborhood and that I often have flashbacks of sitting in my equally-old Subaru station wagon at the light at Arapahoe & Quebec. Por lo menos, there will never be a snowstorm here.
Next week, I’ll become an officially-documented driver when we’re taken to the DMV (or whatever it’s called in Spanish) to get our Dominican licenses. Have no fear: I haven’t been driving illegally. It’s just that I’ll be even more official in a few days. Which is more than I can say for at least a few of my fellow travelers who may or may not actually have a license to operate a vehicle…
Like I said, it’s an adventure.
