“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
From Four Quartets By T.S. Eliot
My first trip of my Spring Semester was a monumental occasion primary for one reason: we were road tripping to Scotland.
Last November my friends Caroline and Paula proposed that during "Reading Week" (basically Spring Break for the undergrads and a few lucky post-grads, not me - but who am I to complain when I only have class one day a week?) we go to Scotland. Their original plan included taking the train to Edinburgh and Glasgow then back to Coventry. Boring! I'd been both places and, since I've never been much of a clubber, I had no desire to go back to Glasgow. Instead I suggested something different, and a little daring: Driving.
Now, I'm the first to admit that I miss having a car here. Being forced to take the bus (as has been mentioned and illustrated in previous posts) is on my "Things I Hate" list. However, when I proposed driving I was really hoping that someone would volunteer to be behind the wheel. Ah, I was so naive! After a lengthy Facebook discussion it came out that the only two of the five comfortable with driving, especially driving on the wrong side of the road (you hadn't forgotten that fact had you?), was Allison and me. The two Americans, just say it - how cliche. I shouldn't have been surprised, however. Caroline's Danish and Paula's Finnish; both nationalities I wouldn't associate with lots of driving (for some reason I imagined everyone biking all the time, not sure why, and my friends reinforced that image). Laura, who's German, is the youngest so has only been driving for a little over two years (give or take a little). At that age/experience no one could have talked me into driving on narrow roads on the wrong side, so I can't blame her!
For insurance reasons that left me (being over 25) as the sole legal driver - goodie. I resigned myself to the role and sought guidance from my British flatmates. Especially regarding roundabouts (just the thought of them gave me a little heart attack).
At last the day for departure arrived. We gathered and climbed into the car - the very big car. It was almost 16 feet (4 meters) long and 8 feet (2 meters) wide. That is slightly longer and almost a foot wider than a Toyota Camery (for you Americans.) Considering I was used to driving a Mini Cooper back home (which measures about 6 feet wide by 12 feet long) this was a major challenge. I made sure my fear didn't show as we pulled out of the rental place. Since our car was a Vauxhall - whose logo is a Griffin - we decided to name her Hermione (get it?).
As we were driving into the unknown wilds, we had decided to use a GPS system. Caroline had offered to borrow her aunt's from Denmark. We discovered one little hitch in that plan: this Garmin only spoke Danish. Good times. With this knowledge I told the front passenger that she was the navigator - there was no way I was going to be able to drive a massive car down the wrong side of the road and look at a navigation system. This dependence only bit us in the butt a few times.
Overall choosing to drive was a wonderful decision. The original plan included seeing Hadrian's Wall, the Border Abbeys, and Edinburgh. This plan, however, was altered as we went; something that couldn't have happened if we'd had to rely on public transportation.
After climbing a part of Hadrian's wall and a crag, we decided to check out the town of Hexham and the coastal village of Craster. We even stopped at a lovely little pub in a village (that we didn't even know the name of) for one of the best lunches I've ever had (I liked the coleslaw, I never like coleslaw).
As the sun began to sink towards the horizon we decided that it would be smart to drive back while we still had light. This is when our day got interesting. Mary (we'd named out GPS after the queen of Denmark, you know, that whole only speaking Danish thing) gave us directions that would get us back to our hostel the fastest. She didn't, however, take into account that on what they call "single carriageways" (in the US we'd define this as a two-lane road, I won't even dignify them by calling them highways because they are too narrow for that) the speed limit is 60 MPH. While this would be nice in the US where road are usually somewhat straight (at least in the Midwest) I can only think that the British government was insane when they made this law! First off the roads were barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other and second they twisted and turned like a drunken sailor! There was no way I was going 60, this didn't stop everyone else from driving that fast, however. Needless to say other drivers got annoyed and I started finding myself yelling "go ahead, pass me! What do I care" and other not so nice things at them as they zipped past.
At several points we were sure that death was knocking on our door. Once, as I slowly crept around a hairpin turn a massive truck came flying around the corner and probably would have slammed into us if I hadn't had space to slide over into the end of a driveway. Another time, while going through a small medieval town, we were going through one of those old road archs that only allows one car through at a time (click HERE to see an image of what I mean) and I clipped the passenger mirror. Thankfully almost no damage was done but by the time we reached the hostel (taking almost twice as long as Mary originally predicted) we were all visibly shaken and I had never been so glad to stop driving (and this is comes from someone who has driven 12 hours across Wisconsin, through the Upper Peninsula to school in Michigan on her own). I really hoped that that was the last of our hazardous driving experiences.
Thankfully it was. The next day we drove into Scotland and though the road were winding, it was nothing compared to what we'd experienced the day before. Allison and I even joked about the "Hidden Dip" signs - they meant that the road dropped down and shot back up quickly so we got a lovely roller coaster ride (for no additional charge) - but we kept making comments back and forth about the dumb road (as in someone being a dip? Get it? No? Are you American, cuz if you are you should get that, its #9 in the Urban Dictionary's definition for dip, go check it out). Thankfully Allison and I had each other because no one else got the joke. We then headed off to Edinburgh where we had a lovely time wandering the city.
Sunday afternoon we headed home. By this point we were all a little burnt out of people so crabby was the general name of the game (except Caroline who kept trying to find positive things to say, it was very sweet). Once again Mary had us on a "single carriageway" which wound through the beautiful countryside. Motion sickness reared its ugly head and complaints regarding the route were aired. My favorite incident included one passenger asking "how long are we going to be on these narrow roads instead of a motorway?" Like I had intimate knowledge of our route and had any control over what roads we took! I was able to keep myself from replying sarcastically, barely. However, I was pushed over the edge when another passenger cried out (repeatedly) "bikes, bikes, bikes" when we found ourselves coming upon two cyclists ride abreast, instead of behind each other. I snapped. It was too much. I screamed "I see them!" It was irrational and uncalled for, I know, but I was beyond stressed out by the whining and felt blamed for things that were completely beyond my control. Things got better when we reached the motorway - then we only had to deal with traffic.
We reached home safely and I dropped everyone off fairly close to their door steps. I found street parking and gratefully made it home to my room where I could be alone. It was beautiful.
There was one additional perk to having the car - it wasn't due to return until Monday afternoon. You know what that meant? Grocery shopping. Oh, it was amazing. I admit, I almost groaned with pleasure as I pushed my cart/trolley to the truck if my car and unloaded my bags and drove away. No lugging it across the street, waiting for the bus, or trying to keep my bags out of everyone's way (which almost never worked). I didn't even have to worry if I could carry them all in one load. It was heavenly. Pity me if you must, but it's the little things that make my days.
Now that I've successfully driven on the left side of the road I am looking towards my next challenge: driving a manual with my left hand. Think I can do it?
Last November my friends Caroline and Paula proposed that during "Reading Week" (basically Spring Break for the undergrads and a few lucky post-grads, not me - but who am I to complain when I only have class one day a week?) we go to Scotland. Their original plan included taking the train to Edinburgh and Glasgow then back to Coventry. Boring! I'd been both places and, since I've never been much of a clubber, I had no desire to go back to Glasgow. Instead I suggested something different, and a little daring: Driving.
Now, I'm the first to admit that I miss having a car here. Being forced to take the bus (as has been mentioned and illustrated in previous posts) is on my "Things I Hate" list. However, when I proposed driving I was really hoping that someone would volunteer to be behind the wheel. Ah, I was so naive! After a lengthy Facebook discussion it came out that the only two of the five comfortable with driving, especially driving on the wrong side of the road (you hadn't forgotten that fact had you?), was Allison and me. The two Americans, just say it - how cliche. I shouldn't have been surprised, however. Caroline's Danish and Paula's Finnish; both nationalities I wouldn't associate with lots of driving (for some reason I imagined everyone biking all the time, not sure why, and my friends reinforced that image). Laura, who's German, is the youngest so has only been driving for a little over two years (give or take a little). At that age/experience no one could have talked me into driving on narrow roads on the wrong side, so I can't blame her!
For insurance reasons that left me (being over 25) as the sole legal driver - goodie. I resigned myself to the role and sought guidance from my British flatmates. Especially regarding roundabouts (just the thought of them gave me a little heart attack).
At last the day for departure arrived. We gathered and climbed into the car - the very big car. It was almost 16 feet (4 meters) long and 8 feet (2 meters) wide. That is slightly longer and almost a foot wider than a Toyota Camery (for you Americans.) Considering I was used to driving a Mini Cooper back home (which measures about 6 feet wide by 12 feet long) this was a major challenge. I made sure my fear didn't show as we pulled out of the rental place. Since our car was a Vauxhall - whose logo is a Griffin - we decided to name her Hermione (get it?).
As we were driving into the unknown wilds, we had decided to use a GPS system. Caroline had offered to borrow her aunt's from Denmark. We discovered one little hitch in that plan: this Garmin only spoke Danish. Good times. With this knowledge I told the front passenger that she was the navigator - there was no way I was going to be able to drive a massive car down the wrong side of the road and look at a navigation system. This dependence only bit us in the butt a few times.
Overall choosing to drive was a wonderful decision. The original plan included seeing Hadrian's Wall, the Border Abbeys, and Edinburgh. This plan, however, was altered as we went; something that couldn't have happened if we'd had to rely on public transportation.
After climbing a part of Hadrian's wall and a crag, we decided to check out the town of Hexham and the coastal village of Craster. We even stopped at a lovely little pub in a village (that we didn't even know the name of) for one of the best lunches I've ever had (I liked the coleslaw, I never like coleslaw).
As the sun began to sink towards the horizon we decided that it would be smart to drive back while we still had light. This is when our day got interesting. Mary (we'd named out GPS after the queen of Denmark, you know, that whole only speaking Danish thing) gave us directions that would get us back to our hostel the fastest. She didn't, however, take into account that on what they call "single carriageways" (in the US we'd define this as a two-lane road, I won't even dignify them by calling them highways because they are too narrow for that) the speed limit is 60 MPH. While this would be nice in the US where road are usually somewhat straight (at least in the Midwest) I can only think that the British government was insane when they made this law! First off the roads were barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other and second they twisted and turned like a drunken sailor! There was no way I was going 60, this didn't stop everyone else from driving that fast, however. Needless to say other drivers got annoyed and I started finding myself yelling "go ahead, pass me! What do I care" and other not so nice things at them as they zipped past.
At several points we were sure that death was knocking on our door. Once, as I slowly crept around a hairpin turn a massive truck came flying around the corner and probably would have slammed into us if I hadn't had space to slide over into the end of a driveway. Another time, while going through a small medieval town, we were going through one of those old road archs that only allows one car through at a time (click HERE to see an image of what I mean) and I clipped the passenger mirror. Thankfully almost no damage was done but by the time we reached the hostel (taking almost twice as long as Mary originally predicted) we were all visibly shaken and I had never been so glad to stop driving (and this is comes from someone who has driven 12 hours across Wisconsin, through the Upper Peninsula to school in Michigan on her own). I really hoped that that was the last of our hazardous driving experiences.
Thankfully it was. The next day we drove into Scotland and though the road were winding, it was nothing compared to what we'd experienced the day before. Allison and I even joked about the "Hidden Dip" signs - they meant that the road dropped down and shot back up quickly so we got a lovely roller coaster ride (for no additional charge) - but we kept making comments back and forth about the dumb road (as in someone being a dip? Get it? No? Are you American, cuz if you are you should get that, its #9 in the Urban Dictionary's definition for dip, go check it out). Thankfully Allison and I had each other because no one else got the joke. We then headed off to Edinburgh where we had a lovely time wandering the city.
Sunday afternoon we headed home. By this point we were all a little burnt out of people so crabby was the general name of the game (except Caroline who kept trying to find positive things to say, it was very sweet). Once again Mary had us on a "single carriageway" which wound through the beautiful countryside. Motion sickness reared its ugly head and complaints regarding the route were aired. My favorite incident included one passenger asking "how long are we going to be on these narrow roads instead of a motorway?" Like I had intimate knowledge of our route and had any control over what roads we took! I was able to keep myself from replying sarcastically, barely. However, I was pushed over the edge when another passenger cried out (repeatedly) "bikes, bikes, bikes" when we found ourselves coming upon two cyclists ride abreast, instead of behind each other. I snapped. It was too much. I screamed "I see them!" It was irrational and uncalled for, I know, but I was beyond stressed out by the whining and felt blamed for things that were completely beyond my control. Things got better when we reached the motorway - then we only had to deal with traffic.
We reached home safely and I dropped everyone off fairly close to their door steps. I found street parking and gratefully made it home to my room where I could be alone. It was beautiful.
There was one additional perk to having the car - it wasn't due to return until Monday afternoon. You know what that meant? Grocery shopping. Oh, it was amazing. I admit, I almost groaned with pleasure as I pushed my cart/trolley to the truck if my car and unloaded my bags and drove away. No lugging it across the street, waiting for the bus, or trying to keep my bags out of everyone's way (which almost never worked). I didn't even have to worry if I could carry them all in one load. It was heavenly. Pity me if you must, but it's the little things that make my days.
Now that I've successfully driven on the left side of the road I am looking towards my next challenge: driving a manual with my left hand. Think I can do it?
Amy - that was so funny. I can only imagine the "unique" differences you experienced at the helm of what seemed like a Sherman tank. The vivid pictures through your words was great. Thank you for sharing. Dad
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing; I could visualize it each step of the way--or turn of the corner. I cannot imagine anyone more capable of driving this car or heading up this journey than you! However, when I saw the car in your photo, my first thought was "Wow! How did they ALL fit into that LITTLE car!" It goes to show that everything is in the eye of the beholder (spoken from one who is has been known to own--and enjoy driving--one-ton and 16 passenger vans!) ~Mom
ReplyDeleteAye Aiemee, siymes ye halve otten er geerande toore wit grr-ayce ant wvit. Hello dear one, such a fun and funny account of travel abroad with mates of all sorts. i got de jokes too.
ReplyDeleteYes, I can relate, I drove an RV at night, in the rain, during road construction through the Allegheny Mountains. It was a trip. I was probably your age! You are going to be their heroine forever, now that they are back to predictable levels of bubble space and traffic control. Ha! Laura W