Driving On The Wrong Side of The Road

Date: Friday July 1, 2011

Time: 4:46 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, My Flat

Who gets to decide what is right and what is wrong? There’s the obvious answers; God, the government, your own moral code…

This week I drove on the wrong side of the street, in the wrong side of the car, with the turn signal on the wrong side of the wheel. While that’s wrong to me, it’s right to the over 4 million people living in New Zealand (as well as any other countries that drive on the opposite side of the road).

Ken was kind (or perhaps cruel) enough to let me drive his van from where we had lunch at Burgerfuel back to the Short’s home. I climbed into what is to me, the passenger side of the car, already feeling awkward. As I reached to the left to grab for the seatbelt that wasn’t there (wrong side again), I knew I was off to an interesting start.

Ken told me that the best way to remember what side of the road to be on you have to think about giving the driver coming from the other direction a high-five. It’s true no matter what country you’re in. If you can give the driver coming towards you an imaginary high-five with the hand closest to them, you’re probably ok.

I now had a few thoughts I was trying to keep up with; stay on the correct side of the road, try to find the way home, oh, and navigate the foreign boat-like vehicle you’re driving. I managed to get us back to the Short’s in one piece, even with the wipers going off every time I tried to signal.

I forgot to mention, the speed limit is posted in kilometers rather than miles. So, it’s not uncommon to see the speed limit posted as 100. Wow. I’m not up on my conversions so I’m not exactly sure what it is in miles. But when you’re riding along on roads that curve like an “s” and there are no street lights, it feels pretty dang fast. Or maybe it’s just that I’m not used to seeing the speed limit in three digits.

On Wednesday during youth group I was sitting on a counter just hanging out till we started things up when one of the girls, Annie-Rose came up to me.

“If I sit on here with you will it break?” She asked, testing the stability of the counter by pushing on it.

“Probably. Cuz of your fat butt!” I teased.

“I love the way you said that! “Fat butt.” I don’t think it could’ve sounded cooler with any other accent!” She said.

Well, alright then. I guess for people to ignore a burn you have to say it in a foreign accent. Ha.