“Aren’t you stressed?”
“What?”
“Aren’t you stressed, driving here?”
After five years of not having a car - the longest stretch since I was eleven - driving in Mauritius has been a constant topic of conversation. Vera is constantly white-knuckled in the passenger seat, which I keep climbing into because I forget the steering wheel is on the other side here.
“Well, you learn to manage it,” I say. You do, just like any other risk. Actually, you start to rationalize. “It’s not like Taiwan.” In many of the post communist states, the masses were suddenly able to buy a car, but there was no basis for driver training or road courtesy. In Taiwan, people knew the rules, but chose to ignore them.
“To drive here, just think of the dumbest thing the other driver can do, and wait for it to happen.” Invariably, it does. Just then, the driver in front of me stops on the shoulder of the motorway and lets out a passenger, who crosses the median and the opposing lanes with luggage, all in the dark. I’m thinking it is no big deal, as on this occasion the driver signaled, and usually they don’t. Being my turn, I enter a traffic circle without checking to see if I have the right-of-way. The road is a two-lane undivided highway now, and a motorcycle is in our lane going the wrong direction.
“See, in Taipei you might have someone take a scooter a block down the sidewalk on a one-way street to avoid driving around three blocks. This is a two-way street, but you still have someone who can’t be inconvenienced to move 12 feet left. On this highway, on this trip alone, you’ve seen: joggers; a car stop on an entrance ramp to get stuff out of the trunk; tractors hauling sugar cane with no brakes; underpowered scooters – and that doesn’t even count the stuff that happens on the regular surface streets.”
“Still, if you can learn to drive here, you can drive anywhere.” After a bit of a reflection, I added, “We just might be ready for India.”
