Disclaimer: this blog is from last Monday, but due to technical difficulties (I have a hard time working Jamie's computer and can't figure out how to get mine to connect to the internet) its taken over a week to upload.
It may surprises some to know that in the five months that I have been in AUstralia, I had not driven a car until this morning. I really haven't had much occasion to get behind the wheel,except when my parents came. Then my father quickly monopolized the driving portion of the trip because apparently dying in a blazing fireball was not on his list of things to do in Australia. Its not so much that I am a bad driver, its just that I spook easily, like a thoroughbred horse or a chihuahua, which can make me a tad overexcitable on the road. So frankly, up until today, I had been perfectly content to mooch rides of others, and had very little desire to experience life on the other side of the road.
That is, until Jamie offered to let me have the care so I could go grocery shopping today. The last time I went grocery shopping in our sleepy suburb of Redland Bay, I took the bus. Five months in Bundoora has made me fairly confident in my public transit abilities, and I had actually taken Queensland public transit quite a bit during Kara and my Easter Break hobo extravaganza, so I was feeling pretty good. Jamie carefully pointed out the bus stop by our house to me, and getting there proved no problem. It was the getting home that would prove difficult (foreshadowing). I reached the bus depot at the shopping centre lugging my groceries, only to realize that I had no clue which bus I had taken to get there and there were approximately five different buses I could potentially take. Did I mention at the time I didn't know our house number, town or street? Yup. I quickly called Jamie at work and ascertained that I was to take the bus to Redland Bay and get off "at the tennis courts." Groceries in tow, I staggered aboard and confidently asked the driver if he stopped at the tennis courts. "Which tennis court?" Zing. I was stumped. I was in trouble, but wilted under his stare and meekly headed back a seat, where I proceeded to drop one of my grocery bags and crawl around on the floor in pursuit of errant fruits and veggies. Order temporarily restored, I glued my nose to the window in search of familiar landmarks. FInally I spotted what I thought was a familiar field, lunged at the stop button and dragged myself and my groceries past the glaring driver only to find myself standing in a field I had never seen before. I'm ashamed to say, standing there in that strange field, carrying upwards of five bags of groceries, I began to cry, sure that I would never see Redland Bay again, much less America, and Jamie would have to spend the evening driving around calling my name out the window. Fortunately this was not to be the case, and I soon flagged down another bus, this one driven by the same kindly bus driver who had dropped me off at the shopping store. He looked on concernedly as I lurched aboard, sweaty and tear-streaked, and helpfully told me where to get off....one stop later.
So you can perhaps see why I was so eager to avoid the bus. This meant, however, driving Jamie to his brother's house at 5:30 in the morning, in the dark, and navigating home solo, all on the opposite side of the road. As with the grocery debacle, getting there was no problem, and in fact, lured me into a false sense of security. I was Ellen Lathrop, champion left-side driver. I confidently plunged down a side street that looked marginally familiar, only to realize I had no idea where I was, and even less of an idea how to get home. As I wound through street after street, with no sign of the main road, I became more and more confident that I would die wandering these side streets, and months from now, my skeleton would be found, still doggedly clutching the steering wheel. This was not to be the case, however, as I came upon some old ladies walking and yelled for assistance. These angels of mercy pointed me in the right direction and I was soon homeward bound, rolling merrily along, 10 K under the circumstances, blithely ignoring the glares of drivers passing me. Somehow, a good half hour after I should have been home, I rolled into our driveway and victoriously texted Jamie that I had only gotten lost once...ok twice.
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