Life: Idiotropic

In Germany I learned to drive at 100mph. 95 was comfortable, but I learned to drive it carefully watching my rear view mirror for those driving at 150 mph so that I could get over before being crushed. No amount of time in Germany will make 150 seem normal. None.

The Netherlands taught me to drive through lanes seemingly narrower than my car with mere centimeters to spare and that you must signal both in and out of round a bouts.

The French taught me the fine art of turning on my turn signal at the mere thought of may be possibly turning sometime that day and leaving it on indefinitely or until actually turning. Turning it off means that you're turning in the opposite direction. This is especially wise to know while on freeways. Thankfully, the French gave me a crash coarse in the lane-less roundabout. The one with 4-5 lanes entering it, then a complete disappearance of painted lines so that cars can swerve around the roundabout in any manner they see fit. These are horrifying, but frequent in Valencia as well. Am hoping the French taught me well. That's not another lesson I look forward to, but I've found that holding my breath helps.

And now Spain is teaching me a myriad of driving subtleties. The beauty of flipping on your emergencies and double parking. For a real challenge, you can try the parallel double. Scary in the face of oncoming traffic on a narrow road. With all the skill of a skier without the grace, I learned to fly over speed bumps frequent and tall, but have learned that slamming on the breaks prior to the bump is the far safer route, so I halt sneaking carefully over them like a novice in a field of moguls. Oh, and one must not forget, the running of the red light. Of course, I would never ever do this except for now when I do this daily upon entering my neighborhood and passing the security gate with the solid red light where no one stops and no one cares. So why is it there? Guess sometimes it's the semblance of caring that matters.

That "semblance" is big here. Armed security guards walking through shopping centers, into shops, walking by you as you pick up that new shower curtain. Armed guards in the Metro, on the train... police cars and vigilantes patrolling the neighborhoods. Gates across every home, black iron, menacing, but unlocked, or easily scalable. Do I feel safer? Not if I think about it too much, but I do like that "semblance" of security. Gives me a "semblance" of safety when Kirk is gone that I count on.