Riding a-wrong in my automobile

After two decidedly depressing posts, I made the executive decision that I simply must offer up something a bit lighter for today.  So even though I know I am skipping around chronologically, I think it is high time that I talk about the time that 4 American males attempted to drive 600 km on the opposite side of the road.

That’s right, instead of being sensible like the rest of my compatriots, I decided that I wanted to take a walk, or drive rather, on the wild side.  I, thus, in true finance-nerd fashion, researched all of the rental car companies, found the cheapest quote, and then created an Excel spreadsheet to calculate total costs for the trip (adding in things like cost of gas, tolls, etc.)  To my delight, I found that if we split the cost between 4 people, we would actually spend less money than a bus ticket.

With that knowledge in hand, I recruited 3 colleagues, and we all agreed to put our lives on the line in typical masculine fashion just so we could say that yes, we did indeed drive in South Africa.  With all the victims lined up, we awoke on Christmas Eve in our hostel in Pretoria, shared a cup of coffee, and then began plotting how we would make our way to the Thrifty office on the other side of town.  Lucky for us, as we discussed various bus options, the owner of the hostel offered to drop us off.  (By the way, if you are ever in Pretoria and looking for a place to stay, Khayalethu Backpackers at 357 Richard Street is the place to go.  Nicest people ever.)

The owner said for us to go outside and walk towards his house, which was adjacent to the hostel, and he would meet us on the street with his car.  Us, with our keen sense of direction, naturally proceeded to walk out the hostel gate’s and walk the exact opposite direction from the man’s house, such that he had to drive a bit down the block to come get us.  Given we couldn’t even find a house that was right next door, you would have thought that would have given us pause before actually attempting to operate a motor vehicle - but no, we soldiered on.

We hopped in the man’s car and began thanking him profusely for his courtesy as he cruised across town to the Thrifty.  He dropped us off, we again offered our thanks, and assured him that we would be back at the backpackers shortly.  Or so we thought.  We went in to the office, signed all the paperwork, and I put down my card for the deposit (which incidentally, the hold on my account has still not been cleared if there are any Thrifty employees reading my blog instead of working).  In our morning banter with the lady attendant, my American friend also managed to make reference to a fanny pack, which seemed to amuse this South African girl to no end.  Apparently, “fanny” means something a bit different here than it does in the US (and because my mom is reading this, I am NOT going to explain my point).  Whatever the case, we obtained our 4-seater Hyndai Atos and were ready to roll.

Unfortunately, in our efforts to express our appreciation to the hostel owner on our way over, we neglected to pay attention to how exactly he got us there.  We, thus, sat curbside for a minute or so, discussing our options and then, having presumably figured it out, set off on our way back home.  As I looked at the passing landmarks, I assured my friend that, yes, this was the right way, because I remembered these passing streets from the other day, so we were most assuredly heading in the right direction.  I continued saying this until we dead ended into the square that was on the exact opposite side of town.  At this point, we realized that perhaps our calculations had not been quite as precise or reliable as we had presumed.  Simple enough mistake, though.  We would just turn around and head the opposite direction, right?

Well, that’s what we did, cruising all the way across town, until we noticed signs seeming to indicate that we were about to get on the highway.  There was a McDonald’s that was approaching on our left, and my friend offered that perhaps we should pull into the parking lot to get our bearings.  I considered the idea, unfortunately the Mickey D’s was too close to allow for much deliberation, and in my dithering, we passed it by.  No problem, I said.  We’ll just exit and turn around.  Well, I don’t know if anyone has ever been on South African highways, but they don’t exactly have exit ramps conveniently placed every kilometer or so.  We drove…and drove…and then drove some more – all the while looking for some kind of way of turning around.  This continued until signs informed us we were about to get on a toll road.  Great.

We pulled up to the toll road booth, and my friend gave me a 20 to pay the 6 Rand toll to the attendant.  At the very least, I figured, we could ask the woman how the hell we get headed back to Pretoria.  I could see the lady had to stifle her laugh as she told us we needed to immediately go right (naturally the first exit of the day), and then go right again so we could pay another toll that would take us back in to the city.  Well, I did just that, both annoyed and amused at the unfolding saga, and we soon pulled up at the opposing toll booth taking us in the direction we had just come from.  Amazingly, though, in the 3 minutes it had taken us to turn around, my American friend had somehow managed to misplace the change we had just received from paying the last toll.  He checked all of his pockets and all around the car only to find exceeding supplies of lint.  We finally had to resort to me finding my own wallet, so we could get the 6 Rand.  I’m sure the drivers behind us were very impressed with the whole charade.

Regardless, we eventually got on the road heading back to Pretoria, relaxed that we were actually headed in a somewhat familiar direction but still with no earthly idea how to get back to the hostel.  We passed the aforementioned McDonald’s and decided that the place had to be somewhere to the left.  We thus turned and began driving past a bunch of streets that we thought we may have known but weren’t exactly sure (as you can imagine, our confidence in our navigational expertise was not very high at the moment).  Alas, just as we had given up all hope of ever locating the hostel again, we saw a road sign for it, indicating we should take a left at the next intersection.  My guess is that God had had his laugh for the morning watching us ramble around, and having gotten his chuckles in, decided he would at last give us a little help.

It was with that then, that we finally arrived back at our lodging, 12 Rand poorer, a few liters of gas lighter, and ONE COMPLETE HOUR after having been dropped off.  Keep in mind that this was just to pick up the car.  We hadn’t even left on the actual 600 km trip yet.  And who says men are bad at directions?  To be continued…