Have you ever seen a bus race? Two buses hurtling along at 70 miles per hour, the driver of each absolutely determined to get to their destination before the other. Ancient, falling apart, battered vehicles that in many countries in the world would have been scrapped, they race down the middle of the roads regardless of how many other road users they forced off the highway. The memory of bus races, in which fully laden buses complete with passengers clinging precariously onto the roof, along with livestock and luggage, hurtling in parallel towards me, still makes my mouth run dry with fear.

The road to Crocus Bay

Yes, driving in Bangladesh was truly an experience! I had not expected this as part of the deal when my husband was posted to the British High Commission. Diplomatic spouses are renowned for their stiff upper lips but this was most unexpected!

Bangladesh is a very poor, densely populated country situated on the deltas of the Brahmaputra Rivers, neighbouring India and Myanmar. In Dhaka, the capital city, the poorly maintained streets teemed with road users, many causing complete mayhem, making trips out in the car unforgettable.

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Pedestrians routinely wandered across the road in front of cars secure in the knowledge that the oncoming vehicle would NOT hit them.

Traffic Bangladesh

Rickshaws, bicycles with two seats attached to the back, used as a short distance taxi and driven by the very poorest and most ill educated people, would veer across the road in front of other road users without looking or signalling. They would pull up without warning or decide that it was easier to pedal towards oncoming traffic on the same side of the road, regardless of the chaos that ensued.

Despite this, the people of this almost completely water logged country are some of the most helpful I have met. I remember when my husband and I joined a convoy of vehicles going to a tea plantation in the north of the country for the Easter holiday. The distance was only about fifty miles but it took eight hours to traverse as there were ferries to catch to cross the numerous twisting tentacles of the country’s rivers. The roads too were so bad that to travel too fast was to invite danger. One of the vehicles got a puncture. This, to most of us sitting securely here on Anguilla, is no big deal but in a country where there are hardly any garages, no roadside rescue services, where you can go many miles without a telephone and mobile coverage is almost non-existent a breakdown of any sort is a major calamity. This is one reason why we all travelled in convoy, to help each other out if need be. All ten vehicles pulled up in a tiny village causing a sensation in the sleepy backwater, which had never seen so many vehicles. The entire village then turned out to help. Many locals came with tools that they thought might be of use such as axes, hammers and saws. They then grouped around and watched with fascinated interest as the wheel was taken off the car and the spare attached. The whole process took just a few minutes but by the time we had thanked our many well-wishers, politely refused offers of tea (there are no public lavatories in Bangladesh!) and got going again much

Driving 3
time had passed but we had made many new friends who would dine out on the tale of our visit for some time in the future.

Some years ago, when we lived in Belgium, a country that drives on the right hand side of the road, it was the custom for priority from the right, or in other words, drivers had to give way to oncoming traffic from side roads. As you can imagine this was a hair raising recipe for disaster as local Belgians, streaming out of side roads, collided into traffic not quick enough to stop for it. Visitors to the country, having acquainted themselves with the custom in ‘Lonely Planet’ or other similar travel guides, gingerly traversed the roads with foot hovering over the brake pedal, often screeching to a halt to miss an oncoming vehicle only to find that the car behind was not so quick to stop. The resulting rear end crash was often left to insurance companies to sort out after much fatalistic shrugging of shoulders. My father, a driver for more than forty years, was terrified each time he came to stay with us and insisted that I meet him on the busy motorway from the coastal Channel ports and guide him safely to our home!

I shall always remember the year 2000. We were living in the UK and in March of that year my grandmother died. Our fourteen year old son and I were on our way home from her funeral, held on St Patrick’s Day, when a drunk driver hit our car whilst it was stationary waiting for traffic lights to change. The man had been out celebrating the Irish Patron Saint’s Day at a local pub and just did not see the waiting traffic ahead of him. I know he did not mean to completely wreck my car and put us both into hospital but nevertheless that is what he did. Both of us were very lucky. The driver had his licence suspended for three years and we later learnt that he had other convictions for similar offences.

Driving 4
When my husband and I moved to the beautiful island of Anguilla I was really pleased to have left the hurly burly of other countries behind and looked forward to the quiet and peaceful roads of this Caribbean gem. I had read in guide books that sometimes tourists get confused as to which side of the road to use and so I was prepared to encounter the odd car coming towards me with a dazed driver at the wheel. I thought a quick honk on the horn would be all that would ruffle my driving pleasure on the island.

By and large I was right. The beautiful shades of the Caribbean Sea which appear when you crest a hill or drive around a bend are a delight and even now, eighteen months after arriving on Anguilla, this scenery still has the power to bring a beaming smile to my face.

One of my favourite roads on Anguilla goes down the hill into Crocus Bay. The view of the beach and fishing boasts is lovely and it is a test of skill to keep the car in check as the gradient is so steep. Going up the hill out of Crocus Bay is second only to leaving rain-forested Katouche as a further test of skill but this time in actually getting the car to go up the hill at all! Our old 4x4 which travelled here with us, has very low gearing and these are the only hills I have ever found steep enough to bring them into play. We chug along up these hills at 10 miles an hour and are always relieved when we get to the top!

Since I have been on Anguilla I have been intrigued to see drivers driving along with their seats in almost a horizontal position. How do these drivers see the road in front as their heads only just pop up over the dashboard? It is a mystery to me. Perhaps there is some knack to it that I have not learnt? It does not look very comfortable to me!

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The first time I encountered the phenomenon of hand signalling instead of using indicators to communicate the intention to turn, I thought that the driver of the large vehicle I was behind was telling me that the road ahead was clear and it was safe for me to pass. This is a common occurrence in many other countries in the world when slow moving vehicles cannot make way for swifter vehicles. The driver in the left hand drive truck thrust his hand over the roof of the cab in a laid back gesture which I misunderstood. Thinking what a nice man he was I accordingly pulled out to overtake, lifting my hand to thank the driver for his courtesy at the same time, only to find that the vehicle then swerved in my direction determined to turn right. My heart raced for some time after that I can tell you!

Well, after twenty two years of driving fun with just the odd hair raising moment now and again, I wonder what is in store for me in the next twenty two. I look forward to finding out!

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