Howdy, y’all!
Today, I drove for the first time in Romania. For those of you who don’t know what a Dacia is, it is the car of Romania. It was the only car that the people were allowed to purchase until the revolution in 1989. It looks something like a cross between a 1979 Datsun B210 and a go-kart. It drives like a tractor except for that a tractor has a better shock absorption system. None of them have air conditioning, radios, power steering or automatic transmission. No one that drives here has ever been taught to drive a straight drive…they think you are shifting incorrectly if you don’t grind the gears. You must pay for driving lessons here in Romania if you are Romanian. You are supposed to receive 30 hours but if you irritate the instructor, he won’t teach you anymore and, instead, just gives you a piece of paper saying you are through. I know this because it happened to Estie, my roommate. Not to be outdone by any other European country, they have taken to driving as if all roads were the auto bon and drivers of cars other than Dacias (they can’t go that fast) drive approximately 143 miles an hour on the streets that are, mind you, shared with the tram cars and buses.
Now that you have good visuals, here is my stories. Emilia, for whatever reason, thought it was a good idea that I go with Dana, who does not really speak English, to pick up something from the foundation storage area across town. So, Dana, who gives me turning directions in Romanian, praise God I have already learned those words, in instructing me through town. The car, however, refuses to be put into neutral into you have double-clutched, put it in first gear…twice..and turned on the turn signal. I am not exactly sure that is the truth or the sequence but it is close.
Anyway, it is going on the 7th day of 90+ degree weather…who said Romania was cold???? I am in a nice, conservative black dress and there is no air stirring in this car. People are honking at me because I refuse to run the red lights. My irritability level is rising and Dana, is telling me something in Romanian I don’t understand when we get to a traffic circle that has about 87 merging roads. So, I gun it and go around the circle twice and come off the road at about 60 miles an hour, sideways, and with reckless abandon. I was furious because three people in cars and two horses and carriages (a common mode of transportation here) tried to merge into me at a stoplight. It made skydiving seem like eating ice cream. Yep, you know it, I am an adrenaline junkie. We get out of the car, my hair is matted to my head, my dress is drenching wet and stuck to me in 100 different places, my eyes are ablaze, and I am ready to slap everyone I see. Dana looks at me with a huge smile and says, in Romanian, you did very good for your first time driving…like you have been doing it always. I told you Daddy, God gave me aggressive driving for a reason and now I know why!!!
So there you have it. I am officially broken into the country. Have mercy on the folks who don’t get out of my way quick enough! 
Basking in the Son,
Michelle
Posted on June 11th, 1998 by Michelle
Filed under: Michelle's Journal