We sold our cars before we moved to New Zealand. It was so easy—did you know that you can just show up at CarMax and they’ll write you a check for less than you deserve because they know they have you over a barrel? I quickly liberated both of our trusty cars and looked forward to what exciting automotive options New Zealand would bring. Maybe we could get a Skoda!
Though Wellington is a fairly walkable city (if you like wet, labyrinthine death stairs and being blasted in the face with wind fresh from a glacier), a car was still necessary for us. Not long after our arrival we picked up a rental to drive until we found a car to buy.
Picking up the rental car was one of those “uh oh, this is real” moments for me. The abstract idea of driving on the left (which, guess what? New Zealand does) became the very sudden, inescapable reality of actually having to drive on the left. With other cars, and roundabouts, and everything!
The thing is, though, is that it’s not just about driving on the other side of the road. All the stuff in the car is also on the other side (the right side). Getting into the driver’s side of the rental Honda Accord and orienting myself was an experience. I did a dorky set of familiarization exercises and I kind of wish I had footage. I kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal. Using the gear shift with my left hand felt like punishment. I let my hand hover over it shakily like I was expecting the Gom Jabbar. I started thinking about all those things that experience manages to turn off in your brain to allow yourself to drive a gigantic piece of machinery, like “What am I supposed to do with my elbows?”
In S4:E9 (“Mr. Plow”), Homer wrecks the car and sets out to find a replacement. He hitchhikes to a used car lot called “Crazy Vaclav’s,” where he attempts to test drive a car manufactured in an Eastern European country that no longer exists.
The steering column of the car shows Cyrillic letters (or the animators’ equivalent). When Homer struggles to put the car in gear, Krazy Vaclav tells him “Put it in H.”
I think about this when I try to do a familiar thing in an unfamiliar context. PUT IT IN H. It’s okay—see? It’s all really the same. It’s just that it says “H” instead of “D.” That’s not so scary, right? Right, Meredith? Why are you crying?? Is it because of the sandwiches?
Learning to drive in New Zealand (and doing many other things in New Zealand) was going to take a lot of putting it in H, but, like with everything else, it took me a while to figure that out. Once I’d gotten the basics of the rental car (meaning that I hated driving it with every fiber of my being and hit so, so many curbs—made worse because they’re spelled “kerbs” here), it was time to find our own car. Our search was not unlike the beginning of any cheap car challenge on Top Gear. First, we overestimated what we could afford (alas, no Skoda, or anything from this century), and then we moved on to look at dodgy cars in questionable industrial areas. The place we bought the car had the word “cheap” in the name.
At this point we were reaching a level of shared psychosis that influenced a few bizarre decisions. That, and sitting in a lot of disgusting cars and wondering how to put them in H. This is how we ended up with a 1995 BMW 318 hatchback with a giant dent in the side, a broken immobilizer alarm, and shredded ceiling upholstery. These were the deciding factors:
The turn signal was where I expected it to be, unlike the hateful rental car
It already had a giant dent, so I wasn’t too afraid of hitting anything
It was cheap enough to put on our debit card
After my failed haggling with Kiwi Vaclav, we were the proud owners of a 19-year-old, slightly broken car that we named The Shadow.
The Shadow lived a very full life in its two years with us before I sold it to an auto wholesaler for $300, which was probably more than it was worth. It allowed us to fetch Burd from quarantine, where she made a beeline for it and hopped in like it had always been our car. It drove us to Hawke’s Bay and back. It rode the InterIslander and traversed the South Island. It went through the Homer Tunnel, which is over a kilometer long, one-way, and in the dark. Miraculously, the Shadow didn’t break down, which must have been the result of the higher forces I was suddenly willing to plead with as I white-knuckled my way through.
The car’s major legacy, however, is the disagreement about what color it was. I believe the car was black, and I will die on this hill. The reason I believe the car was black is because it was black. Under the hood the plate with the VIN and paint color code says SCHWARZ. It also said “black” on the registration.
My husband and my father believe the car was blue. There is some evidence that people perceive colors differently, and that hormones can make a difference. Except in this instance.
The Shadow and I had one very magical moment together, when my brain fully clicked into H and I figured out how to drive on the left. I decided to take a solo trip out to Makara Beach, which is on an an only somewhat terrifyingly narrow road bordered by rocky outcroppings and steep drop offs. One of the things I found most frightening about this road was that it very much seemed as though the lanes were not wide enough, even for the petite Shadow. I’d spent a lot of time ruminating on this about New Zealand roads in general—why was my perception so off? Why did lanes feel so narrow? Was it because I’m American? Does manifest destiny imbue every facet of my world experience?
I found a stretch of Makara Road that was long and straight enough that I could spot traffic far enough away, and so I got out of the car to look at the lines on the road. And guess what? The car actually was wider than the lane markings. It was not in my hyperanxious imagination. This should not have provided me comfort—if anything, it should have further scared any remaining bejesus out of me. But, that’s when I thought, “well, what else are you going to do?” which is basically the New Zealand motto. (Actually, New Zealand’s motto is “New Zealand.” Not making that up.)
Luckily, no herds of sheep or renegade Toyota Hiluxes rammed into me while I stood on the road having this epiphany. So I put the car in H and went on my way 🚨