An Update on Driving in Geneva

Driving has become a lot better these days.  I am by no means a professional standard driver, but I get by.  I do get the few honking drivers, and today I had an angry French man swerve into traffic to get around me, but other than that, it’s going great!

I think my progress has a lot to do with me feeling more relaxed driving on such narrow roads.  The more I drive, the more comfortable I get with my surroundings.  And of course, there's the wonderful E who is always there with words of encouragement.

But just when I thought that I was doing well, fate decided to mix things up.

This past Friday, I drove E to football practice, as per usual.  We made good time, I believe I only stalled once (have I mentioned how much I hate red lights at the top of hills?), and I had everything I needed to go run errands during his practice.  After practice, with a smile on my face, E and I headed to the van.  I had had a great week, was feeling in my stride, and I was ready for the drive home.

Only problem was, the van wasn’t.

Now, I’m always a teensy bit nervous starting the van each time.  The whole having to have the clutch pressed while turning the key in the ignition worries me.  What if my foot slips off?  What if I forget and the van starts to go into a seizure?!  Well neither of those things happened.  In fact, nothing happened.  

You see, the battery was dead.

Dun, dun, duuuuuuuuuuun.

Now all you car savvy people out there are thinking to yourself: What’s her problem?  That’s an easy fix.  She just needs to find another car to get a boost from and she’ll be out of there.

I was thinking the same thing until I realized...everyone speaks a different language.

Thank god for E’s mum.  I phoned N to let her know the situation and she was very helpful.  She explained where the cables were in the van and what to say to the people I would be begging for a boost.  She also assured me that if no one could give me a boost, she’d come by.

After hanging up with N, I went to the trunk of the van, found the cables, and started going up to people in the parking lot.  Now picture this.  A panicked looking foreigner walking around with jumper cables thrust out in front of her, going up to strangers exclaiming, “la pile est morte!”  It’s no wonder everyone went running in the other direction.  

After a man in a BMW tried to explain that it would be too complicated with his motor, I turned to E for some assistance.  Thank god for E.  I had him ask one of his teammates if one of their parents could help.  Luckily, one of the fathers came to the rescue, and even switched to English after I failed at asking a question about the boosting process (you try asking a question about the mechanics of a car when you don’t even know how to say steering wheel in French).  

And finally, thank god for the father who knew where to put the clamps on the battery (I did know what was the battery thank you very much.  I just didn’t know what to do with it).  After a few revs I managed to get the engine to turn, I thanked the father profusely, and we were all set to go.

Only one problem: if I stalled, would the engine start again?

Both E and I gulped and then held our breath the entire way home.

And guess what?

We made it!  I almost kissed the ground when we did.  It was another successful trip in the van, and we definitely cheered when we made it home.