It’s traumatic. It really is. After a year and 10 months of driving the sponsored luxury British SUV and its successor, I’ve had to temporarily return to slumming it in a sensible Korean hatchback. A taxi drove into my parked car while I was in Chinatown on August 7. I’d driven to lunch in a snow storm and emerged from the restaurant on Derrick Avenue to discover a small crowd gathered around my car in the softly falling snow, clucking self-importantly as they viewed the point of impact. All rather surreal.
So now I am bereft of Indian-owned transport for the next two weeks. I’m borrowing my mother’s car while she’s overseas, which is why I’m back behind the wheel of the sensible Korean hatchback I used to own. (I sold it to my mother, who gave my sister her RunX, which I sold her before I left for Australia. We do the musical cars thing in my family.)
Alas, all these months of being cosseted in automotive opulence have completely ruined me for perfectly competent value for money cars. Suddenly I feel like I’m in Cape Town, poer-poering along the highways beneath a leaden sky in a Hertz Group B with Collision Damage Waiver and optional but entirely useless GPS.
There are so many things I battle with. It’s not easy moving from a car which pretty much does everything except drive itself, and one which requires that one do utterly uncivilised things like insert and turn a key in order to start the engine. (What century are we living in, people?)
The handbrake. I’m used to a handbrake that engages and disengages automatically. Last night I forgot to put the handbrake on and was surprised when the car started moving by itself. Cars aren’t supposed to do that.
Gears. What are these things? Changing gears is so … primitive. I’m finding it a battle to get into the right gear when I start and of course I forget that it’s in third when I stop at robots and am then surprised when it won’t move. (I’m also weirdly paranoid about accidently changing into third when aiming for fifth, so I stick to fourth on the highway.)
Cramp in my left calf and ankle pain. Both something to do with the clutch.
Keys. Because the other car senses the presence of the smart key and unlocks itself, not being able to find it when I need to unlock it hasn’t been a problem. Now I’ve gone back to scratching for the key in order to get into the car rather than hunting for it to lock it. Entire neural pathways need rewiring.
Having to make an effort to switch the lights on. In my other car, the daytime running lights activate automatically, and the moment it gets dark, the headlights switch themselves on. Then, they switch themselves off automatically. No intervention is required from me other than to leave the dial on “Auto”.
No more phone conversations while driving. No Bluetooth hands-free car kit. No playing my iPod over the sound system either.
Confusing the indicators with the windscreen wipers. So embarrassing. (Not, it must be said, that this would be a problem for half the drivers in Joburg, who never use their indicators anyway.)
And finally:
Clutch control. I have none. Hence the smell of burnt clutch.
I can’t wait for my beloved to be restored to her pre-Chinatown taxi glory.
Entertaining. Thanks for this glimpse into the stark horror of what the rest of 99% have to experience on a daily basis!
Shall we start a fund to help Sarah obtain another luxury car from that famous Indian car maker?
Please someone tell me how this gets onto Thought Leader???
Another punt for the sponsored Land Rover????…..was actually wondering when you would make another reference to it!
Methinks your latest punt for your Landie has something to do with the devestating news that the Porsche Cayenne is now outselling all other luxury SUV’s in Jozie. Conspicuous consumption of Marie Antoinette proportions, especially since the Cayenne is just a “f**k you” badged VW Taureg
In Australia the only people driving German cars and fancy SUV’s seem to be South African boat people. All the ocker folk seem to be quite happy with egalatarian Fords, GM and VW’s
A representative of BMW said on SAFM recently, that Germans build superior luxury cars for foreigners with image issues (smalll winkies). They drive sensible VW’s, while having to financially bail out all the countries that spend too much on themselves
I enjoyed this post as much as I enjoy driving my Ferrari. I don’t have a Ferrari.
@Roy
This gets on Thoughtleader because its the most entertaining thing on Thoughtleader. Dickwit.
@BillyC
I was listening to an irritated German economist recently. She was complaining that there are more Porsche Cayennes registered in the Greek farming district of Thessaloniki than in Munich, because of the generous agricultural subsidies. Gotta love that German work ethic.
+The last time I commented on one of your columns I was was censored by the self righteous Mail and Guardian. That same newspaper that claims to be a bastion of civil liberties and my comment was not published. I hope in the interest of preserving that most valuable of civil liberties, freedom of speech, that corner stone of democracy, as espoused by a certain Mr Nic Dawes, that this will be published, as it is in the public interest to know that Ms Britton has nothing of value to add to the national discourse.
Ah, male envy! Amazing what bitchiness a bunch of boys can be driven to when they read a lady’s eloquent ideas about here own expensive car.
You guys should all get together for a commiseration drink-date. You can all poer-poer along in your skedonks, get together privately, then bitch about Sarah the white lady who has the audacity to write about driving a nice car.
Fun! Thanks!
Max pretty much sums it up!! The idea of a woman having the audacity to drive a luxury car AND write about it is just too much for some people. ha ha ha
*Sigh* I am now utterly depressed that I do not have the means to afford a robo-car. Rather fortuitously however I do have some organs (my own just in case people start to get the wrong idea here) that would probably fetch a pretty penny on the black market. So who knows if I start saving now I might be able to afford one before I reach pensionable age.
My son did much better than having his aged LR Defender hit by a taxi. On returning to his completely legitimately parked vehicle outside the mall he noticed a pile of red tail light glass on the road at the back of his vehicle and the slightest touch of gold auto paint on the rear chassis. The offender did not have the decency to leave a note but the car-guard scuttled over enthusiastically to share with my son how angry the elderly owner of the gold Rolls Royce had been with himself. LR-1 : RR-0
Ah, Rob. You must be the ex-husband. Nice to meet you.