Catching a Flight

It was once again time for our yearly India trip. Not that I was already home-sick, it had been just over half a year since our last visit. I was just due for a vacation, the last few months had been quite stressful at work. So a relaxed journey, comfortable stay and reenergized return was what I was looking forward to. The beginning of our onward journey however turned out to be anything but relaxed.

The Frankfurt International Airport, out of which we were to fly is around 180 kms from our home. For convenience sake we chose to drive, park and fly this time, instead of taking the train. Especially with an active one year old to transport, this alternative would be ideal. There would be no need to plan large time buffer, no anxiety of missing train connections and no strain of loading and unloading luggage multiple times. So the travel plan to the airport was – start off from home at 4 pm, reach the parking area in Frankfurt around 6 pm and have sufficient time for airport shuttle, check-in and security check until the planned departure at 9:15 pm. It seemed a realistic plan with reasonable buffer for the Friday evening traffic.

Driving out of our garage, Google Maps predicted our journey to take a little over 2 hours. As we got onto the Autobahn (motorway) A81 there was quite heavy but moving traffic, as to be expected just before weekend. In less than an hour, a storm started brewing up in the direction of our travel. The clouds got more ominous by the kilometer and as we changed onto the A6, the floodgates of heaven opened. Thunder, lightning and the heavy downpour presented us with a 4D movie of sorts. Our car shuddered under the metallic clinks of huge rain drops and no mode of the windshield wiper was good enough to give us reasonable visibility. Traffic slowed down to snail’s pace and eventually came to a complete halt.

The peak of the storm was however short-lived and rain subsequently reduced to a drizzle. But apparently the damage had already been done. The subsequent stop-and-go traffic started initially with more go than stop, reduced quickly to some go with yawning stops in between and finally ended in no-go, just-stop! We heard on the radio that the storm had brought down an electricity cable, which had completely blocked the Autobahn. The clock seems to tick that much slower when stuck in a traffic jam. And here seconds turned to minutes and minutes to a couple of hours.

Sitting in the car with a kid getting more restless by the minute, we went through phases of impatience, frustration, anger and finally desperation. “Why us?!”, “If only we had left earlier!”, “We should have taken the train” were some highlights of our post-match analysis! I scolded my wife for giving up all hope and sermonized the virtues of positive thinking to her, while brushing aside my inner voice telling me that she was right! Being stuck between two Autobahn exits, we had no escape route, unless we decided to abandon the car and flee on foot in this miserable weather!

We finally decided to pull ourselves together and do what we could under the circumstances. We would have plenty of time later to think about what to do if we missed the flight! So we abandoned that chain of thought and worked mentally on how to catch the flight. Online check-in did not work via mobile phone. I luckily reached the Air India check-in counter number and negotiated with the gentleman in Hindi for check-in latest at 8:30 pm, instead of the normal 8:15 pm. Time would definitely not suffice to drop the car off at the parking area and take the shuttle as planned. So I pleaded with the contact person, who finally agreed to pick up the car at the drop off point of the airport. So the plan of action was quite meticulous – we had to reach the drop off point latest at 8:20 pm, the parking person would be waiting, ready to take the keys and drive off, we had to unload and hurry to the check-in counter latest by 8:30 pm. It would be touch and go!

But back to the Autobahn, we were still waiting for the GO to start execution of our optimistic “how to catch the flight” plan. As the clock ticked past 7 pm, it was looking more and more likely that we have to soon start working on the “what if we miss the flight” plan. At 7:15 pm like an oasis in the desert, we saw a glimmer of hope when the traffic moved a couple of hundred meters and stopped again. An opening had been made for construction vehicles in the Autobahn railing and the mud road beyond seemed to lead to some asphalted road. As we had long since lost hope of this blockage clearing up, we were willing to jump at any damn alternative! On taking the illegal exit, our navigation system suggested a route which would lead through a small town and rejoin the A6 at a point just after the blockage. With around 140 km to cover in little over an hour, a race against the clock was on!

The blockage had freed up the Autobahn for the stretch after it and I pushed our new Ford Mondeo to its limits on the rain drenched roads. In spite of a reality show of “Fast & Furious” with peak speed of about 200 kmph, I managed to hit the drop off point only at 8:27 pm. As per our last mile plan, my wife jumped off the car and sprinted to the Air India check-in counter, juggling our baffled son in her arms. I hurriedly handed over the keys to the parking guy, threw our 4 bags onto a luggage cart and raced with it like a madman in the direction of the check-in counter.

We were JUST IN TIME!!! As promised, one of the Air India staff was waiting for us and hurried through the check-in formalities. Then an Air India staff escorted us swiftly through priority security check, arranged for us to jump the queue at passport check and dropped us off at the departure gate. As the reality of having made it in spite of the odds sunk in, high-fives between gasps for breath marked a short moment of our celebration. Then we both fell into a trance, as the hell of a ride starting with us leaving our garage that evening, seemed to float around us like a dream.

Maybe it was those two critical phone calls, maybe it was the illegal Autobahn exit or maybe it was just the positive thinking. Whatever did the trick, we were just super relieved to be on our way home!

The Visa Pursuit

Visa troubles for Indian passport holders is unending. I have had my share of them. This particular time it was my parents’ turn. 

Two years ago, the time seemed right to have my parents over. We were married for over a year, had settled into our apartment and had both got a grip of our jobs. My wife looked forward to hosting her in-laws, even took up the planning for their visit. The broad outline for my parents’ Eurotrip was to follow the template. I wanted them to see some of the Eiffel-Towers, Colloseums and Big-Bens of Europe. And of course, stay a few days with us in Germany, in our home away from home. 

At the outset, we ruled out the option of showing them around Europe ourselves. That would mean too much planning effort and too much time off work for us. The more convenient and efficient option would be to send them on one of those package tours. In comparison to a self-organized tour, a package tour could cover more tourist destinations, offer better hotels and drive the tourists around in a comfortable bus. And thanks to tough competition and group booking, package tours might even work out cheaper. The travel agency we short-listed even offered visa services, flexible flight dates and Indian food during the trip. To summarize – we would get more, do little and pay lesser. It was a no-brainer. Or so it seemed! 

The hitch in the otherwise perfect arrangement was the required deviation from the standard tour itinerary. To accommodate their stay with us after the package tour, their visa application and return flight booking had to be made separate from the rest of the travel group. We were particularly concerned about the postponed flight back to India drawing suspicion of European visa authorities. Therefore we intended to start the visa procedures early, have enough time to arrange the required documents and submit the application in good time - thus allowing sufficient time for visa processing. 

But unfortunately for us, our contact person at the local travel agency office was neither experienced nor organized enough to manage the visa procedures for us. Instead of a checklist of required documents and payments with due dates - as one would expect, she sent us a series of panic-stricken emails, of the kind – “please provide this document immediately” or “please make that payment immediately”. With my wife coordinating from Germany, the travel agency and my parents working together in India, the different time zones and thus different working hours, there was total chaos! To top it all, she only managed to file the visa application less than 2 weeks before start of the tour! 

And our worst nightmare came true – five days before my parents were to board a plane to Europe, their tourist visa got rejected! Reason quoted for rejection was non-specific – “submitted documents are incomplete or insufficient”, without mentioning which documents were being referred to. We were shocked and dumb-founded. Coincidentally, I was visiting India without my wife for a cousin’s wedding and thus happened to be available for fire-fighting. After some calls to the head-office of the travel agency and discussion with my wife, I set out on the next course of action. We filed a reapplication, attached additionally with my covering letter in German language. The chances were however quite thin – excluding the weekend, we had only three working days left, which was also the best-case visa processing time. In other words, it would take a miracle. 

And not just any ‘ordinary’ miracle would do. As if things were not complicated enough, the flight to Europe would take off in three days working days from Mumbai International Airport. So my parents had to take a domestic flight from our hometown of Mangaluru to Mumbai one day in advance. Meaning – the visa, if approved, would have to be delivered to them in Mumbai. 

To summarize: extraordinary miracle = visa that has been rejected, gets issued on reapplication with the same substantial documents + that too in best-case visa processing time + the travel agency manages to get the visa delivered to my parents at Mumbai airport during their flight changeover time! 

But guess what?! EXTRAORDINARY MIRACLE HAPPENED!!! Even before my parents took the domestic flight, the travel agency informed us that the visa had been issued and the stamped passports were on their way to Mumbai by speed post. It would be a race against the clock for my parents, the passports and the departing flight. And it was a photo finish. On arrival in Mumbai, a delivery boy drove the passports to the airport and handed it over to my parents, just in time for their security check before the international flight. The rest of their trip would be exciting in less dramatic ways, captured in fond memories and digital photographs. 

For the second time in a week, we were shocked and dumb-founded! What the hell really happened?! Had the travel agency just screwed up the first application? Did the covering letter in German language do the trick the second time?! OR, was it just what it was – a miracle. Well, we did not really care in the end. All’s well that, … 

This year, my in-laws will be taking the ride. There are definitely a few things we will do differently this time. No prizes for guessing what tops the list!

The 2 Day Journey

It was not planned to take that long. In all plans, there is always a chance that something goes wrong. Like it did during this journey. 

It all began a few months ago. My beloved wife wished to fly away to some distant land of beauty and sunshine at the end of the year. She would rather not spend the December holidays in grey and cold Germany and was in a mood for something else other than the usual India visit. Our search for warmer regions of the globe led us to Central America and we eventually narrowed in on Costa Rica for its nature and beaches on offer. After weeks of itinerary planning and hotels, rental car and tour package booking, we eagerly counted the days down to the well deserved 2 week vacation. 

On the big day, we started off at 5:30 am from home and drove to the Frankfurt international airport. Some ominous signs were evident during the 2-hour drive with an unusual headache and an uncommonly heavy downpour giving me a hard time behind the wheel. We however made it to the airport in good time and joined the long queue at the Condor check-in counter. As the queue shortened and other passengers headed towards security check and boarding, we cheerfully looked forward to being in warm Costa Rica that night, little expecting the turn of events that awaited us. 

Tourist visa is unfortunately compulsory for Indian passport holders in most countries. But having residence permit of the EU, Costa Rican regulations did not require us to have visa for this trip. But as it turned out, that was not the end of the visa issue as we had believed. One of the stopovers during our flight to Costa Rica was to be in San Juan, Puerto Rico. And while booking the flight, we had been unaware of 2 facts. 1 – that Puerto Rico is a territory of USA. 2 – that USA requires a visa also in case of transit via one of its airports. 

So coming back to the scene at the check-in counter, before we knew what hit us, the personnel told us – “I am sorry, but you cannot board this flight”! The drop from the peak of elation to the abyss of dejection was so sudden and drastic that we had no clue for a few minutes what to say or do next. I only wished it was just one of those nightmares and that I would soon wake up startled. It had to be. But sadly not. 

As we slowly recovered from the shock, my brain went into overdrive, considering the different possibilities. Canceling the trip now was out of question. Our hearts and minds were already in Costa Rica waiting to pick the rest of our bodies up at the airport! So the only option was to rebook with different stopovers. But considering the peak tourist season, chances of finding alternative connections at such short notice seemed slim. Wishing, hoping and praying for the best, we headed towards the ticket counter. 

I always tell my wife that God sends us a solution with every problem. In this case, He sent us alternate tickets with the missed flight! We found a connection with not-USA stopovers starting that evening at a fair additional price. It included several hours of waiting in Frankfurt airport and an overnight stopover in Madrid, Spain. But we could not complain, it could have been worse. We finally reached our hotel in San Jose, Costa Rica at 10:30 pm local time, exactly 48 hours after we started off from home, 1 day later than planned. 

But Costa Rica turned out to be every bit worth the trouble. Friendly people, welcoming hospitality, tasty food, sandy beaches and diverse nature helped us quickly put the starting problem behind us. All’s well that ends well, or as they say in Costa Rica – “PURA VIDA”!

The Home Run

My standard of living during the first 2 years of my stay in Germany can best be described as ‘student life’. Within the limited means of an educational loan and a part-time job, one private room along with shared kitchen and bathroom is all I could afford. And frankly, all I really needed. Thus my first 3 homes here – the university hostel during my masters course, another hostel during my thesis and a shared apartment when I just started working, served their purpose excellently. Also, not being very choosy, finding these places had not been particularly difficult. But things changed when my wedding got fixed, my fiancé and I had to look for a more ‘respectable’ place for later. 

Having just transitioned from students to professionals, our spending habits were still a lot student-like. This also reflected in our apartment search criteria. In addition to the rent having to be ‘very reasonable’, the place had to be brokerage-free, which is otherwise a rip-off here. But since most house owners preferred to rent out through brokers, we had very few options to choose from. And with my fiancé’s paying guest contract expiring at the end of the month, we were quite desperate for something to work out for her till then. 

Our prayers were soon answered, however in quite an ugly form. A rundown building under renovation, looking horrible from the outside and hollowed out from the inside. As we walked through the construction site, the over-enthusiastic owner painted verbal pictures of the apartment, once the renovation work ended in a couple of months. If things worked out as per his plans, it would indeed be the perfect house the two of us could make our first home together in. The apartment was sufficiently big, the available area was well laid out in the rooms, the view from the balcony of the vineyards was lovely and the place was located right on the bus route to our office. We were made for each other! So with assurances of a ‘livable’ apartment until the moving-in date and the subsequent completion of the rest at the earliest, we decided to take it. 

In the couple of weeks till the due date, the apartment actually saw an impressive transformation, even exceeding our expectations. But for the still to-be painted doors, to-be fixed window shutters and to-be serviced heaters, the change from our first visit was as drastic as the transition between seasons in Germany. We were optimistic that if the work progressed at this pace, our dream home might be ready earlier than planned. With these high hopes, my dear fiancé made no fuss about moving into an unfinished apartment, making do with the frugal furnishing of only a standing lamp for lighting, only a mattress for a bed and only a hot-plate for a kitchen with a fully functional bathroom. After the wedding, we took our own sweet time converting the interconnected rooms into our home, supervising the kitchen being assembled, planning the furnishing for the rooms, shopping for the suitable pieces of furniture and putting their building blocks together. 

All this excitement distracted us from noticing that the construction work was gradually slowing down, until it eventually came to a halt. After finishing our apartment, the owner went on to complete the bare essentials in the other apartments in the building, just enough to be able to rent them out. But several tasks in the common areas remained unfinished. Work begun on a promised storage room in the basement was abandoned, leaving the laundry room and staircase always covered with dust, the corridor walls were an optic disaster with protruding piping and wiring, the backyard was strewn with construction rubble. We laughed away other dreams that the owner had sold to us, like painting the building exteriors and laying out parking spaces in the backyard, rather would be grateful if he fixed the ‘unbearables’! After about a year of innumerable phone calls, empty promises, unmet deadlines, meetings with other tenants, rent reduction measures and exchange of written threats about legal implications, we had exhausted our last ounce of patience. It was clear that the owner had long since left us to our fate and we could only lose our peace of mind further over the matter while gaining nothing. We were in the mood to show him two of our fingers and move out! 

But the decision to shift could not be a knee-jerk reaction, rather required careful consideration. Shifting would mean a whole lot of effort all over again and we had just about finished setting up this place. There was a compulsory 3-month notice period before we could move out and other rental apartments were available only about a month in advance. This meant that we could either play safe, find a new apartment and then let go of this one, in which case we would have to pay double rent during the overlapping months. Or we had to quit here and hope that we would find something suitable in those 3 months, which ran the risk of having to settle for something worse than this place! Also, we were to shortly visit India for a month, which would take away valuable searching time. But if we waited until after our return to quit, we would have to shift during the painful winter months. So the choice was pretty straight forward - either quit right now or suffer this apartment and its owner till spring next year. After several discussions between the two of us, against sane advice from our colleagues against such a misadventure, with mixed feelings of relief and anxiety, we posted our decision to the owner! 

As expected, nothing worked out during the 2 weeks before our India visit, leaving us with only a month and a half on our return to find our new home. Once back, the search party got to work with full force, this time with a more open mind (or rather pocket!) towards apartments with less reasonable rent and with brokerage. Out of the 40 odd prospective apartments, we short-listed 25, got appointments to check out 15, among which only about 5 came close to taking away the honours. But every one of them had at least 1 show-stopper. Either the place was located next to a graveyard or the kitchen was too small or the apartment was left in a bad shape by the previous tenants. With little over a month left, our restlessness grew amidst witty offers from our colleagues of their basements and carton boxes, “if it comes to it”! But just when the countdown clock showed exactly 1 month to go, we found a place where we could imagine ourselves living in. 

The apartment along with 2 others, is part of a newly renovated building, which means newly insulated walls, new heating system, new bath fittings, new modular kitchen, newly painted interiors and exteriors – all new, for an acceptable rent and brokerage. A quiet residential locality and a lovely park just in front of the house are the icing on the cake. As the owners and we found each other suitable, it was a done deal and the broker did the needful in putting a contract in place. 

As we spend our last days in the present apartment, planning the shifting and the arranging of our new home, I wonder if it was the right decision to take the leap of faith. It could have ended differently, one is wiser only in the end. But who cares when it ends well?! Cheers to happy endings, hip-hip…

Like to Bike

With over 40 million registered cars for its 80 million odd population, the traffic system in Germany is dominated by 4-wheelers. The motorbikes are more sport-gadgets than a regular means of transport and the bikers are considered the adventurous and daring or even fool-hardy types. To quote a colleague, they are “the guys who always carry their organ donation card with them”! But a bike, in addition to being a necessity in India, has been a statement of being free, of being alive, of being in control for me. And so, feeling the wind in my face and chest, as I ride on some of the most scenic stretches in Europe has been one of my dreams. 

So I set out to get both my 4- and 2-wheeler licenses done together mid last year, the former – a must-have, the latter – a nice-to-have. But when I was done with the two theory tests, my driving trainer recommended that I first focus only on clearing the 4-wheeler practical exam. With this license I could get used to driving a car in the German traffic system and then the 2-wheeler exam would just be a matter of additionally keeping my balance! All in all, it sounded like a plan. 

And the plan seemed to be working quite well. I cleared the 4-wheeler exam at the first attempt in autumn last year and decided to give myself the months till summer this year before taking up the 2-wheeler part. Once we bought a car, I even got a hang of driving on the “wrong” side in no time. However, an extended winter, work pressure and just laziness made me put off starting the riding classes until it was almost too late. The theory test result is valid only up to a year and my planned India visit advanced the deadline by a month. Some confusion with the driving license authority due to incorrect entry of the allowed 2-wheeler class resulted in further delay, leaving me with less than 5 weeks to successfully take the exam before catching my flight home. 

After considering some alternative driving schools, I decided to stick with my previous trainer, in spite of my forgettable car driving classes with him. Mainly because he instilled the confidence in me that he would take me past the finish line in time, a decisive factor given my optimistic time plan. Another plus in his favour was his flexible timings, which allowed me to get more hours on a bike in fewer days. When we hit the road, me looking like an astronaut in the protective gear on a powerful Suzuki Gladius, followed by my trainer in his Audi, I made very few mistakes compared to my first car hours. But the few that I made, mostly silly ones were awarded with mix of static and admonition over my walkie-talkie ear piece. Some things never changed! By now however, I had grown a thick skin to his exaggerated and at times undeserving criticism and focused on where I had to get my act together. After 6 riding hours, he announced me good-to-go and booked an exam in the following week. 

The 2-wheeler exam is more than just the 4-wheeler exam on 2 wheels. The “more” are the 6 handling exercises to be performed on some deserted road ranging from zig-zaging around cones, to avoiding obstacle, to emergency braking. Although I initially had trouble with 2 of them, I eventually practised enough to manage all 6 comfortably. And the riding in different speed zones part was not an issue, owing to my sufficient car driving experience. So on the exam day, I felt more relaxed and better prepared than on the 4-wheeler exam day previously. Although the test started quite well, it was one of the unusual suspects among the exercises that would literally bring my downfall. 

The ‘zig-zaging around cones at less than 7 kmph’ exercise is essentially a play between the idling engine, the delicately applied clutch, the sparingly used foot-brake and the steadily maneuvered steering handle. The accelerator and the hand-brake are meant to be silent spectators, who could be show-stoppers if they play any role. Challenging as it was, this exercise was never under my trainer’s scanner as I had managed it flawlessly during each practice run. In the exam however, it was a combination of things that went wrong. I approached the cones too fast and at too oblique an angle, making the skewed trajectory very difficult to correct. The knock-out punch was delivered by applying the hand-brake together with sharp counter-steering at the 2nd cone. I lost my balance as the tyres skid sideways and the bike tilted over. As my trainer helped me get the bike back up, the examiner gave me the thumbs-down. He would have given me another shot at it, had I just given up after the wrong start and begun all over again, without ending up with my hands to the ground. Shit happens, the time tested “fight till the end” approach did not end well! 

So now the time was right for some panic! With a 2-week gap before I could attempt again and 3 weeks left to the deadline, it would go down to the wire. Also, this was the first exam I had ever failed, so there were some self-confidence issues to deal with. It would be so to say, my ‘first second’ time. 

In spite of a thorough training session a couple of days back, I could not get sound sleep the night before the take-2 and woke up with headache and a bad tummy. As I waited for my turn at the exam center, I was not as up to it as during the first attempt. But I had my work cut out – do or never do. Going through the whole process again from scratch after my vacation, with the theory test and everything was not happening. But as the exam got on the road, I surprisingly got my concentration in place. I faired perfectly in all the exercises in the first attempt and gave no chance to the examiner to point a finger at anything during that hour. As I received the ‘green’ report card from him, I mentally wiped the sweat off my forehead. Phew! 

With the ‘license to chill’, the route for our first bike trip is a done deal. Although my reluctant darling is yet to be convinced to ride along, the scenic ‘Schwarzwalder Hochstraße’ (the Blackforest Highroad) awaits us.

Owning An Auto

Being a country of cars and drivers, it is almost “wrong” to be always traveling by public transport in Germany. The thrill of joining the speeding brigade of the biggest brands of cars, equipped with the latest technology available, whizzing on the best laid-out roads - the german Autobahn, is an experience that can hardly be aptly expressed. More so, when behind the wheel. Being a german driving license holder since half a year, it was time to get me an Auto (car in German) and hit the road! 

The task of deciding on the right car was hardly trivial, considering the wide range of brands, classes, models and technical configurations on offer. However, the “width” of this range narrowed down considerably, once my beloved and I fixed our budget! Our search began with the initial idea of a 3 year old second-hand BMW 1-series. But after several weeks of comparing technical data and reviews of probable brands and models in that segment, discussing with colleagues, searching online for offers and renegotiating our budget, we finalized on a new snow-white Opel Astra hatchback with a respectable 64 kilowatt 1.4 liter engine. 

On our way to the Opel dealership on the big day, we were both bubbling with excitement, like kids being bought their first bicycle. The car dealer named Blessing turned out to be indeed a blessing for us, first-time car owners. In addition to patiently answering our never ending questions regarding financing, insurance and servicing, he even advised us about the car deal like a well-wisher, rather than a salesman. Once we were done signing the papers, there was a little handing-over-the-keys ceremony, where we proud owners took a picture with our handsome new car, we decided to name Ashwa – the white horse. Ashwa posed elegantly with us, showing off his special license plate RA-1130, with our initials and wedding date. During our debut home-run over the Autobahn A-81, I confined myself to “loser” speeds, well below those usual on the Autobahn, letting trucks and “humbler” cars overtake me, seemingly saying “Puppy shame to you!” as they passed by. 

Ashwa brought several positive changes in our daily routine. I climbed up the professional ladder with my promotion from Her Majesty’s porter to Her Majesty’s chauffeur! We were no longer bound to the fixed bus or train timings to travel to or from work or elsewhere. We could jump in and drive off at will. Traveling to any destination henceforth meant just entering the address into the navigation system and driving as routed, rather than checking the best connection, buying the cheapest ticket and changing buses or trains along the way. Loading our weekly supplies from the supermarket into the boot and driving home was way more convenient than packing the supplies into a trolley bag and wheeling it home on foot. Ashwa thus thoroughly pampered us with comfort and flexibility.

But having neither driven nor owned a car in Germany before, we had our share of first-times, some memorable, some forgettable. Our clumsy first attempt to fill up at a petrol bunk, being stuck at the exit of a paid parking lot not knowing how to pay, wondering if some behavior of an in-vehicle system is a feature or a defect, the worm in the head teasingly asking “Have you locked the car?!”, the guilt and fear after absentmindedly driving through a red signal, the heart-in-the-mouth feeling after a close call due to a wrong turn. Aaaaaand the winner is – the sickening pain in the stomach after the first dent on the car while parking! All said and done, they were all part of the experience and I am glad they happened. 

Anyways, it’s now high time I cut the words and let the actions do the talking. As my better half and her “lesser full” mount Ashwa and saddle in, allow me to offer you half a wave of my hand and a promise to be back soon, before we ride away into oblivion.

On The Wrong Side

For a country with a reputation of strict law enforcement, it is quite shocking that one doesn’t get penalized for driving on the ‘wrong’ side in Germany! Having witnessed only the British alternative since birth, the keep-left traffic system had been stone-etched into my subconscious well before my arrival in Germany. Therefore I can be blamed for neither of the first bloopers like waiting for the bus on the wrong side of the road, checking the wrong side while crossing the road and getting into the driver’s seat of a taxi! And having traveled only by public transport during my masters, it had sufficed to come to minimal terms with this laterally inverted system. But after joining my new job, it became quite desirable if not absolutely necessary to get a German driving license, which meant of course that I had to learn to do it exactly the other way. 

‘Converting’ my Indian license to a German one is actually a misnomer, as taking both theory and practical tests was compulsory. After spending a couple of weekends with the study material, I decided it was time to get behind the wheel. My first hour on the road however turned out to be well short of a good start, to say the least. Well, what else could I expect when the steering wheel, direction indicator and gear box were all mounted on the wrong side in the Audi! Thankfully they had not switched the orders of the pedals and the gear changes, which might have otherwise compelled me to give up altogether, even before I switched on the ignition! I had never driven cars with that much electronic control before and it took me some time to get a hang of this clutch pedal causing the engine to stall time and again. I was also guilty of wearing sports shoes a little too broad for comfort in the pedal space and so I often unintentionally stepped on both the brake and accelerator pedals partly. The resulting awkward jerking of the car together with the stalling of the engine and activation of windshield wipers instead of direction indicators made me look worse than a beginner. 

If this terrible mix-up of controls was not enough for me to focus on while driving, the complex system of traffic signs, lane driving, speed limits, right of way regulations and unwritten rules overloaded my brain. Further, German being a non-native language for me, admonishing instructions from my annoyed trainer under pressure situations made me go blank and I resorted to unwarranted braking, once almost causing a rear end collision on a highway. When we were through, the trainer was very generous and uncharitable in his feedback - I did not know how to handle the vehicle controls, did not look into the mirrors often enough, could not maintain speed, could not keep the car in the lane, could not start driving uphill, could not park correctly, did not observe road signs, did not follow traffic regulations, in short – I JUST COULD NOT DRIVE. He was quite shaken by the close call and said that I was a dangerous driver and that he had no intention of risking his car and life for the little fee I paid him. He questioned my driving experience in India and found the prospect of me passing the driving test with this level of proficiency laughable. Let’s just call it, A TERRIBLE START! 

After venting his anger and annoyance thoroughly, he finally seemed to cool down and decided to give me “one last chance”. I felt like shit as I walked back home, but tried not to get bogged down by the debacle and told myself that it was just starting problem. At home, I ran through the forgettable hour in my mind and made mental notes of where I actually went wrong and how I could avoid those mistakes henceforth. I watched some driving trainer videos online and got some hints about where to expect which traffic sign and how to quickly deduce the applicable regulation on the fly. Although I still felt quite uneasy going to bed, I somehow felt that it could only get better from here. 

The next day’s spin was indeed much better, although not excellent. More suitable shoes and the lessons learnt last night eliminated more than half from the previous day’s mistakes. I myself watched what I was doing wrong, observed more on the road as I drove, paid utmost attention to every one of the trainer’s instructions and tried to translate every one of his words into action. He was always sharp in his directions, often harsh in his criticism and at times ruthless in his admonition, appreciation was quite unknown to him. But he knew his stuff and told me exactly how it is done. So I held on to my nerve, tried to separate his lesson from his lecture and worked hard to do it right, at least to save me his irritating comments! The second session was good enough for him to make the next appointment and some more after that. I made use of the time during daily bus journeys to office to observe the bus driver driving, the different traffic signs and the other vehicles on the road. I worked on the details bit by bit and reduced my mistakes from one class to the next, until my trainer finally announced me as test-ready. A week before my test, my trainer was informed who my examiner would be and we trained a couple of stretches which that examiner usually prefers. 

The big day started with some last minute excitement. Due to some administrative problem, the examining authority had changed the examiner! The earlier scheduled examiner would have been quite forgiving towards small mistakes during the test, but this one expected perfection. Each second of the hour that I had to wait for my turn seemed to last forever as I tried to give myself some pep-talk. “My driving skills are good enough, so the examiner does not matter. Worst case, if it doesn’t work out this time, big deal. I will do it the next time!”. When the moment of truth arrived, I spoke to the examiner only in English, a tip from my trainer to avoid lengthy questions and conversations with the examiner in German! The examiner was thorough as expected, checking my knowledge of the vehicle controls, making me drive through all possible speed limits and testing my parking skills among others. Starting up a hill and parallel parking were still my weak points, but luckily the former was not tested and I managed to park perfectly in the test. At the end, apart from a couple of minor comments, he was generally satisfied with my driving skills and gave me the go ahead! 

Early next morning saw me waiting to lay my claim on that little card in front of the driving license office. When I finally had it in my hand, I could not hold back a broad smile and a silly giggle, eager to show it off to anyone who would care to have a look. With the license to challenge the 130 km/h ‘advisory’ speed limit on the German Autobahn, it was now just a matter of finding myself the right car and hitting the road!