Monday, March 23, 2009
One reason I didn't give my sister my driver's license before I left was because I had a feeling I'd need it at some point. Cuba is pretty lax about drinking laws - apparently people are supposed to be 16 to buy alcohol, but beer vending machines probably do little to dissuade underage consumption - but apparently they tighten up about car rentals. It came to pass that only UNC Juan and I were qualified to take out the tin-can Hyundais that we needed for our go-west-young-man trip, but I have never in my life driven a stick shift and so I had to put up a good game face while Caitlin nearly had a conniption in the passenger seat next to me ("Okay ease into the clutch...not the gas! Not the gas! Okay, go into first gear. First gear! It's over and up! ") - well, that's almost a lie; she was very patient and we didn't stall at all, at least until we had to switch places again to return the car on Sunday, and maybe that was a little more precarious because sometimes the Ministry of Transportation doesn't do a good job of labeling cross-walks, and certain drivers who don't actually know how to drive the cars they're in may not see said cross-walks, and let's just leave it there, noting that no, nobody got hurt and yes, we did get our deposit back.