Life is a Highway

In Kuwait, I’ve learned to drive with one hand on the horn and the other one out the window, giving the finger.

People who have seen me drive in the United States say that this isn’t unusual. But the level of aggressiveness I’ve started to show is surprising, even to me. Driving in Kuwait isn’t just a way to get from Point A to Point B, it’s a contact sport.

In California, using your horn is illegal, unless something dangerous is going to happen. Here, using the horn is a way of communicating anything from “HEY! I’m right here. Please don’t drive your car into me” to “Hey, cutie. Look at me in my adorable Z3 with a red heart-shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.”

As a woman, driving becomes even more perilous. According to these youngsters driving their expensive cars, by simply being on the road, you’re just asking for them to try to talk to you (communicating with their horns, of course). Any time I’m on the road, I fully expect to be followed to wherever my destination is. If a car is driving next to me, I refuse to look over because it may be a male and he may be staring at me and if he sees me looking at him, well, it’s over. I’m being followed. Important note: this isn’t a testament to my looks; this is a testament to my being a female. If you’re a female driving alone late at night? Well you must want them to follow you. Why else would you be driving so late? It couldn’t possibly be because you want to get home. In the three months that I’ve been back in Kuwait, I’ve been followed four times: Thrice to one of the malls (two numbers have been left on my car) and once to my apartment complex. True stories.

The rules and regulations of the road are considered guidelines here. Do you need to make a left turn, but you’re not in the left turn lane? No big deal, go ahead and turn anyways. Do you want to go straight, but you’ve ended up in a “right turn only” lane? No matter, just go straight anyways. The saddest part is, I’ve come to expect this. Just today, a car turned left from the middle lane. I, of course, laid on the horn and gave him the finger.

Using your high beams to make someone get out of your way is also illegal in California, but here, using your high beams is another way of communicating. It either means “Hey, I’m coming down the road at almost 120mph/200kph, move out of my way or I will wreck you” (this is indicated by flashing your lights several times from a fairly decent distance away) or it means “Asshole, you are moving TOO SLOW, please put your foot on the gas and go higher than 20mph/30kph in the left lane, thanks” (indicated by being right behind them and flashing your lights at least once or twice before getting impatient and changing lanes to go around them).

Then, there are the roundabouts, also known as the Bane of My Existence. I don’t know what the rules are for roundabouts; I generally just hit the gas and try and maneuver my way through it. When do you drive on the outside and when do you drive on the inside? That’s completely unknown, both to me and to my fellow drivers. It’s almost as if your car needs shoulder pads, a helmet and a 300 pound fullback to help you get to the end zone.

Driving down Gulf Road (a stretch of highway not unlike Pacific Coast Highway in California – it follows the coast line and has way too many lights) makes me feel like I’m in racing the Indy 500. After the light turns green, all I have to do is glance into my rearview mirror to see the Mustang’s, Carrera’s and the very occasional beat-up Ford’s revving their engines, prepared to spread across the four lanes in order to maximize the space on the road. As the next light changes to red and half the cars screech to a halt (the other half blow through the light as if red was the new green), I almost expect to see a black-and-white checkered flag lowered, indicating that this leg of the race is done.

When I was first trying to figure out which car I was going to buy, my dad jokingly asked me if I’d like to drive a Hummer. I considered the idea for half a minute, rationalizing that it was probably the safest car to drive here. I decided to take my chances driving here in a normal car rather than looking like a tool driving a vehicle meant for desert warfare. Although I’d be safer in a Hummer.

The analogies I can make about driving in Kuwait are endless. But let’s just leave it with this: The Formula One racecourse is nothing compared to the insanity that is driving in Kuwait.