Remember Chevy Chase in European Vacation, stuck in a roundabout in London? You thought that was funny, didn’t you? Well, even worse happened to us on the way to Marrakech. When we, after an exhausting ride, approached a roundabout, I suddenly noticed that all my driving skills seemed to have disappeared in a big black (pot) hole along the way. I just heard swiiiiish and they were gone. Goodbye! As soon I entered THE roundabout, there was a beep from a car behind.
–What! What did I do wrong?, I said screamed.
Something that started as a solo was shortly joined by a choir of blowing horns serenading me while I tried to get out of this self-inflicted inferno. I don’t know exactly how many traffic rules I violated, but I was soon to be informed by a police officer who waved me down (his face expressions suggested there were quite a few). After showing my driving license and explaining that this was our first time in Marrakech, he gave me an amused, fatherly look and let us continue. On the radio Aerosmith were blasting away: “I’m back, I’m back in the saddle again!” I raised the volume and we were ready to rock. Nothing was gonna stop us now!
I couldn’t be more wrong. While slowly approaching the next roundabout, I tried to recover any remaining knowledge about traffic rules. Should I go clockwise? Should I stay in the right lane when going straight? I was drawing blanks. Zilch. Where are the brain cells when you need them? (My drowsy travel companions didn’t seem to know anything either).
As soon as we entered the roundabout, the same horn choir was back (I could swear there was a conductor hiding somewhere in the bushes). To nobody’s surprise I also noticed how the next police officer prepared to wave me to the side. In a true Mr. Bean-maneuver I decided to avoid another tet-à-tet about my driving skills, so I varooomed through the circle and went back the same way we came from. At this point, my passengers were trying to slip under the floor mat, since they realized (news flash!) I was taking them back to the previous roundabout. (Yeah, the one with the police officer who already stopped me, remember?)
Only a miracle could save us now. Tensions were high and I saw Sam (who usually enjoys an occasional car-ride) nervously tearing off the last piece of hair from his tail. Just when I made eye contact with the police officer (he didn’t look amused seeing us again) I noticed a way out. A road leading to the right was my savior (which, ta-da, led us straight to our hotel). The rest of the week I meticulously refreshed my roundabout skills. Just to be on the safe side.