32:07.4N 016:33.6W
Tales of Amok's Adventures
Mike Jones
Tue 8 Dec 2009 20:07
Ahoy ye landlubbers.
Madeira Adventures
We had great fun yesterday when we hired a small car to do a quick tour of Ilha Da Madeira, more commonly known as Madeira. The price of the hire car for 24 hours was only fractionally more than 4 bus tickets, so we decided it was good value. This was probably MISTAKE NO. 1. We all crammed into this little chevy silver tardis, and immediately argued about who was navigating. Surprisingly, I didn't participate in this argument, as I had the steering wheel in front of me which instantly means I can't navigate. Those who know and love me know that I can't navigate in any event, but that's another story.
Somehow, we decided to throw the recommended route from the locals out the window and went straight for the jugular by driving into Funchal, the main city. It appeared that I had forgotten that Madeira is, after all European and I had been enjoying the spaciousness of the Australian roads for the last few years. I swear the roads went from 100km/h and 50 metres across down to about 50km/h with a width about 1/2" narrower than the car. Couple this with torrential rain meant we had to have the wipers on tropical monsoon setting which resulted in all conversations being done at 100 decibels.
Finally, we saw the lovely big blue universally recognised "P" sign which meant we could park and get thoroughly soaked outside. Great. Well, I turned into this cavern of a car park, only to find that the entrance was so narrow, there wasn't room for two cars side by side. Cautiously, I proceeded. MISTAKE NO. 2. OK, so one had to take turns, either going down this steep ramp to get in, or up it to get out. I managed to get in OK, only to find that they hadn't bothered to install any lighting in the damn thing and the ceiling was about 4 feet high. I took refuge in the first spot I saw, Italian Job Style, only for some ancient gentleman to tell me in Portuguese that I couldn't park there. Mike tried arguing with him, but no luck. On backing out of the spot that so clearly had my name on it, a huge concrete pillar moved silently and deadly and collided with my rear bumper. Oh, the horror. I used to laugh at a certain friend who had a car park collision. No more, R.
The air turned blue with the barrage of abuse that came out of my mouth. Of course, none of it is repeatable, let alone ever for me to type it on a public forum such as this. I nearly cried with shame, and a vivid recollection of my garage wall collision when I was 18 re-surfaced. On that particular occasion, my Mom, who witnessed said collision, was laughing so hard, she couldn't make herself understood to tell the tale.(and no, I still haven't forgiven you...)
Back in the Madeira car park, with my little remaining dignity, I pulled forward and the old gentleman took pity on me and gestured me into a spot. He also gestured that Mike should be driving, but I carefully pretended not to understand this; what a chauvinistic jerk. He was clearly married to a woman who wore the trousers at home, which meant he got to wear them at work. Pity.
I tried to put the whole thing behind me (sorry pun fully intended) and got on with the enviable job of walking around Funchal in the pouring rain. After we got fully drenched and Toby had his fishing tackle addiction satisfied, we enjoyed a lovely moment of laughing at some poor English woman who insisted on wearing a plastic bag on her head to keep her hair dry. I told Pandora that she should shoot me if I ever took up such an idea. We tried unsuccessfully to stifle the laughter where the woman could clearly hear us through her makeshift plastic bonnet.
I put off returning to the car park as long as possible, but alas, I had run out of excuses. I entered it with a certain resolve. I was not going to be made a victim of some bloody car park. No, sir not me. A full risk assessment was done before I got in to the car, ie how wide was my exit, where were the closest cars, could I pay in advance, or did the payment have to be done hand brake style. Unfortunately, it appeared that a credit card on exit was required, so I set off with determination.
I pulled up the narrow 45 degree incline and shoved my parking ticket in, then my credit card, only for the dreaded machine to tell me in Portuguese that my card was illegal. No it is not, I replied, it is fully legal. By this time, I had somebody right up behind me and looking a little annoyed. After a few attempts, it really became clear that no matter which way the card was inserted, it remained, in the machine's opinion, illegal.
Frantically, I pushed the "HELP" button and hoped for an English speaker. A very officious looking gentleman came over and insisted I squeeze myself out of the 2" between me and this damned machine to go talk to the kiosk lady. He gestured me over to the kiosk; on my way I noticed that I now had managed to completely grid lock the parking lot as nobody could get out, and nobody could get in. I think I counted about 6 cars waiting. Result!
Ashamedly, I admit, I did try to buy my way out of it, but throwing 20 euro notes had no effect. Luckily, the harrassed kiosk woman seemed to take pity on me; she was probably cussing "bloody foreigners..."
Finally, we got out. By this time, with the rain and the emotion, this little car was almost producing steam out of the windows.
Following this incident, I have been blessed with the name of Sterling. I tried for Parnelli, but was advised that I still had some training to do before I got to Parnelli's level.
I managed to top yesterday's incident off by spending a huge amount of time this morning searching for a grocery store. Search and rescue stye, we went back and forth along the island's VR freeway system, which we all decided was an abbreviation for Very Rapid. 3 navigators + 1 driver = driver stress
At last, it was found and yet again, a matchbox masquerading as a parking lot. Provisions were bought, but fresh milk remains elusive.
We returned the tardis back to the marina to find that the hefty insurance excess was to be duly charged, much to my disgust. The hire car man tried to make me feel better by telling me philosophically, that only death was unavoidable. Sorry, is it me?
Great. Part of me wishes we had taken the bus, but it wouldn't have been anywhere near as much fun...What is it with me and wheels??
can't wait to go to sea where there are NO CARS...
tune in soon for the latest circus act...
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