For five years, the bicycle was my constant companion and my only means of transport. In the summer I really enjoyed going to work with my environmental friend. Whether I wanted to go shopping or just to the train station. The bike was my sanctuary.
However, there were sometimes problems. When the bicycle basket was no longer sufficient, the bags hung down on the left and right handlebars and brought me all kinds of falls. Another shortcoming: you cannot transport another person. This was always a problem when I had to pick up my wife or other guests from the train station. In winter you have to wrap yourself up like an astronaut or a pilot.
I don’t have to fly now. So I made considerable efforts to get the German driver’s license. Driver’s license? In Syria people laugh about it. My brother was already driving the car through the streets like a grown-up when he was ten years old. I sat in the back seat and watched as people ran away in fear, under the delusion that the car was being driven by the Djinn, a spirit. What else is there to think? At the time, my brother was 110 centimeters tall and practically invisible behind the wheel.
With my driver’s license in my wallet, I have now fulfilled my dream of owning my first car: a French manufacturer, used, bought from a friend. When I parked it in front of the house for the first time, it was a great pleasure.
His wife goes white as goat cheese in the passenger seat
Now I can go shopping and simply stow the goods in the trunk. My wife sits in the passenger seat and we listen to romantic music. It is not just a means of transport, but is part of a certain attitude towards life. It has become like a second cellar or suitcase for me. Every weekend I devote myself to car care if I can somehow find the time.
In Syria, people tend to decorate the interior of their cars with chains, pictures and decorations. Everything here is simple and functional. This makes it easier to focus on street signs. For example, it is advisable to recognize speed limits and useful to obey them. For health and financial reasons.
There are hardly any speed limits in Syria. As a little boy, I would encourage my father in the car to accelerate like a racing driver. He smiled and continued to chug along at a leisurely pace. My father always said: Drive like you own the car – not like you own the road. I never understood that as a kid.
When I first drove around with my wife in the passenger seat, she would cower in fear whenever a car approached. She shifted nervously in her seat and her face went white as goat cheese.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told her the anecdote just before we set off when I accidentally ran over a sheep and three chickens in my car in Syria. I paid the angry owner the price and invited my friends over for roast chicken and lamb. In Kirchseeon I now take care not to run over a wild boar in the Ebersberg forest. Many of my friends would refuse to eat it. When a Porsche overtakes me, I concentrate on the music on the radio and think of my father’s old sentence.