When I left Englewood, Florida to move to Spain I donated my old Jeep to the Phoenix Project because I didn't plan to drive here.
Turns out that was a wise move on my part: I'm too old and too slow to drive here. The reason: To drive (and survive) in Reus and the rest of Catalunya you need more than a rudimentary knowledge of the rules of the road. You also need the finesse of a cat burglar, the guts of an infantryman and an enormous amount of faith in the nameless, faceless engineers in Tokyo, Detroit and Seoul who designed the brakes for your car.
I moved to Reus because it's a great city to walk in and because there is a wonderful public transportation system. That said, I do find myself occasionally sitting in the passenger seat of a friend's car as he or she speeds through the narrow streets of Reus, dodging cars and pedestrians in much the same way a toreador dodges a bull's horns except the toreador isn't also fiddling with the radio, talking a blue streak and sometimes glancing out the side window to look at something interesting.
These days, my rosary beads are worn down to the size of BB's.
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