One love, one lane: driving in Jamaica

KINGSTON, JAMAICA—Friends and family in Canada already have an answer in mind when they ask me what it’s like to drive a car with diplomatic plates. Sadly, my response isn’t what they want to hear. The expectation is that I drop into my best Arjen Rudd (actor Joss Ackland) impression, pull out my passport and confidently deliver the line “diplomatic immunity.” If you’re of a certain vintage, Lethal Weapon 2 firmly cemented your belief that government representatives and their families living abroad are untouchable. We aren’t. The general rule is: if it’s a crime or an infraction in Canada, it’s one or both of those things in your host country. While diplomatic licence plates (yellow in Jamaica) don’t confer immunity from prosecution, they do offer up one driving perk: a community of fellow travelers. Diplomats aren’t only identifiable by jaunty plates, but also by plate number. The first digits denote the driver’s country of origin. This helps to know to whom to give a casual boating wave (Europeans) and who’s getting boisterous window roll-down hellos (North, Central, and South Americans). Think of it as a working version of GMC’s Saturn Owners Club that helps ease the transition to hitting the road in a new country. In each city around the globe I've called home, no matter the country, I seem to find myself in the one with the worst drivers. The irony that I’m the only common denominator isn’t lost on me, or my wife. Wherever we are, I’ll declare to the clouds that people in (insert city name—don’t worry Ottawa you’re included) can’t drive to save their lives. This usually happens after someone has performed a roadway indiscretion, almost always with their mobile phone held like a slice of pizza in front of their face. Before we moved to Jamaica, it was fair of me to assume that this would continue. I’d be the only one following the “rules of the road” while everybody else would—as I’ve overheard Jamaicans shout to one another in traffic jams—“drive like damn fools.” What I discovered is that Jamaicans drive like damn geniuses, and while this isn’t my first dance driving on the left (previous stints in South Africa and Oceania ran me through that crucible), it has been my introduction to the “middle lane.” Topography has forced Jamaican roads to be narrow. Mountain passes have a Swiss Alps feel, but even in the lowlands and cities, most Canadians would sweat at the lack of space between you and the curb on one side, and oncoming traffic on the other. So, how does one navigate with slow drivers in front, cars pulled over on non-existent shoulders, or trucks that have decided roads are now parkades? It’s done through a kind of transubstantiation, a bending of space and time. A lane that didn’t exist moments before suddenly appears ahead of you and everyone is in on it. The semi-mythical middle lane becomes a reality, and you have milliseconds to use it. It’s the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to a miracle. It happens with abundant regularity that a hagiography of Jamaican drivers isn’t out of the question. Drivers use quick horn blasts or short high-beam bursts to communicate with oncoming motorists. The kind of car chatter that would have North Americans flipping each other the bird is instead a parlance of “go-aheads” and “thank yous.” The rules of the road are malleable and in that regard, everyone is always following them. Does it always work? Of course not. Sometimes it goes spectacularly wrong (see above picture). But when it works, it makes you feel as if you’ve turned water into Bordeaux and every day you’re filling your cellars. What’s it like driving with diplomatic plates? I wouldn’t know—I drive like a Jamaican. Would it matter if I did have diplomatic immunity? Not really, because when it comes to driving, it's been revoked. Andrew Elliott has spent two decades hosting radio shows around the world, most recently in Ottawa, and now writes stuff from his home in Kingston, Jamaica. The Hill Times

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One love, one lane: driving in Jamaica

Diplomatic licence plates don’t confer immunity from prosecution, nor do they magically give you the ability to drive like a local.

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