Turn Left, and You'll Be Right

Based on a small event that actually took place, but 99% is fiction

I am not really a very religious person, at least not in the strict sense. Nor do I believe in magic in the sense that we are controlled by some kind of external force that wishes us something, either good or bad. Things happen, the world takes its course, and the forces of nature work blindly and without any particular meaning or purpose.

In that sense, I am probably an ordinary, modern, secular person. No one could accuse me of believing in fairy tales or gnomes and trolls.

But honestly, haven’t we all had those moments when things happen that make us wonder – when our rational resistance to believing in magic takes a knock?

For instance, when I was invited to give a series of lectures over two weeks at Northumbria University in Newcastle.

I was looking forward to spending a couple of weeks in Newcastle, a city I have come to appreciate after previous visits, not least thanks to the beautiful bridges that cross the River Tyne in several places: The High Level Bridge, Newcastle Swing bridge, Tyne bridge and not least the futuristic Gateshead Millennium Bridge.

Another thing I really like is the English countryside. Although I was born and raised in a country covered in large coniferous forests, I prefer the open countryside, and England has a lot of it once you get away from the big cities.

When I left, everyone told me that I should rent a car because it's the best way to explore the English countryside. Since I was staying for two weeks, I would have a weekend in between for myself, leaving me plenty of time to do it. The freedom of having my own car would provide me with great opportunities to explore.

It's just that one thing: I'm from Sweden, and in Sweden, we drive on the right side of the road. In England, it is the left side that applies.

I was initially hesitant about venturing into left-hand traffic myself, but some of my friends had done it, and they managed to convince me that I could do it too. Their advice was straightforward: Drive calmly and thoughtfully, especially at the start. After a while, you get used to it, and then it becomes routine. It's even possible that you'll need to relearn when you return home.

I was persuaded, and as the weekend approached, I hired a car to be ready for an excursion on Saturday and Sunday.

The first little challenge I faced was sitting on the wrong side of the car while driving, but luckily, I'd been smart enough to rent an automatic car, meaning I didn't have to deal with the gear stick in the 'wrong' hand.

On Saturday morning my journey started. I got out of the city without intermezzos; through all the junctions, lane changes and around the roundabouts without looking or driving in the wrong direction.

Once I was outside the city, I searched for the picturesque villages I had imagined would be there. I imagined them to be full of old, classic buildings, narrow streets and, of course, the most charming little pubs. Now, I was driving, so there was no chance to stop for a pint, of course, but I could still enjoy the atmosphere, even if I only had a soft drink or water. It would not be quite the same, but still ...

Everything went well, and my hesitation about driving on the left side of the road slowly turned into a slightly euphoric feeling as I discovered that I could do something I had been hesitant about — even afraid of.

After enjoying a lovely lunch in one of the cosy pubs I found in a little village far from Newcastle, I got back in the car to continue my journey.

The roads around the village were very narrow, and it was when I left the village itself and started to speed up that it happened: in a blind right-hand bend, an oncoming car suddenly appeared, and we found ourselves on a collision course on the narrow road. At that point, I reacted instinctively and turned the steering wheel ... to the right.

In an instant, I realised my mistake, and I understood that my attempt to avoid a collision with the other car would instead result in a head-on collision, as the other driver would naturally react by turning the steering wheel to the left.

In the split second that followed, as I waited for the crash, my brain was flooded with thoughts: All the problems this would entail, the insurance issue, the discussion with the car hire company, the other driver, personal injuries – at least I was wearing my seatbelt. The police would probably get involved — I hoped my Swedish driving licence would suffice; at least it did for the rental company.

Thoughts flew just like they say they do in those moments when you're faced with the reality of passing; your life flashes before you – every experience, each cherished memory – all within the blink of an eye. And then ...

But the impact never came. I managed to stop the car. When I opened my eyes again, my car and I were standing still, half in the ditch, on the right side of the road.

I stared straight ahead for a moment before slowly turning round to see where the other car had gone. At least we didn't collide with each other. That alone must be a miracle, I thought.

When I saw the other car, I was surprised: it was some distance away, in the same position as mine, half in the ditch. The strange thing was that it was also on the right-hand side of the road.

You must have had a swift reaction time. I thought, who spotted the mistake I'd made and so rapidly compensated for it?

As I got out of my car, I noticed the other driver was also opening his door to exit. I began walking over to him, preparing to explain my clumsy mistake, as it could have cost us both a lot of trouble. I also want to express my gratitude for his quick thinking and skill in averting a crash.

As I approached, I saw that the other driver was obviously a woman; very beautiful, I quickly realised. She was black-haired with straight-cut bangs that framed her brown deer eyes in a very sensual way. My explanations and the thank you speech fell out of my brain like water from a colander.

She walked towards me, and when we met, she threw her arms out in a resigned gesture, as if she was going to take the blame for the incident.

“I'm terribly sorry,” she said, reaching out her hand in greeting.

“No, no,” I said, taking her hand. “It is I who should apologise — you see, I am not used to left-hand traffic. I am Swedish, and as you may know, we drive on the right side of the road. Now — I reacted on instinct — turned the wrong way... yeah, well...

The woman stared at me for a long time before bursting into a hearty laugh.

“That's funny,” she managed to get out between laughs and then continued in Swedish: “Det var ju tur att det var just vi två som möttes så här. Hej, jag heter Sanna och kommer från Göteborg.”

(“It's lucky that it was just the two of us who met here like this. Hi, my name is Sanna, and I'm from Gothenburg.”)

Once we'd both stopped laughing and had shared our errands in the British Isles, she looked me in the eye and said, “By the way, what do you say — if we both manage to make it back to Newcastle alive tonight, how about going out for dinner?”