If one preconception about America is true, it's that you need a car to survive here. Outside of New York City, or any of the other major metropolitan areas, the public transport is scarce and it's quicker, smarter and cheaper to get behind the wheel.
I thought this would pose problems for me when Tina and I arrived, but ironically the push to legitimise America's millions of illegal immigrants has actually worked in my favour here. More and more insurance companies are offering full insurance coverage on foreign driver's licences - and thanks to demand and increasing competition, it's cheaper than ever.
Which means I am now fully legitimate to drive on my British licence, without having to go through the rigmarole of applying for a State driver's licence. I will, of course. It will be a smarter and cheaper option in the end. But at least it means Tina and I aren't going to be entirely reliant on her father's taxi service any more (and he returns, exhausted, to Florida next week.)
The other obstacle preventing us from driving was, of course, getting a car. Fortunately Tina's brother has lent us his Pontiac Grand Prix, which is big and powerful and shiny and American, so it ticks all the boxes in my 'must have' vehicle requirements.
I'm a bit nervous about driving. When I visited in 2001/2003, I drove quite happily. It's been a while, though, and the combination of America's niggly road system and abundant police officers twiddling their thumbs means I will be a prudent and careful driver.
So at least there's one of us!
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