Great Wee Roads: What Driving in Scotland Taught Me About Driving in America
Last month, my wife and I took our 14-year-old daughter on a long-planned, COVID-delayed, two-week trip to Scotland. We spent the first several days of our vacation ranging around Edinburgh on foot. We happily walked 8–10 miles a day, exploring castles and cobblestone streets, monuments and museums, back alleys, public squares, city parks, and tourist traps.
The city was just as beautiful as we had heard, but also more cosmopolitan than I expected. (We heard surprisingly few Scottish accents in the Scottish capital.) Edinburgh was also younger than I expected—not the city itself, which is ancient, but the people who choose to visit, live, and study there. My wife and daughter noticed this, too. We later learned there are six universities in Edinburgh, and that among the city's half-million residents, 12% are students. I was reminded of Jane Jacobs’ maxim that new ideas need old buildings. Edinburgh has lots of both.
On day five, we took an Uber back to the Edinburgh airport to pick up a rental car. Our plan was to head north and west, into the Scottish Highlands.
I was nervous about driving in Scotland, nervous to drive from the right-hand side of the vehicle, nervous to drive on the left-hand side of the road. I’ve been driving the American way for 29 years. I would be working against muscle memory.
To make matters worse, I hadn’t studied Scottish traffic signs in advance. The night before picking up the rental car, I gleaned what I could from our Rick Steves guidebook. Then, on the way to the airport, I peppered our Polish Uber driver with questions: “What do the zigzag lines mean at this intersection?” “How do you know what the speed limit is here?” “Why is one arrow bigger than the other on that sign?”
That was the extent of my preparation. And to save money, we had chosen not to add my wife, Kate, as a second driver.
After we loaded the luggage in our rental car (from a manufacturer I’d never heard of), my family and I placed bets on how many times I would be honked at over the next week of driving. To give myself a boost of confidence, and to put my passengers at ease, I said zero. Kate said two. Our daughter—who didn’t get the confidence memo—said seven.
Disoriented, and forgetting even to adjust the mirrors, I pulled out of the lot. I pointed the car, very slowly, toward the Highlands.
Mantras, Roundabouts, and Passing Places
Over the next week we drove every single day. We still did a ton of walking and hiking, but we took a car to get there. We drove on rural roads, on highways, through villages, and in mid-size towns like Inverness, Stirling, and Perth. We usually spent at least two hours per day in the car, and often more than four. In total, according to my rental car receipt, I drove 874 miles.
I acclimated soon enough to driving on the left-hand side of the road. It helped that Kate was a superb navigator. For the first hundred miles, I operated the vehicle, but she told me exactly where to put it. The three of us also developed some helpful mantras like, “Turn left, stay left,” and, “Just follow that car,” and, “Don’t hit the tour bus.”
In fact, driving on the left-hand side turned out to be one of the least interesting aspects of using a car in Scotland. There are two others I found far more interesting, especially as a Strong Towns advocate.