The Flying Sofa

Taxis here are incredibly cheap and my husband can travel to and from work by cab every day for considerably less than the price of renting a parking space in the centre of town. On the other hand the whole family does not fit legally into one taxi so we decided that a car was essential kit.

There is a vast underground car park in Wanchai, known as the Auto Mall, where a handful of wily second hand dealers are busy selling the largest, cleanest selection of second hand cars imaginable. Whilst the boys looked longingly at the fast, low, roofless variety, “Can we have that one?” and I wondered if I could abandon my greenish principles in favour of a big 4x4 we discovered that 98% of the cars on show had ruled themselves out of our purchase by having either 2, 4 or 5 seats “We wouldn’t all fit in that one.” was the oft repeated mantra. And thus we inevitably found our way to the section where they sell people carriers.

Now if like me you thought I drove the most boring car ever when in England, then think again, for I am now the proud owner of a gold coloured Nissan Pressage whose most exciting feature is its automatically operated sliding door on the left hand side. It seats eight on its beige velour seats and is now universally referred to as the Flying Sofa, although in fact I think the flying label is a little optimistic.

Early outings in the Flying Sofa were not a great success. My husband was nervous about me driving at all; still not in possession of either Hong Kong ID or a Hong Kong driving licence, he was worried I might not be insured, or insurable, I can’t remember which. Once I’d pointed out that my inability to drive while waiting 6-8 weeks for my HK driving licence to be granted might mean we all had to starve he was quick to relent and we went on a test run to the supermarket.

On leaving the rooftop car park I had to make a sharp left hand turn to get on to the narrow exit ramp. There was an awkward twist in the walled sides of the ramp and I ended up with the front of the car just two inches from the wall, facing down a steep incline. The car was straining forward on the slope and would have rolled into the wall before I could transfer my foot from the brake to the accelerator to get it to reverse back up the hill. I wasn’t sure that the reverse gear alone was enough to hold it off the dreaded wall which was an all too close reminder that I was not insured to drive this car!

We needed the foot brake. My husband scrabbled for the User Manual and flicked through the pages to find out where it was as we sat blocking the car park exit with the baffled parking attendant loitering near by. With the foot brake on we were no longer in imminent danger of rolling into the wall, but how to release it? More reading and then with considerable noise and a smell of burning rubber we managed to dislodge the Flying Sofa and move off without touching the wall. How we laughed, but only afterwards.

The following day it was my husband's turn. We set off for Ap Lei Chau and as we drove out of Shouson Hill Road he remarked that we needed petrol. We missed the first petrol station we saw but as we came down off a flyover he spotted another one and moved left across a solid double white line straight into the path of an oncoming ambulance with flashing blue lights. I yelled, the ambulance driver swerved, stopped and glared at my husband who drove meekly into the petrol station and drew up beside a waiting policeman who had witnessed the whole incident.
My husband was apologetic. The policeman was furious. When he demanded to see Hong Kong ID and his HK driving licence I held my breath for he doesn’t yet have one either. My husband took out his UK driver’s licence and calmly insisted he was allowed to drive on it for 6 months after arrival in Hong Kong. The children were very quiet in the back and I could see beads of sweat on his brow as he pressed his case. The policeman did not look convinced. He told us he could insist we report to the police station but he must have taken pity on us at the last minute and my husband was lucky to get away with a verbal caution for dangerous driving.

Once he’d gone we returned with huge relief to the task of filling up with petrol. The petrol attendants had seen and heard our exchange with the policeman on their forecourt and could barely disguise their scorn when we had to get out the User Manual to find out how to open the petrol cap.