Man vs. Car

Now that the smoke has cleared and we can—hopefully—forget about the bit BYU/Utah football rivalry game for another three years, I'd like to talk tonight about the time when I was hit by a car. As a pedestrian crossing the street. In Chile.

A few years ago, I went on a visit back to Peru, where I served my LDS mission a few years before that. Part of my itinerary included a brief stay in Tacna, in southern Peru, to visit one of my old companions and his family.

Tacna is so far south in Peru that it's within an hour's drive of the Chilean border. Since we were so close to another foreign country, I suggested taking a short trip there. My companion agreed, since we both spoke the language and all, and we spent three or four hours that afternoon in Arica, a city in northern Chile.

Standing atop El Cerro de Arica, I learned from a historical marker posted there that Arica actually once belonged to Peru, but it and a other cities were taken over by Chile after a 19th-century war fought between the two nations. Also, there is a rather breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean from atop that hill.

It was on our way down from El Cerro de Arica that the aforementioned incident occurred. I will put the story in context by mentioning that although there are laws, there is no real understanding among drivers to yield to pedestrians trying to cross the street—at least, there isn't in the two South American countries I have been to. Also, this is the part of the world where old cars go to die.

A VW bug—a common mode of transportation for taxi drivers—hit me at a speed of somewhere (I can only estimate) 30 or 35 miles per hour. Its driver's-side mirror hit me in the elbow, and, as a result, became dislodged from the car and bounced around on the street.

Naturally, the driver did not stop to see if I was OK nor to retrieve his side-view mirror. He was probably late for his defensive driving class, near as I can tell.

Fortunately, I was not hurt too badly, though I did bring home a honey of a bruise as my souvenir from Chile.

Most importantly, though, there was that stamp on my passport.