Frustrations

Some of the boundaries between our countries and cultures are more impenetrable than others.  Most of them seem to have to do with cars.  First there is the absurdity of different counties not being able to agree on which side of the road we should be driving on.  Cars have been around for a hundred years and different countries stubbornly stick with their own customs.  However, I can get used to driving on the left, in fact, I rather enjoy the challenge.  But automobile insurance seems to be a boundary that just can't be crossed.  We've been here a week and a half now and during all of that time we've been attempting to get insured so that we can begin driving the car that we've already mostly purchased (the purchase can't be finalized until we have Irish insurance).  I've made more phone calls and spent more time in the office of Fidelma, our lovely local insurance broker than I've spent doing any other thing since we arrived, and the miracle of insurance nirvana has not yet happened.  There is always one more phone call or one more checking in with somebody that has to happen and that has to be waited for.  Fidelma is now on first name terms with Darcy, who is our insurance broker in Gorham, in spite of the fact that due to the time difference and their lunch hour schedules, they can only speak during one hour each day.  Tomorrow, I am promised, is the golden day when insurance consummation will happen.  That is if Fidelma and Darcy don't spend their entire overlapping time talking about the weather on Nantucket where Fidelma desperately wants to live.  I can't bear to get my hopes up.