There comes a time when slowing down opens up a whole new world around us. From the age of eighteen, I have driven a succession of cars and trucks, only two of which were new. Each one brought a new experience; each one better than the last one I would tell myself. Only one thing was certain. They were all money pits that gobbled up at least a quarter of my entire income.

In my young and silly era, I painted an offset white line across the roof and back of an old Ford Anglia, trying to fool admirers that it was fast, and stuck a green sun visor across the top of the windshield. It looked racey and attracted the girls, right? No, they laughed as I cruised by with clouds of smoke billowing from the exhaust. Then I grew up a little and tried converting a Bedford van into a caravanette complete with a bed. That got as far as a piece of plywood bolted to the wheelhouse on one side with a makeshift curtain behind the driver’s seat. A passion wagon I thought. That ended with a blown engine when half converted.

Over the years, there has been a string of vehicles that I had love-hate relationships with. I drove from A to B for all of 52 years and never stopped to realize what I had missed – my surroundings.

Moving to Malta five years ago taught me a couple of things about driving.  First, the Maltese are dangerous drivers, and two, on an island sixteen miles long and eight miles wide the population drive in fairground bumper style with thumbs making a permanent impression on the horn button. I decided not to take the risk but to become a pedestrian, although that also meant risking life and limb.

Apart from public transport, I walked everywhere and started exploring side streets and shop windows, historic sites, and local municipal offices. This while going through the long and painful process of permanent residency.  I made a point of taking photos and enjoying café lounging. Walking became a pastime and without giving it much thought, I started to see my surroundings in sharp focus instead as a nondescript blur through a windshield.

Two years later I had a relapse. I moved to Cyprus, a much bigger island, and bought a car. The moment I purchased it, I knew I was going to spend money. Tax, insurance, M.O.T, petrol, maintenance. It was convenient, but soon the bills started mounting. Service, bodywork repairs (not my doing), brakes and tires, even carwash. I decided it was time to call a halt to it all and sold the car. $15 a day for a hire car, when required, is a great deal. Now I am back to walking and taking in the scenery and finding time to talk to people instead of swearing at them from my window as they do something silly and slow me down as I drive from A to B.

Lines of trees and brightly painted buildings blending into a kaleidoscope of rainbow color and fuzzy scenery are a thing of the past. A whole new world has opened up in front of me as my feet, instead of an accelerator, drive me through a new and exciting experience.

Trainers are cheaper than tires.