Renault Scenic perfect for a gauche driver

The Scenic is a triumph of technology.

What our obliging Renault Eurodrive agent didn't know when she arranged for us to pick up a smart new Scenic 1.9DT at Montpellier airport, was that I had a record in France.

She didn't ask the question. I didn't volunteer the information. After all, it is now 30-odd years since I steered our Morris Minor over the centre line in the city of Lille and straight into the mayor of the city.

He was being driven to an important event flanked by a flag-fluttering police escort. I was exploring the birthplace of my French ancestors.

She couldn't possibly know that when my then-husband climbed out of what the gendarmes took to be the driver's door, he was arrested. And that being a decent sort of chap, he took the rap for me.

Well almost. What actually happened was when they released him that afternoon, we did a runner. After all, we reasoned, the mayor hadn't been hurt, his Mercedes was only slightly damaged.

So, instead of appearing in court the next morning, we turned and drove through France, straight as a bullet, stopping only to ask for a miracle at Lourdes.

And miraculously, the soldier at the obscure passport control high in the Pyrenees waved us through to Spain without even a sleepy glance at our passports.

For the following 10 years we avoided France, even Tahiti. More years passed. We plucked up the nerve to revisit France once, then twice, then many more times.

But this was the first occasion since that ignominious accident that I had tried to drive on the "wrong" side of the road - and the thought made me white-knuckled with fear.

But Barbara, the Renault dealer in Auckland, had assured us that the Scenic was the perfect touring car. My partner, Brian, had driven one the length of France five years earlier, without a fright or a scratch.

This time the tourist season was over, the Scenic itself refined and updated, the weather fine and mild. Surely there would be no problem.

Technically, we were buying a new car, and had already paid for some of it in New Zealand, so formalities in Montpellier were brief. We simply signed a promissory note proffered by the sultry Eurodrive agent waiting at the airport, and the car was ours until we signed the release which returned ownership to Renault.

Eurodrive is slightly less expensive than traditional car renting, plus as "owners" we had full insurance cover with no excess, full Renault warranty, unlimited kilometres and a new, $50K car to play with.

We listened in awe as the agent led us to the car and explained the Scenic's finer points in her beguiling English.

"What, no key?"

"Non."

"No handbrake?"

"Non, pas necessaire."

Gulp.

We were so surprised we forgot to ask what fuel to use. It turned out to be diesel which came out of the "Gaziol" nozzle at the pump, and we needed it right away.

Even Dr Michael, who was en route to a urology conference in Vienna, and had offered to drive the first leg of the journey, was a little fazed by the missing handbrake.

He was soon deeply in love with the electronics and speed of the Scenic as we whipped past cavalcades of trucks at 130km/h, which, he assured us, was merely the speed limit.

Next day we headed for the nearest supermarket carpark and, palms sweating, I slunk into the driver's seat to get a feel for the car.

Although it's no SUV-style bully, the latest Scenic sits up high on the road, giving both driver and passengers an excellent view.

It is also a triumph of technology, offering: all-automatic locking (which removes the need for a key); an automatic handbrake (thankfully with an over-ride brake for the faint-hearted); electronic cruise control; lights that blink on at dusk and dawn; and automatic side mirrors (which flap in and out depending on the width of the street) and give a surprisingly long rear view.

In fact the only thing that isn't automatic - and the feature we wanted most - is automatic transmission.

But as Barbara had told us firmly, the French love driving and six forward gears plus reverse to play round with does make for more fun.

Twenty minutes in the car park, sticking tight to the right, trying to adjust to the height of the Scenic, which makes it difficult to judge how close you are to the centre line after driving a saloon-style vehicle, and I was ready for the road.

An hour later, having driven the 10km back to our house in Agde on the South West coast of France, and I was desperate for a long, cold glass of chardonnay.

And so it went all week as my friend Maureen and I practised, taking turns at driving and co-piloting.

The co-pilot's job included map-reading, spotting cyclists, muttering "keep right" when the driver swerved left during stressful manoeuvres and "watch out" when she clung too close to the kerb.

Every day we (often inadvertently) tackled one new automotive challenge: night driving; hill starts; narrow roads; fiendish French underground car parks; passing two trucks travelling side by side at 120km/h on the autoroute; driving without navigator - before qualifying for the liquid reward.

And within five days there I was, speeding back down the A9 to Montpellier, Maureen trying not to cling to the armrest as we passed our first cavalcade of trucks.

Over the next month we drove thousands of kilometres, collecting friends and family from Carcassonne and Montpellier, driving to the beach at Sete, through the villages.

The challenges were various and the Scenic handled them all. Madeleine's baby seat clicked in smooth as silk.

Despite the bevy of housewives who would gather to offer their unwelcome assistance "Alors! A gauche! Mais non!" the series of mirrors that worked together like a jigsaw made reversing into the impossibly small space behind our house a thing of beauty - even if the navigator had to climb out past the steering wheel when we finally slotted in.

But it was the night when I drove home in heavy rain in the dark, and managed to talk at the same time that I realised I'd cracked it. At last, driving on the right was second nature - almost.

The problem came long after I'd sadly said goodbye to the Scenic, headed for Auckland, hopped into my so-prosaic Honda and headed for the right hand side of the road.

Dick Hubbard had better be careful, very careful indeed.