Years ago while hitch-hiking through Spain with a friend, we gratefully slumped into a car that had stopped after we had stood for long hours at the same petrol station trying to flag a ride. It was close to dusk and before entering the vehicle we of course briefly conversed with the driver to determine if he was going our way. There was a strong scent of alcohol in the car, but we needed a lift and so we readily got in without a second thought.

What followed was the closest I have ever come to death. A frightening ride during which the extremely drunk driver travelled at rates over 200 km/h, blazed towards oncoming traffic as he lurched fearlessly into the passing lane and came within inches of cars we sped past. I didn't experience the "life flashing before my eyes" that many talk about though I consciously said goodbye to all my family members and braced for what I was sure was inevitable impact.

Amazingly, we survived the ordeal, which lasted for an unbearable and sickening few hours, covering close to 600 km in the time that most sane drivers would have gone 200. At one point the drunken fool slowed down to a speed just over 100km/h and started slumping forward, ready to pass out. I jarred him awake and he continued on. Our obvious fear seemed to spur him on. A few kilometers from our intended destination we stopped at a tollbooth. Though all but unspoken, it was clear that my mate and I both had feared for our lives and hoped the nightmare would end as soon as possible. Yet this brief respite, which offered a chance to bolt from the vehicle, was not taken by either one of us. We had both hoped for a chance to get away from this reckless fool yet when the opportunity arose, we didn't react. Moments later, our destination and safety greeted us as the fool left us and sped off into the distance. But who were the bigger fools?

A number of years after that experience I found myself working a dream job--skiing in the Swiss Alps. Though a mere beginner on skis, I somehow landed a job working at the topmost peak...an actual glacier. The chief of the station was a Swiss bloke who could speak only a few words of English. He went out of his way to assist me at work and getting set up in the small village at the base of the mountain where I resided. It was one of those experiences that remain seared in my mind for positive reasons, so much so that I returned the next season.