From Nelli to Nanica: Cars I've loved and lost

Featuring the story of when a police officer asked me to hit my own car.

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Here’s an audio version of this piece where you can hear me laughing at my own words.

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Dear,

We have a new car—well, new to us, but not to someone else.

It’s white, and I can’t help but wonder if driving a white car amidst the snow will be riskier. Google says it won’t be, but I still have my doubts.

This whole process of getting a new car has reminded me how much I love driving¹ and the many wonderful memories I’ve associated with cars.

I’d love to hear about the first memory of cars and driving that comes to mind for you. Please share it in the comments!

Foot of steel

Driving hasn’t been a big deal in my family. My maternal grandparents didn’t drive, nor did my mom or my aunt. I believe my cousin Johanna was the first woman in our family to get a driver’s license. When I got mine, my godfather told me how proud he was of me. And yes, I was proud of myself too.

But before I tell you about my first crash, I need to share the story of how my ex-boyfriend—Now Husband—drove over my foot 20 years ago.

“Was that your foot?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”

I had leaned in to kiss him goodbye and, for some reason only God knows, I stayed put as he drove off. His dad’s Chrysler Sebring rolled over my foot, and I didn’t feel a thing. It was as if my foot was made of steel.

Driving or cars might not be a big deal for me, but I love to capture these beauties while travelling. (Malta, 2015)

Fleeing the crime scene

When I finally got my license—on the second try²—I instantly fell in love with driving. It offered me a new kind of freedom.

My first car, an Opel Astra sedan, wasn’t mine at all, since it was co-owned by my now-husband’s mom and sister. We called her Nelli after its license plate, NEL. Nelli was a great car—blue, compact, and incredibly reliable. Driving Nelli made me feel like a really good driver, but unfortunately, that wasn’t entirely true.

Just days after getting my license, I was driving around with my friend Camilla in the passenger seat. I dropped her off somewhere in our neighborhood and drove away from the curb. Unfortunately, I was terrible at estimating the distance to the car in front of Nelli and ended up hitting it.

It was an old car, a really nice one—the kind you always look at twice when you see it. But that’s not why I fled the scene. The problem was, it was my friend’s dad’s car.

I was mortified.

But being the person I am, I only got as far as the end of the street before my conscience started tapping me on the shoulder. I turned right, right again, and right once more, until I was back at the scene of the crime.

Camilla was long gone, but a friend of my friend’s dad was standing on the pavement.

He smiled wide when I pulled up.

“It’s okay. It was just a touch. Just a tiny touch. But thanks for coming back.”

To this day, my friend doesn’t know about this.

Who won, a fence or a van?

After Nelli, we got Sergei, an Opel Astra station wagon. He was a silverish blue, had some sort of advanced engine system (enjoy!), and most importantly, more room for my now-husband’s band gear and, a bit later, for our first dog, Myy. Like Nelli, also Sergei belonged to my mother-in-law³, but she rarely used it, so Sergei stayed with us most of the time.

Here is Myy, on her last spring. We had to let her go just couple months later. (2015)

The main reason I got my driver’s license was for my job as a substitute teacher. This meant early mornings, waiting for a call that always came but rarely with a familiar school location. If the call came at 7 a.m., I’d be out the door 30 minutes later.

I was a steady driver and not afraid of traffic, but certain situations gave me the ick. One time, simply leaving for home after a school day turned into quite the operation.

That morning⁴, the only parking spot I could find for Sergei was on a downhill slope, which meant I had to face the dreaded task of backing uphill after work. The road was narrow, and I had to turn the vehicle around in a tight space. To make matters worse, everything was covered in fresh snow. This was exactly the kind of situation I managed to avoid in my twenties.⁵

Even after 20 years, I still remember the sound of something plastic hitting brickwork. I felt it in my stomach—the cracks, pops, and dragging.

A shitty thing happened. I crashed my mother-in-law’s car.

My biggest concern wasn’t the bumper that swung out of place. I was terrified of my mother-in-law, then just my boyfriend’s mom, a woman I didn’t know very well. But maybe these kinds of memories bond us. To this day, she has shown me nothing but love.

But to be fair, I haven’t crashed any more of her cars. Yet.

Road tripping is our thing. This one is from the US of America (2014). Perhaps Chesapeake Bay Bridge. (Yes, I’ve watched the tv show too.)

“Oh, sorry, officer, I forgot to hit it!”

We’ve always taken great care of our cars, and getting a new one is a big deal in our household. Around 2010, we said goodbye to Sergei and welcomed a new car into our family.

It took us a while to find the right name for YGM, but we eventually settled on Pygmi. Despite the name, he wasn’t short or small—he was a sturdy Mazda 6 station wagon.

One morning, long before anyone else was awake, I packed the car and headed out for a photo session. It must’ve been a Sunday, because police officers were out early, conducting breath tests.

A simple checkpoint like that still gives me a jolt of adrenaline. Being stopped by the police always puts me on edge.

The breath test was clean, of course, but then the officer asked to see my papers.

“License and registration,” he said.

In a panic, I fumbled for my wallet and grabbed a binder from the glove compartment. The officer helped me find the right document, but when I handed him the card, he said, “We don’t accept that.”

In panic, I had given him my credit card.

But that wasn’t all. After I finally managed to hand over my license—probably sweating buckets by this point—he informed me that one of my front lights was out. I managed to stay calm.

“Oh, I forgot to hit it before I drove off!” I blurted out. Tapping the light had become a routine for us before leaving the parking lot.

And yes, very much yes, he asked me to step out of the car and show him how it’s done.

Please, Lord, let it turn on. Please, pretty please.

And it did. Whether it was the hit or the prayer, something worked.

Here is our dog Ruuti sleeping in the shade of Pygmi on a Swedish campsite in 2016.

The brain fart called Jiri

Pygmi retired after draining our finances and constantly flaunting that pesky engine light. But despite his quirks, we loved him. He showed us the world⁶ and made us fall in love with road trips long before they became trendy.

But then, our paths diverged, and Jiri came into our lives. Jiri—or YIR, as everyone else knew him—was a red Nissan Qashqai.⁷

He was with us for only a couple of years, but during that time, we had to replace his engine. I still can’t believe that there are modern cars that won’t give you a heads up when something like this is going on. Ten thousand euros (or USD). That’s what a new engine costs.

And then there are these replacement cars you get, when your car needs a new engine. This here is such a ride, and it had tens of these circles around tiny scratches. Can’t say I wasn’t ashamed driving around in this Nissan.

Owning a car is always an expense, so I won’t complain, and we enjoyed our time with Jiri before the engine failed. But I can’t help but wonder:

Why did we get him in the first place?

He was way too small for our needs. Our dog crate was too big for the trunk, and it didn’t leave room for anything else. Now-husband even had to add some foam to prevent the crate from scratching the back windshield.⁸

Even though he couldn’t take us on a longer road trip, he served us well in one important way: He was our first car with a trailer hitch, and thanks to that, he helped us move to our current home.

Baby on board

When I found out I was pregnant in August 2020, it quickly became clear that we needed a new car, again. We couldn’t fit a dog crate and a pram to the trunk, so Jiri didn’t feel very convenient anymore. (If he ever had.)

We ended up in a car sales and test drove a Volkswagen Passat station wagon. He reminded us of Pygmi, so it wasn’t a hard choice. Couple of weeks later we drove home with Zakkex, or ZKX.

I know, I know. The name is so weird, but after thinking long and hard, or at least five minutes, we ended up calling him that.

Zakkex was a great car with basically zero issues. The only shameful thing was that he drank diesel fuel. It’s not the best choice for the environment but with our yearly mileage and the gasoline price in 2020 it felt like a wise thing to do.

Here you can see an example of the places Zakkex took us. Some eye candy in the winter 2024 in Ruka.

There’s a car for each phase of life

We now drive a white Volkswagen Passat station wagon. I never imagined owning a white car, yet here we are. It's different, being a hybrid.⁹

Her name? Conveniently, Nanica, after NNC. She’s the car for this phase of our lives, and I hope she will serve us well.¹⁰

Here’s what I’ve realized: there’s a car for every phase of life. Or should we say we did 150 000 kilometers of life with this car? Because they see a lot, cars.

I don’t have strong feelings about cars, my own or in general, but I do acknowledge this much:

It’s not just about crashes or repairs.

Sergei was the car that brought us home with our first dog, Myy, and it was in Pygmi where she took her final ride.

Jiri safely carried me home when I was suffering from severe back pain, and Zakkex took us to the hospital to give birth to our baby boy—and later brought our family back home.

But it's not really about the cars. It's about the memories they carry with them.

So, until next stop,

Nani

1. This is, perhaps, an unpopular opinion these days.

2. I didn’t pass the driving test on my first attempt. No, ma’am. I failed because I was driving too fast and didn’t slow down when approaching an uncontrolled intersection. The severity of my mistake was made painfully clear when the examiner slammed on the brakes. I’m not good at losing. In fact, I was quite ashamed. I’m so bad at losing that once, I sulked for hours after losing a board game. It wasn’t the first time I had lost, but I had been so certain I would win. Perhaps that’s what happened with the driving test too.

3. My mother-in-law has a thing for blue.

4. I could have been in a rush–typical of me.

5. To be honest, I still get the chills, but nowadays, the hill start assist is my best friend.

6. At least Sweden, Norway and Denmark

7. We actually called him Punane Jiri, but it’s not as funny in English. I’m sorry.

8. Sure, we could have gotten a smaller crate, but maybe we subconsciously knew he wouldn’t stay with us for long?

9. I’m not entirely comfortable with this. There are plenty of issues associated with the battery industry.

10. There have already been some complaints made to the car seller, but we’ll see how that turns out.