Why does wild driving in Dominican Republic seem to work?

I will never again feel ashamed that I'm too big of a coward to ride the roller coaster at New York-New York, because I just survived an eight-mile cab ride in the Dominican Republic that would have reduced a Bruce Willis stunt double to tears, whimpering and early retirement. I didn't even wear a seat belt, just so I could have the whole experience.

I'm a real man now.

It's like NASCAR, except not everyone has a car. There are automobiles, bicycles, pedestrians, mopeds, motorcycles and the occasional farm animal. Bats leaving a cave at sunset give each other more room to maneuver. If I ever caught my son riding bumpers at those speeds, I'd yank his driver's license on the spot.

Never laid eyes on even one police car.

In the United States, car horns have two basic uses. There are the one to three short taps, used to alert the moron in front of you to put down his Breakfast Jack, desist with the cell phone texting and generally pull his head out of his nether-regions and notice that the traffic light has long since turned to green.

Then there is The Editorial, the single, prolonged honk used to communicate displeasure and moral umbrage at your neighbor's driving behavior. The Editorial also may be accompanied by hand gestures and colorful metaphors. The latter is wasted on the target of your unhappiness, but somehow you feel better about yourself for having spoken up.

But speaking of bats, Dominican drivers deploy the car horn very differently than American drivers do. No aggression, no wake-up calls, no Editorials. It's more like echolocation. Beep, beep, beep means, "Just letting you know there are 3,000 pounds of grinding, fiery death shadowing your left rear bumper."

"Roger that, and thanks," says the moped driver's responding beep, or the casual wave of the guy leading the cow.

Not one scowl, angry shout or obscene gesture. Just a lot of beeping, and some of that might have been the pounding of my heart in my throat.

Are there mandatory auto insurance laws in the Dominican?

Oh, and passing. None of this wimpy look-ahead-and-see-if-someone-is-coming stuff. Nope. Just pull out to the left and pass. See if it works out. See if it's your lucky day. The assumption seems to be that if another driver is coming from the other direction, it's his responsibility to figure out the equation. It's his problem. Beep, beep, beep.

So I should have emptied my bladder at the airport.

In the Dominican Republic, they practice "Merge Magic." And it works. But I can't tell you how or why it works. Because they just merge. They don't look. They don't wait. They don't slow down. They just beep and merge. And no one dies. Nor did I see so much as one fender-bender, though I confess to having my eyes firmly squeezed shut during much of the merging.

About six miles into my harrowing rite of passage, Juan the Driver -- he had a name tag -- took one hand off the steering wheel and began to wrestle with his seat belt. I was incredulous. Wasn't sure if it was gonna translate colloquially, but I couldn't help myself: "Porque ahora, despues todo esta?" I said, hoping he'd catch my meaning ("Why now, after all this?")

The driver burst out laughing, which bade well for my crippled Spanish, I guess, but my question stands: We have almost been killed 37 times, and now you put on your seat belt? Later I wondered if he didn't put it on just for me, because he took pity on my pop-eyes, fish-belly complexion and general countenance of horror.

I don't know if there's such a thing as a Dominican Republic Department of Motor Vehicles. I don't know if there is such a thing as public records of car accidents, maimings and deaths here on this lovely island. But I couldn't ignore my pressing hunch that, for all our driver's training and safety belts and traffic officers and law enforcement, I don't believe these people have more traffic accidents than Americans do. I'm serious. I'd love to compare the data.

Maybe Americans would have fewer car accidents if they weren't insured.

So, sorry to disappoint, but the point of this column isn't all that heady or ethereal. I just love to study and experience the mind-boggling breadth of cultural diversity, and apparently that includes driving customs, habits and etiquette.

But I'm still not riding the roller coaster at New York-New York. Unless Juan rides with me, beeping his horn.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.