Foreign Traffic

Almost by definition, the driving acumen I’ve experienced in the United States is in the fat middle part of my perceived bell curve of lawfulness. The northeast has been by far the worst, and quiet towns in Minnesota among the best (ignoring the pickup trucks), but all within a tolerable range to which I could adapt. I’ve learned to blast down California freeways and pay attention to lane-splitting motorcycles; I cut in front of oncoming traffic in Connecticut but hold firm at the numerous “No Turn on Red” signs; and I can sit patiently in nominal Minneapolis traffic as drivers camp in the left lane to exit onto I-35.

It’s all fairly understandable. There are variations that require local adaptation, but a bit of observation allows me to rapidly adjust. It’s all, let’s say, within acceptable tolerances. Worst-case scenario, I can drive in the most cautious manner and things will turn out alright.

Copenhagen and Paris each fell outside of one standard deviation, perhaps two, of either side of my perceived mean. They were both exceptional in the most literal sense. I didn’t spend time driving in either¹, but I had ample time to observe as pedestrian and passenger.

Scandinavian Law and Order

I clocked the vehicular vibe on my first day in Copenhagen, but every subsequent day left me more impressed with how their traffic flows. There are cars, bikes, and pedestrians in equal measure and equal importance. Everybody waits for the lights to change. Bikes actually yield to pedestrians, and cars yield to bikes.

One morning I watched several runners stop at the red light of an empty intersection. There was excellent visibility in all directions, and no sign of cars. I would have immediately walked across, except for the confidence with which these runners waited until the light turned, and their walk sign came on. Then off they jogged, nonplussed by the whole event, while I strolled in their trail, gobsmacked.

Most shocking was on the penultimate day in Copenhagen. My friend and I were about to cross a small side street. A car had just pulled up, intending to turn onto the main road, and it was blocking our direct path on the sidewalk. Two years on the East Coast trained me to diverge behind the car because Lord knows there’s no point trying to make myself visible and risk a collision due to ignorance or spite. But then, amazingly, the driver reversed to unblock the sidewalk and waved us past. It was uncomfortably thoughtful. A New Yorker probably would’ve slapped the hood of that car on principle. I smiled and waved.

Navigating Copenhagen was consistently delightful. I could give up jaywalking and accept this Scandinavian approach with pleasure.

Parisian Organized Chaos

I left Paris absolutely mystified that the city isn’t littered with tow trucks and ambulances cleaning up the messes left behind by cars hitting cars hitting bikes hitting people.

The main boulevards are simple to navigate on foot—a long straightaway is table stakes for walking. However, there are multiple lanes of traffic all mixed up. There is often a bus/taxi/bike lane next to the sidewalk, then a median on the other side of which is two-way traffic that can also have any buses, taxis, or bikes ripping through alongside the cars depending on the situation in their dedicated lane. There were no obvious ways to tell which direction traffic was going on an empty straightaway, so pedestrians must keep their head on a swivel. (Jaywalking was much more common.)

The intersections are absurd. There are grids mixed with spoke-and-wheel constructions, none of which are particularly clear. Even walking around with Google Maps open, I managed to make several wrong choices when faced with three possible left turns at about sixty degrees, ninety degrees, and one hundred twenty degrees that spanned less than half a block.

So that’s me, a professional pedestrian, getting turned around. Put people in cars as bikes attempt to pivot around them, and the resulting aggressive turns, momentary gridlock, and threading of needles is like watching a parent calm down their child mid-tantrum when the kid is holding safety scissors. It’s an obviously dangerous situation in theory, but everyone involved is resigned to it and handles it with anxious aplomb.

There is no other way to navigate these roads, with their backwards right-of-way entry rules and poor lane marking. Everyone trusts that everyone else will yield, but only when applying sufficient acceleration and honking. Like I’ve written elsewhere, it’s more of an arrogant form of driving. They believe they have the right to be right here on the road. Compare this to the subtle difference in the East Cost driving mindset, which assumes that everyone else is an idiot and shouldn’t be over there.

I guess it works, but I was never happier to return to the form of driving danger I understand back in Connecticut.