Driving in France

I'm not a particularly adventurous guy.  Though I'd like to think of myself as either some studly young bucko confidently striding the world with nothing but a lightly loaded backpack and an iPhone, or the silver-haired septuagenarian who always shows up on travel brochures with his impeccably coiffed wife, the truth is that I'm just a pretty average guy who finds it hard to get out of his comfort zone, in a lot of areas.  That goes for driving on vacation, too.

Normally, that would be no big deal.  Take a week, go to Boston or Los Angeles, rent a car.  I know where to go, I know how to get from here to there, and if I don't, there's a GPS.  Renting a car, driving it in France, for me -- the experience was a little different.  It started with the clerk at the counter, who did speak English, but overlaid with a thick Afro-French access.  There were times when neither of us understood the other.  And I'm giving this guy money? The process of actually getting out on the road was straightforward  (if you ignore our surprise at learning that the car was a diesel; it handled well, but had almost no instantaneous acceleration, so you'd stomp on the accelerator - and then slam on the brake when it abruptly lurched forward).  And the fact that it took us two loops around the lot to get onto the highway (which I don't feel too badly about; we followed another vehicle doing exactly the same thing).

Then we were on the road, and the fun began.  As I think I've mentioned elsewhere, the French drivers in Paris are aggressive.  They're not homicidal, like Boston drivers,  and they're not permanently enraged, like New York drivers, but they are aggressive.  If they see a slot in front of you where they can fit their car -- and their cars can be quite tiny -- they'll dart into it. Even if they see a slot forming, they'll start to move into it.  Fortunately, they're generally quite good drivers, so they can pull it off.  I saw cars stopping at an intersection for a bicylist, expressed surprise to a French friend, and she was surprised at mine.  They don't do that in America?  Someplaces, yes.  Not all.

And that rule about only use the left for passing?  They tend to believe it.  Multiple times, I'd be going along in the right, move the the left to pass a semi, and in the time it took me to get safely around and ahead of the truck, I'd have a previously-invisible way in the distance car right behind me, indicating its surprise that I hadn't moved back yet.

And, of course, the motorbikes.  And motorcycles.  And scooters.  Damn serious, all of them.

The GPS was quite helpful in the country, particularly when, due to a lack of coins (thank you, French bank), we didn't want to get onto the autoroute (we would not have been able to pay to get off), so we told the GPS no toll roads, and it performed admirably, eliciting only the occasional where the hell are we? Can you find us on the map?  In the city was a whole different story.  About every ten miles, it'd lose satellite lock, and then we had to hope that a key point wasn't about to turn up before the device decided Oh yes....turn right here...Yes, into the river.  Which it did on occasion.

Driving in France is fun, and interesting, and occasionally very interesting.